Finally!! A post after a long time... This is a story I wrote sometime back. Read through...
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Let’s see… Alright – Hobbies! I believe that’s the word to start with.
People have so many strange hobbies, but I believe I have the weirdest. I simply love observing people…
My mother is a working woman. She works as an accountant at the State Bank. I being ‘small’ (that’s what she considers me to be – I am seven years old by the way), she always leaves me at the school-crèche on the way to her bank. Now this is what our daily morning routine is like – we get up at around six, have a bath and everything else and then leave for the bus stop by around
This reminds me so very well of that man in those black pants and checked shirt, with tangled hair and shoes which were just so dirty! He was so different from all the others who were standing over there at the bus stop. For one, he was quite grimy and since Mum always tells me to stay away from dirty people I took my position at the opposite end of the bus stop. He looked pretty sad to me. He just kept standing, staring hard at the sky – probably lost in his thoughts. The buses came in and went by but he seemed the least interested in getting up on any. He wasn’t even looking at them. Then something strange happened – he smiled, gave a quiet chuckle and then suddenly tears started to trickle down his cheeks. He then took out a bowl from his pocket and walked up to the person standing near him. I don’t really know what happened after that as Mum’s bus had arrived…
Things get much more exciting in the bus you know! Firstly, there are so many people around. Then you always have the option to look out of the window. It’s real fun I tell you.
The best way to enjoy the long travel is by observing the bus conductor at work. They keep changing and thus there is always something new to see. I am however, often reminded of this person who would approach the passengers, give a tap on their shoulders, collect the fares, return the change and then rub his hands on a handkerchief before continuing. Then there was this lady conductor one day. She was quite beautiful you know. What made her so very interesting for me was the manner in which she could talk to various people. She would often start to gossip with the passengers, crack a joke or two and give a long, loud laugh. But then she would often look outside and I could see her smile vanish and the glitter of her eyes somewhat gone. I really don’t know what it was that bothered her so much. She seemed so nice otherwise.
Now the way to Mum’s office is quite long. It takes us almost forty five minutes on any usual day. The busses remain pretty vacant for quite some time. Most of the passengers complete their morning sleep in the bus. Some of them have their breakfast and some keep themselves busy with the newspaper or by just looking outside.
We pass some very interesting places on the way. There are these lovely bungalows with grassy lawns, with huge iron fences around. I don’t know what scares these people so much! Then there are those huge governmental building complexes. They have these big names which make just no sense. Their white walls covered mostly with mono-colour posters and dusty window panes resemble in many ways the mood of the people one can see entering the place. They always seem to be in a world of their own – confused, that’s what I call them.
We also pass a few public gardens, most of them absolutely empty. People just can’t rid themselves of their sleep these days I believe – not even to enjoy the pleasures of a morning walk. Snoring fools, that’s what they are!
The bus passes a number of shops along the way. I especially wait for the tea stalls. They are so interesting! Once, our bus had a tyre puncture right in front of a tea stall. The stall had a big stove with a large kettle placed on it. There was a big, fat man in his underclothing, pouring stuff inside the kettle. Then there was a bleak woman who stood behind him and handed him various stuff from their larder I believe. There were a few seats randomly placed in front of the shop, presently occupied by a very old gentleman and a small kid, most probably his grandchild. The old man would occasionally sip tea from a porcelain mug. He would then wear his glasses and look around, observing often the trees and sometimes our bus. The kid sat quietly beside him, a biscuit in hand. He would often look at his biscuit and smile; he would then blush and look at the shopkeeper. I don’t know what was wrong with him but he was certainly acting in a strange manner.
School is easily the most boring place to be in. I share the school crèche in the mornings with a few other boys and girls who also have working parents. They are my best friends and I often discuss my thoughts with them. I really enjoy this part of the day very much. Eileen is my best friend. She is always ready to listen to my interesting stories, always ready to discuss. One day I was telling her about the man I once saw at the bus-stop.
“You know Eileen; he was a very different kind of person. You should have seen him. He seemed so very confused – smiling and then suddenly crying. And that bowl? I wonder what that was for…”
“I think I know what you are talking about”, she replied. She was eight and the extra year probably made her more experienced. “I think he was a ‘beggar’. Poor people - that’s what Mom told me when we saw someone like him on the street one day. Mom told me to stay away from such people…”
School starts at nine. Our class teacher comes into the class at about a quarter past nine. She is always fabulously dressed. She has this long and black hair with curls that keeps her hand busy all the time. Whenever she is not teaching us, she keeps smiling and staring at some odd location of our classroom. I don’t know what’s wrong with certain people – they just love to continuously stare at something or the other. So dumb!
Mum always waits outside for me after the school hours are over. We then go to her bank and have our lunch together in the canteen. It’s then that pretty interesting things happen. I am supposed to wait at the canteen until Mum’s work is done. I am also free to roam around.
There’s something I have noticed about the people who come to visit the bank. They always seem so tensed to me. They have this peculiar manner of walking on their toes, hands often full with bags of several kinds and minds equally clouded I believe! There is often a row between the bank officials and these visitors. Now these are interesting fights – it’s always the visitor who does all the shouting while the official always tries to calm him down. Interestingly, I have often noticed the officials swear and sometimes pull at their hair after the matter is over and the visitor gone! I wonder how they can act so strangely…
I have often observed my Mum at work. She is always surrounded with piles of paper. She is a hard-working lady I must tell you. She always keeps herself busy, both at office and at home. She has a charming personality. She has this unique ability to convince anyone – (I have had personal experience in this by the way!). She has other special powers. She always seems to know what I want or what I am expecting from her. Eileen tells me that all mothers have the same kind of powers. Superior beings, huh!
She’s normally always in a jolly mood. We often crack jokes at dinner time and watch some television together before retiring to bed. She often tells me weird stories and then goes away after she thinks I have started sleeping. The day ends just over there.
Something different happened a week ago. I just didn’t feel like sleeping after Mum had gone to her bedroom. I got up from bed and started for her bedroom, but I stopped at the door. I saw her sobbing. Tears rolled down her cheeks. She seemed absolutely broken. She was holding a photograph in her hand. I knew who was in that picture. He was my Dad. Mum had told me once that he worked in the air force. He had suddenly disappeared when I was about six months old and he never returned. Was it a longer version of the hide and seek game we play at school? If it was, I would rather he returned fast. He had no business making my Mum cry. Anyways, I probably don’t understand the entire situation I believe.
I did not feel very good after this you know. My mind was filled with questions. Why do people behave in such a strange manner? What is it that twists their thoughts so very often? How can they manage to be happy at one moment and become instantly sad at the next? I was instantly reminded of the lady conductor. What was it that made her look so sad at times? Eileen told me that she was depressed. I don’t know what that means anyway. Also, what has made people so very busy these days? They seem to have no time to take a stroll in the garden or to sit and have a cup of tea. It’s only the oldies and kids like us who seem to have all the time in the world. Eileen tells me people work extra these days just to keep themselves involved and think less. Weird idea I say! Why would you want to think less anyway?
I often think of the people I have come across. I try and analyse their behaviour. I am unable to do so most of the times. People have a strange way of thinking. I probably know very little. Eileen helps me sometimes but even she gets confused most of the time. I am then reminded of my mother telling me that I am just seven years old! I wonder when I can become big enough to understand the mysteries that this hobby of mine has laid in front of me. I wonder if Dad will ever return…