anirudhchandrakant

'I need to drop off a printout'

'She's gone out and will be back by 7:30'. It was 5:00.

'I am standing outside your apartment. Can i leave it with you?'

'No'. She refused to take a printout.

'Unh?'. Maybe i heard wrong.

'It would be better if you gave it to her'. Yes, i know that.

'But she is not at home'. Sounding a little desperate now.

'She's gone out and will be back by 7:30'. She reiterated.

I left.

****

I was walking towards my bike when, like it often does in Bangalore, it began to pour suddenly. I decided to take shelter under a large mango tree and wait for the rain to let up. Soon, another man, running with his hand on his shirt pocket, joined me under the mango tree and we exchanged glances like two strangers do when are tied by the same circumstance. He soon started to complain about the rain and began to make conversation. He was 32, worked in a electronics shop nearby and hated what the IT crowd had done to his city. I was 26, worked as a salesperson in a clothes store and hated what the IT crowd had done to my city. We were soon talking about cricket, the latest Puneet Rajkumar movie and the lack of places to get good coffee. The rain slowly calmed down to a drizzle and i took my leave. I began to walk to my bike and he calmly opened his black umbrella and walked away.

****

The bus i am in has been stationery for over 45 minutes. As have all the other vehicles on the road. Someone gives us patchy details of an accident up front. Someone else talks about a political rally. A wise man asks us to get off and go home. Of course, no one does. The opportunity cost of doing so after waiting for nearly an hour is too high. As the bus slowly begins to move, there is a collective sigh of relief. As we inch forward, the reason for the delay becomes apparent. It is a gory collision. A truck filled with more sand than it can handle had collided with an auto transporting more coconuts than it could handle. The truck has toppled over and the sand is all over the road with coconuts strewn all over - it seems a little like a beach. The auto is cut in the middle; both the pieces beyond recognition. The driver has died while still in the auto and you can still see the half-dried blood on the seat cover. Shards of glass reflect the scene a thousand times. There is absolute silence in the bus as everyone's senses are still taking it all in. A few silent prayers, a few open mouths and a few averted eyes convey the emotion.

The man sitting next to me has a pair of ear phones on, is oblivious to the whole thing, and is singing loudly, while bobbing his head back and forth, 'Don't you wish your girlfriend was hot like me..'

****