I have been told that I have been gaining weight at an alarming rate. What I haven’t clarified is that it is pretty much voluntary. While Icontinue to do absolutely nothing useful, I have decided to become a victim of gluttony (I shall make it sound like a sad issue, which it is not,).
Here is an incident that occurred last week. Most would label it as normal, but hey, nothing is really normal.
It was about 6 in the evening and and I wanted to get home before it would start pouring. The sky was gray and my house half an hour away. I was at this bus stop that had recently changed the advertising boards in it, thereby reducing space to sit. I had two big bags in my hand and couldn’t help but be restless. Buses to my place are very frequent and yet that day, they seemed like the Blue Moon. After 10 whole minutes of checking my watching, trying to sit, shifting the bags from one hand to the other, checking my phone and looking in the direction from which the bus would be arriving, I saw a green bus arrive. I boarded it the minute it halted and scanned the bus for a seat. There was precisely one seat. I rushed to it. It was a two seater and one half of it was occupied by an elderly man. There was something not-so usual about this man. He wore what most elderly men around this part of the country wear; a shirt, white mundu/lungi and a towel. He sat erect and had a dignified aura around him. (Or maybe it was just me, but still.). The bus began to move, halting every 2 minutes and the conductor came along; “Ticket ticket. Ticket baaki. Change Baaki”. I paid him my bus fare of Rs. 12 and he returned me a shattered piece of orange paper on which was scribbles ’12’ in the name of a ticket.
The curious kid in me began trying to concentrate on my peripheral vision and started observing the man. Something didn’t seem right. His personality was that of a white collar professional and yet here he was, in a local bus dressed as simple as any second person. I could hear some alarm tone. Certainly not mine. I realised it was the man beside me’s phone. He took it out of the little cloth bag he was carrying. A decent Nokia set. He started looking into his bag again. I expected a smart phone to come out. No, a box of glasses came out. He removed his glasses, cleaned them and wore it. he began reading the message. A minute later, he was replying. Well, to us texting is not a great deal. Its synonymous as eating or speaking. it certainly isn’t the same for elderly people. this man was texting with such ease, I was surprised. I was very tempted to toss my manners out of the window and read whatever he was typing, but my conscience took over and I took out my own phone to check it there was anything that I had to attend to. The bus was playing a weird mix of songs ranging from Pardesi jaana nahi to Its the time to disco. The man beside me continued to text while his phone rang the message tone regularly till the bus arrived my stop and I had to get down.
As I was waking my super-long walk towards my house, realisation hit me yet again; Do not judge a book by its cover. Rather, never judge a book by its cover.
Till Next Time,