Her face was set in a dusky frame, supple cheeks fitted in with iota of glimmer at the maxims of chubbiness. Sparkling watery eyes, with hope brimming in and life pouring out, often veiled behind the smooth straightened plaits of her hair falling over. And collaborated to it the ripples all over the orchid lips, wet like the morning dew, gleaming with passion.
I could not let her picturesque reminisce out of my mind and I chose to walk a few meters before boarding into one of the usual public transport. I had already marched out about 300, crossing over the Trinity Circle through the Air Force Officer’s mess, still at MG Road, what bears the initials of a name sacred to the nation and well for me a humane inspiration.
335-E it was I remembered, the bus that would take me to my destination, quick, safe and sound. But I wanted to walk an extra mile, probably pushing myself to look into the world around, the new life, the new people and the tradition hitherto inexperienced, but probably I wasn’t. A minute more, the next turn, few more steps, I kept telling these to myself, obsessed by the grip of emotional dilemma haunting my senses. I was ambitious and I was emotional, an amateur with former and connoisseur with latter.
So well I was into a venture, not the one of troubling my legs, but of covering the milestones all on my feet, at the same time pulled in by the drag of parting away with the part of my soul, yes the one that I couldn’t take my mind off with, the one with dusky frame, supple cheeks, blah blah blah… nothing much but probably the overdoing of rouge, mascara and all those pesky cosmetic stuff. The bus was still there that would take me home. But I still wanted to walk, into that queer straight road, being unaware of where it’s going to take me. Well I must tell you that I am a nascent to this city, just about three quarters to a month old and still ignorant of the streets when out on my own feet. So I didn’t exactly know if I was even on the right track, or where would it lead to or does it actually lead to something and not turn off at a dead end.
Suddenly my phone started ringing. It was her. She told me she was waiting for me outside my house. We had actually planned to meet and I was late. For a while I debated my conscience. Breaking ties was not easy, for one I couldn’t hurt her and the other I couldn’t even hurt myself. Bonds of emotion clashed with bondages of aspiration. I held the call and then cut it out.
I was still walking, nothing to do with the ‘walk when you talk’ crap. The distance to my house was now worth a stroll, but I could get late seeing her around and I was adamant I would walk. There was a break in the session of haggle between me and my conscience when I saw the road that went straight until now split up into a divergence and only one of them would lead to my home. So I was there at a crossroads, muddled and freaked out, to take the 335-E that would take care of the path I ought to be or to choose out of two lanes to walk by. Coming to a standstill, now I wasn’t even walking (and not even talking). I waited there to put up a final thought about it until the bus would arrive. And there I saw it coming, my heart throbbing against my chest, pushing in the bloodstreams like pretending to burst through me. It ceased out of a sudden, the bus, not the beat of my heart. The gates opened up, just two steps far, and it’s still a dilemma if what I did next was an obvious choice of the fate.