Sunday, February 6, 2011

A Conversation with a Girl in a Blue- Line Bus



(translated in English)

Me: Where do you get off? (Hoping that she’d name my station or something farther because I did not recognize my station!)

She: Nizzamuddin. You?

Me: Okhla.

SILENCE

She (fiddling with the corner of her lime green synthetic salwar kurta): I like you.

Me: (A bit shocked at this uncalled for admiration)

She: You are not like those other girls who think too high of themselves and stuff earphones in their ears to avoid any conversation. You talk!

Me: (Stuffing my earphones deeper in my purse pocket): Oh. (Smiling uncomfortably) Thank you.. You are .. err.. very nice too.

She: (Smiling brightly): What standard are you in?

Me: (Staring at the black thread on her wrist which had a pretty shell hanging from it at a weird angle): Huh? Oh. I am through with school.

She: Really? What are you doing out of your home, alone in a bus then?

Me: (Wishing for my bed and AC): I am going for work.

She: You work?

Me: Not exactly. I am going for an interview.

She: Government or private? Getting a private job post 12th is not easy. Infact, now – a – days, government jobs are hard to find.

Me: You are right about that. But I am a graduate.

She: B.A.?

Me: Yup.

She: (looking at me with renewed awe): Then you are sure to get this job. What sort of work is it?

Me: Um.. It is hard to explain. I work for TV companies or newspapers or radio. Do you understand?

She: (Stares at me, blinks and looks away)

Me: (Feeling mighty awkward that I had made her uncomfortable). What do you do?

She: (Looking extremely proud and happy): I have just given my 10th standard exams.

Me: (Relieved at the change of topic): Great. So Delhi Darshan?

She: Yes. (Flicks her long braid forward, unties her red ribbon and reties it). My brother is taking us to Ajmer to meet our uncle’s mama’s sister.

Me: Oh. So where are you from?

She: Hampi. Madhya Pradesh.

Me: Oh. Yes. I have heard of it in our geography lessons.

She: Geography?

Me: Anyway. So how long have you been in Delhi?

She: Oh, we have seen everything. We came at 7 in the morning. Went to Jama Masjid and then visited Red Fort. It is so boring. Red - red everywhere no?

Me (Big fan of old buildings): Mm-hm. (Looking for a change of topic) So, you and your brother are sight – seeing today, eh?

She: No, no. Me, my eldest brother, my two sister and 4 step – siblings as well.

Me (shocked into silence, trying to find my voice): Umm.. wow, that is some picnic I must say.

She: How many brothers and sisters do you have?

Me: I have an elder sister.

She: And?

Me: And that’s it.

She: What? No brothers?

Me: No. Just us two sisters.

She: Your dad never remarried?

Me: What? No! I mean, by God’s grace both my parents are very much alive and together!

She (Somewhat apologetically and confused): Oh, I thought your mother would have… My mother died 
when I was 3 years old. My father remarried and so …

Me: Oh.

(SILENCE)

Me: You should visit Qutub Minar too. And the zoo as well, it is a lot of fun! The Purana Qila is also nearby:

She (Not so interactive anymore): My brother will not agree. Besides, we are taking the train back to Ajmer today from Nizamuddin.

An old man with a long salt – and – pepper beard came along and tapped the girl in a very un-gentlemanly fashion on her shoulder and moved on. He was trailed by quite a long queue of boys and girls of all ages in similar bright coloured synthetic clothes. The girls had a lot of bling on their salwar – kameez and all the boys wore identical skull caps.

She: My stop is here. It was extremely nice talking to you. You are a pretty girl.

Me: (Blushing slightly out of habit): Thank you. It was wonderful talking to you too. Have a safe journey.
She alighted the bus and waved at me cheerfully. I waved back from the window.

The bus started moving again.



Thursday, February 3, 2011

An Ode to You




Those big brown eyes,
Never stay still.
Perfect pretty teeth,
His looks can kill.

He sets his hair
With a frown on his brows.
Takes away my breath
When he comes too close.

He folds the sleeves,
Of his slim- fit shirt.
His sweet warm breath,
Reminds of dessert.

His touch is magic,
Like melting butter
Sends me in a frenzy,
Heartbeat flutters.

He’d say something funny,
When I least expect.
I stutter mid sentence,
Forget the subject.

Then he’d smile that smile,
Which melts my heart,
Hug me close,
That’s my favourite part.

He would say something cute,
Make me blush,
I’ll hide in his arms,
Bid him to hush.

He’d laugh softly,
His voice would chime,
And we’d just hug each other,
For a long, long time.

There’s no climax to this poem,
It’s nothing special or new,
I just wrote it
As an Ode to You.