J calls just before close of office to know of my itinerary plans for Durga Puja. I say I have none. I walk to shuttle #8. The wait isn’t long before we move.
I remember I have my earphones today, dig into my bag and plug them to my phone. Kenny Rogers and others comfort me. Regional music – more of noise emanating from the in-bus speakers - leaks into my ears, but I have learnt to tolerate. I see a patch of lush greenery and wonder when was the last time I had felt the touch of grass. I can’t remember.
My mind drifts to an era when some of my favorite possessions were in the form of music cassettes. Forwarding and rewinding were such a delight! Didi had wanted Dad to buy an expensive music deck, and remained hopeful until crowding years ebbed her enthusiasm. I shared her ebullience, but not her expectation.
The bad roads won’t let me stay afloat, I reunite with the present. The driver puts on the lights and at once bathes us in cheap blue. We are a tad annoyed but accommodate the infiltration. I look at the windscreen. A miniature God sits tight in a frame dangling from the top. Lending artistry to the tiny prison are garlands of flashing mini-bulbs. The God dare not try to escape lest he be electrocuted. Some more flashing lights adorn the hind side of the driver’s cabin. The pattern is unintelligible, at-best like a Fractal abstraction. I lose interest.
I’m reminded of Scott & Amundsen, can’t recall why. A thousand other thoughts soon hog my mindshare, all incoherent. I love the songs that made today’s trip back home less painful, though my phone is sapped. I plug it to the power cable.