A Journey into Life

As I boarded a luxury bus from Jaipur to Delhi, I thought myself lucky to grab a window seat thinking i would be able to capture the scenery outside. While looking out of the window at the bus stand, my mind was still wandering in the alleys of those old, yet magnificent buildings of the Pink City of India, carrying a stale pink colour which looked faded, striving hard to set off with the name of the city. The gigantic walls share the same misfortune with the other historical buildings of our country, carrying the names and messages of those unknown lovers, who in an attempt to lend immortality to their love for each other had scribbled here and there, flaunting a gruesome display of their romantic enterprise, clearly displaying their indifference and disregard towards their heritage. While I was struggling to figure out a reason which could justify this shameless act, I found myself suddenly pushed aside.

I found an oversized woman looking apologetically towards me and pointing out to the vacant seat beside me where I had kept my small handbag. I smiled and shifted aside to let her sit. She was sweating profusely and in fact breathing too hoarsely for her age. Clad in a silk saree, expensive and heavy it looks, the ones we usually see the characters wearing in those popular soaps on television like Kyunki saas bhi……… and many other never ending serials . These sarees, believe me contribute a lot towards the TRP, Television Rating Points, a criterion that indicates the popularity of a programme.

She was carrying a small bundle in her lap, which later to my shock; was a baby who I assumed must be a year old. As she finally settled after adjusting the extent of her outfit, I found another pair of eyes staring at me which had been till now hiding behind his mother’s vastness. A small boy, not more than 2 years old had been trying hard to hide himself in her mother’s saree, adding to the anguish of that lady, who was still struggling to adjust that 5 meter long fabric which was unable to hide those chunks of flesh which were hanging out lending a very ghastly appearance to the lady. I gestured towards the small boy to come and sit in the small space which I could manage to squeeze out between his mother and me. However he looked more terrified and pulled the saree harder to hide himself.

Suddenly the frustrated mother slapped him, giving a sudden jerk to his chubby cheeks and shoved him inside that tiny gap between her and me. The boy with his tear filled eyes nevertheless still buried himself again in his mother’s lap, trying to cover the sudden humiliation met to him. I simply forgot those buildings and looked at that hapless mother and those kids, trying to justify this act of hers, when suddenly I saw her muttering her something in Marwari; one of the most commonly used language which could be easily differentiated from other languages. She might have just been thinking aloud, I actually found her talking to her husband to lend attention to her plight.

A man, wearing large white kurta and pyjamas, matching well with his wife in terms of size was seated calmly in the adjacent seat. He was busy with a tooth pick in his hand, trying to dig out the remains of gutka/pan masala which had stuck between his discoloured and stained teeth. He simply seemed to be unmoved and chose not to come out of that indulgence with his teeth. While I looked at that straight faced father, I could portray a Marwari businessman, who simply refused to pay any heed to his woman as he was too lost in his own world of calculations, profits and losses.

Well, during the rest of the journey, I silently witnessed the woman, struggling between her own slumber and at the same time, trying to hold her kids, who could easily fall down anytime due to the sudden jolts of the bus which was running fast on the highway. As we again boarded the bus again after a short stay of 20 minutes at the midway, the woman was looking relaxed now, simply forgotten her distress, watching her husband with love and gratitude, while her kids were munching on the potato chips and drinking cola funded by their father while he was still busy with his own additions and subtractions.

I didn’t realize when I suddenly dozed off. A soft chuckle suddenly stirred me out of my fitful sleep when I saw that small boy leaning towards the window, trying to peep outside, his eyes gaping at a large airplane which had just taken off from the international airport.

I looked at the mother, who had at first turned uneasy due to his sudden excitement, was equally thrilled at the sight of that plane; her eyes open in bewilderment looking at that large structure of metal, soaring across the boundless sky with an unmatched rapidity and freedom, the traits which she had been badly missing in her slow-paced and confined life. As light from the window panes felled directly on her face, I could clearly see that she must not be older than 22-23 years; a face still carrying tenderness of a child which remarkably matched her son’s. It was face of a girl who had been hurriedly turned into a mother of two by a man who couldn’t afford to spend longer time in relieving himself of his duties and liabilities as a man so that he could be busy in his own world of calculations.

Tags: woman, traditions, man, marriage, pink city, marwaris, business, child

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