WHILE TRAVELLING ALONE IN JEDDAH
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Once upon a time but not very long ago.
When my grey was not so grey
And the black was not sophomore.
On a bus journey that I made twice.
The mornings passed with a book in hand
And the evenings cried for company.
It is on one such journey, one day, that I met you.
One day the Bus halted at Sharafiyyah and you boarded it.
And occupied the seat next to mine.
You, still a student in high school were going to Aziziyah
for tuition.
We spoke about each other.
I asked about you and also the trivia was discussed that
comes with being a student.
It was the same bus which we shared around the same
time...evening 4.30
Everyday you would sit next to me…
I would wait board the bus from Balad and later would keep
my office bag on the seat next to mine,
In order to keep it booked for you, so that I could have
that 30 minutes of conversation with you.
Everyday I would pick up a topic and listen you talk.
You would talk, talk and talk. I must tell you that I enjoyed
it very much.
You kept me company, if I am not mistaken, for a couple of
months.
I felt I had killed boredom along that route..
But then before the acquaintance could move forward
and made us unlikely friends …Your school closed.
The tuition got over and you rather moved.
My routine came back to square one.
I longed for company on that route but
Dreaded I could lose one if I found.
Some days after, I stopped using the bus
And somehow sometimes your memory did ply on that route.
Years passed by and very little remained of your memory..
Your very marked Gujrati Lingo was one among them.
And somewhere an honesty in you that had struck me then.
Years later when I saw you in office today
while you were sitting in a corner of the room,
I turned back twice to recollect what my memory had stored
all these years.
I could still see that teenage student through your
deceiving beard and long hair.
I asked my colleague about you..’This guy is IISJ,
Gujrati?’
He said yes.
Today I asked for the sheet that you had written as part of
the interview process.
I could see the creative you, your honesty intact.
You didn’t recognize me… how could you ?
I had aged beyond recognition and had lost lot of weight.
I feared that you may not recollect those bus trips.
I still do…but I had to write to you…
Had to write this..
”Some people we meet
Some we lose,
Some are defined,
Some are vague.
None remained, neither friend nor an acquaintance.
What remained is the ghost of those bus journeys”
Had to shake your memory and see if there exists
Even a faintest memory of those years passed by.
Though Inconsequential,
it will bring an end to the bus journey.
