Short Story: Window side

He never liked to work on Saturdays. But now it was the only way to tide over the tough financial condition in the last two months. He knew that things will be normal in one more month. After slipping his one-sided bag over his shoulders he walked out of his office. The time on his mobile phone was 7:10. “It is late already. Let us go”, said his friend. Parallel to the pavement they fast along the road. Murthy looked over his shoulder to the pavement. Apart from walking, he could recall every other activity, the pavement was used. His mind returned to reality when an auto blazed past them with a screeching horn.

 One more supermarket was being constructed on that road. “There will be more traffic when this comes up. Who asked for another one?” asked his friend. “Move along, it doesn’t matter for us. It is not on our bus route”. When they reached the main road, his friend handed him a Rajeshkumar novel. “Here, it was good. This was definitely better than the last one you gave me”. “Hmm, this had an unusual ending. See you on Monday”, he retorted. His mobile showed 7:20 when his friend crossed the road.

The direct bus to his destination saves him 15 minutes on travel since it takes a shorter route but it arrives only 50 minutes once and so he usually travels to CMBT to switch buses. He let two buses for CMBT pass through as usual, hoping that his direct bus would arrive. But time has thought him that this is futile exercise and he got on the next bus to CMBT. The bus was not crowded and he placed himself on the third row from the front. His open fist involuntarily faced the conductor and the lips uttered the word ‘pass’ without any sound and the conductor nodded. The time was 7:30.

There are a few conductors who frown at the open fist and demand the pass be shown. It has never been a problem for him but he still remembers an odd incident when a conductor demanded it harshly. “They have every reason to be harsh”, he said to himself. He has always felt that being a conductor is the most challenging job in the city after the MTC bus driver. From issuing tickets at a second’s notice, explaining routes to new passengers, arguing with irrational passengers for coins and squeezing themselves through the crowd throughout the day. He felt that they have everything to be angry including their khaki uniform. He once wore a khaki uniform for his job long back but now he was wearing a checked shirt and a grey pant.  His current job doesn’t require that attire.

As his thoughts skimmed along, the bus was nearing CMBT. The entry to the bus terminus has always been a mess. A stream of buses was lined up for entry near the signal. There was a missed call from his chief in his mobile phone. He decided to call back once he reached home. The time on the phone was 7:50. When he slipped it back into his bag, the bus entered the terminus. He decided to travel the last few seconds on the foot board and got down. As he jogged slowly towards the point from where he gets his next bus, a crowded bus was picking up. He raced fast and got into the front.

The bus gets empty and then refilled at seven stops from now. A seat will be available for at least the rest of the journey. After the open fist signaled the conductor he began to sneak in near the driver and set his eyes on the road. He has seen him on his route. The driver was around his age but looked sturdy and tough unlike him. Two steps from then, the crowd got worse. He has gotten used to these, following years of travel. At the signal after the fourth stop, traffic peaked and the sounds of horns made him restless. He had always wished that they never introduced the digital sign which showed the number of seconds before green. Patience has been lost and people consider 05 to be 00, he thought. Now his body has been soaked in sweat. “Two more stops”, he said to himself. At times like these, some random song would be playing in his mind, but today it was blank. He got a window seat on the second row on the right when the bus got half emptied and refilled.

He looked at the phone of the one who was sitting before him. The time was 8:25. It was a model which was unknown to him and he kept looking at it until a call interrupted made the owner change the position and get it out of this view. “I should get a new one”, he said to himself. A new mobile phone was long due. The one which he was using was more than two years old and was encountering all possible problems which an old one has.

The road narrowed for the next two stops owing to metro rail construction. Like others, Murthy too believed that metro rail construction would be the boon to all the traffic problems in his city. But five years down the lane, he knows it isn’t. He liked the ride in the only route in which it was opened but felt the fare to be too costly. “These people won’t finish it for five more years”, he thought confidently. The only thing he liked about the metro was its workers. His pain and suffering would vanish when he thinks about the amount of hard work they put in every day, their living conditions and their distance from their families. Their suffering told him that he was living a fortunate life.

There were no new posters in the travel so far or it was possible that he could’ve missed a new one.  “Wait for Thursdays”, he sang mildly. One stop from his destination he saw a poster for someone whom they had declared their political leader. He smiled, and he said to the person sitting next to him. “So many Thalaivars in Tamilnadu”. The other smiled but did not reply. Murthy did not mind as his stop was getting closer. Time on his neighbor’s watch was 8:45.

When he got down at his stop he saluted the chips seller sitting under the street light.

“Thalaiva, for ten rupees”.

 “How many more months are you going to work on Saturdays?”

“One more month Thalaiva.” The Thalaivar packed some chips in a paper cone and sprinkled chili powder from the plastic tin. Murthy noticed that he was wearing a new shirt.

“Anything special to wear a new shirt?”, asked Murthy, “No Thambi, my son got it for me. It is special since it came without a reason”.

“Ha ha. Okay Thaliava. Meet you on Monday.”

As he walked through the veins which flow from the main road the sounds of television and the fluorescent street light began to fill him. And so did the issues of the common man. The time on his mobile phone was 8:50. His wife had always complained that he spends 3 hours every day on travelling and that they should shift their home. But even she knows that they can’t afford the rent if they change from here. His knock on the door was answered by his eight year old daughter. She gave him a tight hug.

“Appa, I’ve finished learning everything today. Will you take me out tomorrow?”

“Ha ha, sure Chellam. Tomorrow is a Sunday. Just do one thing for me”.

  “Enna ? “

“Wake up early tomorrow, so that we escape heavy traffic”.