Of rides you don’t know of

“I would like to tell my story,”
Said one of them so young and bold,
“I’d like to tell you my story
before I turn into gold.”
-Leonard Cohen

Losing Myself

By Kamlesh Pandey

The man behind me was drunk. The man in front of me was dumb. The woman across me was dirty, anybody could see that, and sick. She had tied a dirty scarf around her head, just above the forehead. I had seen her throwing up when the bus had stopped for the lunch and since then I had been looking at her. I sort of developed some sympathy for her. She was traveling alone and I wondered where her people would be. I too was traveling alone and I knew where my people were. I don’t miss my people much, but that woman somehow made me miss the folks at home. I nearly phoned them but there was no network at that place and time of the day. While I was trying to make a phone call I happened to look at the time in the phone. It was 14:14. That reminded me of the date way back to 2007. I had received a message from one of my friends reminding me what a special day that was. That was 07-07-07. When I remember things I sort of become happy, because most of the time I think I don’t have a good memory. I am sort of happy even now. I can very clearly remember that sick woman, that drunken fella and that poor dumb guy. Whenever I see things that I fear of, I become melancholic. The drunken fellow made me feel guilty, reminding me of my own drunken babbling, and almost made me think over my plan of the day: a beer in the evening, after settling down in a hotel. The dumb guy stir something in me. For a moment I thought I too had gone dumb and just to make sure I hadn’t I asked the man sitting next to me if he was in the army. We hadn’t spoken to each-other before that. He said ‘yes and no!’ ‘Ok, so you are retired?’ I kind of prolonged the talk. He laughed and turned his whole body towards me and said ‘I am not in the army, if you mean to ask if I am in the Nepal Army; but, yes, I am in the army, if you know that there is a greater force and it’s called P.L.A. But how did you know I am in the army?’ ‘I too would be if I were as strong as you are!’ that was my now-shut-up-I-am-not-dumb sentence in plain disguise. He was trying to say something but I took out the book and started reading. And later in the evening I appreciated his sense of understanding to not to disturb someone who is pretending to read! I closed the book soon enough and looked at the sick woman on the sly. She had closed her eyes and she was sitting uncomfortably, or may be she was in comfort with one of her legs on the seat and one of her hands on the head.

The bus bumped against the stone (perhaps) and I almost fell off the seat. My water bottle wasn’t lucky enough, though; it fell down and rolled down underneath the seat of the dumb guy. As I had expected, he gave it back to me. I said ‘thank you!” and he nodded “not at all!” I overheard the drunken fellow complaining “if you don’t know how to drive ask for the help from me! Bloody murderer! Is not he?” I told myself, ‘No, he isn’t!”