Something unusual happened last week. Well, at least it seemed unusual to me.
I was traveling back from work in a bus. Headphones popped in, I was reading a book, my bag resting on the empty seat next to me. The bus was characteristically less crowded as there was still an hour before the day ended for normal workers.
At the stop at India Gate a small group of people boarded the bus. Among them was a girl dressed in a black jacket with her hair tied in a ponytail. She seemed to be a little older than me. I reluctantly picked up my bag to make place for her. She zipped her jacket higher as the November wind was getting chillier in the evening. I noticed she was not alone. A man, little younger than my grandfather, with white hair and wrinkled face accompanied her. It was curious to see that he was dressed in denim pants and a denim cut sleeved jacket beneath which he wore a white t shirt. I smiled at the rarity of seeing a man his age standing so erect in a Delhi bus dressed in clothes generally supported by men half his age. I instantly took a liking to him and by extension, his companion. I have always liked old people who like to keep their youthful energy alive. Satisfied with my little survey of the crowd, I returned my attention to the mystery novel in my hand. I caught snippets of their conversations in between two songs on my phone. They seemed to be having a discussion in English. Well, that matched with my observation about the old man.
The next day the same pair boarded the same bus as me. We exchanged glances and I returned to my book. I smiled noticing that they looked exactly as they had the day before, wearing the exact same clothes and the exact same expression. As Simon and Garfunkel crooned to the end of the song, I thought I heard the girl say 'Leonardo Da Vinci'. By this time I was losing interest in the predictable book. So, I turned down the volume of the music and tried to eavesdrop on their conversation for fun. They seemed to be discussing something about an acquaintance of theirs who had something to do with European Art. I must admit I could not follow the conversation for a good part. So I turned volume back up.
I took the next day off and returned to work the day after. On the way back, as it would happen, the same pair, same as ever, hopped on the bus and stood next to me. This time I stared at them with my mouth open. I am sure the girl recognized me too, but she simply turned away and they both resumed a discussion which the arrival of the bus had paused. If I was a person of a little more importance I would have thought this to be a murderous conspiracy against me. And if I were a little older and lonesome, I would have figured this to be a play of my imagination. As neither was the case, I turned my full attention to the conversation of these tangible beings standing next to me. This time the discussion revolved around world politics.
Then came the weekend. On Monday, I looked out of the bus's window at India Gate, expecting the man and the girl to be there. They weren't. Disappointed I continued with the book. For some reason, the two interested me deeply. There was nothing extraordinary about them. Yet, they amazed me. I wanted to know more about them. Who were they? How were they related? What did they do among all these government offices? Why those discussions? I scolded myself for wanting to be nosy.
Today was my last day at work. And I still found myself looking outside the window at India Gate, wondering where those two were.
I was traveling back from work in a bus. Headphones popped in, I was reading a book, my bag resting on the empty seat next to me. The bus was characteristically less crowded as there was still an hour before the day ended for normal workers.
At the stop at India Gate a small group of people boarded the bus. Among them was a girl dressed in a black jacket with her hair tied in a ponytail. She seemed to be a little older than me. I reluctantly picked up my bag to make place for her. She zipped her jacket higher as the November wind was getting chillier in the evening. I noticed she was not alone. A man, little younger than my grandfather, with white hair and wrinkled face accompanied her. It was curious to see that he was dressed in denim pants and a denim cut sleeved jacket beneath which he wore a white t shirt. I smiled at the rarity of seeing a man his age standing so erect in a Delhi bus dressed in clothes generally supported by men half his age. I instantly took a liking to him and by extension, his companion. I have always liked old people who like to keep their youthful energy alive. Satisfied with my little survey of the crowd, I returned my attention to the mystery novel in my hand. I caught snippets of their conversations in between two songs on my phone. They seemed to be having a discussion in English. Well, that matched with my observation about the old man.
The next day the same pair boarded the same bus as me. We exchanged glances and I returned to my book. I smiled noticing that they looked exactly as they had the day before, wearing the exact same clothes and the exact same expression. As Simon and Garfunkel crooned to the end of the song, I thought I heard the girl say 'Leonardo Da Vinci'. By this time I was losing interest in the predictable book. So, I turned down the volume of the music and tried to eavesdrop on their conversation for fun. They seemed to be discussing something about an acquaintance of theirs who had something to do with European Art. I must admit I could not follow the conversation for a good part. So I turned volume back up.
I took the next day off and returned to work the day after. On the way back, as it would happen, the same pair, same as ever, hopped on the bus and stood next to me. This time I stared at them with my mouth open. I am sure the girl recognized me too, but she simply turned away and they both resumed a discussion which the arrival of the bus had paused. If I was a person of a little more importance I would have thought this to be a murderous conspiracy against me. And if I were a little older and lonesome, I would have figured this to be a play of my imagination. As neither was the case, I turned my full attention to the conversation of these tangible beings standing next to me. This time the discussion revolved around world politics.
Then came the weekend. On Monday, I looked out of the bus's window at India Gate, expecting the man and the girl to be there. They weren't. Disappointed I continued with the book. For some reason, the two interested me deeply. There was nothing extraordinary about them. Yet, they amazed me. I wanted to know more about them. Who were they? How were they related? What did they do among all these government offices? Why those discussions? I scolded myself for wanting to be nosy.
Today was my last day at work. And I still found myself looking outside the window at India Gate, wondering where those two were.
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