Mr. Bibliophile Travelling on MTC Bus No. 29C

They say travelling in 29C is a punishment for the sins one committed in his Purv Janma. I say it is a pure bliss that helps make one understand the real world far far away from each one of us. Hop in 29C: You would witness archangels assuming different avatars of Lucifer. Luckily, that happens every time I board this vehicle to and fro college:

Two years ago; on a scorching summer’s day, my partner-in-this-crime Steni and I were waiting for 29C at the Stella Maris College bus stop. Four 29c buses whizzed past the stop inattentive of the college girls standing there (im) patiently. Steni and I thought of dragging our tired legs to the stop before our college- Chola bus stop- so that we can catch a less crowded 29C (very unlikely though). The notion of taking an autorickshaw did not even cross our minds as we were clearly aware of the bucks in our torn wallets. Anyway, we killed time rumour mongering our mutual enemies till a moderately-packed 29C turned up bringing us solace. Both of us hopped in through the back door, positioned near the penultimate seat, secured tickets and resumed buzzing.

By the time our evil talk had lost its gusto and we switched to serious discussions, 29C arrived at the next stop; Gemini. Accommodating the vacant second last seats we watched MOP Vaishnav girls and ICWAI students impinging into the bus making other commuters stranded. Although those were familiar faces and events, we loved observing the ‘survival of the fittest’ show on a regular basis. To our dismay, there was nothing novel occurring in the nerve wracking journey until we found a handsome man in black shirt with sleeves rolled up past elbow running behind the moving 29C. He truly resembled the guy my Amma once showed me during a Sunday Mass and asked how he appeared to me. “Chak De! India Sharukh,” I answered my mother on that day.

Amma and I are not die-hard fans of Sharukh Khan however we admire King Khan’s looks in Chak De! India and Swades. Appa says we are two of a kind that we don’t spare even an aged man of such looks. Yes, according to us they are something called GENTLEMEN.

This gentleman I saw on 29C jumped into the crammed full bus too smoothly and occupied himself on the back door footboard. Steni and I winked at each other as we could thus see him too closely. He seemed to have no traits of a South-Indian. Also an aura of pride and prejudice (that I strongly despise in humans) surrounded him. And that convinced me not to tag him a “Gentleman” any more and to take my eyes off the guy. Besides, Steni and I wanted to define ourselves to be those “seedhi, saadhi ladkiyaan” set foot on 29C purely for commuting purposes. But the woman in both of us found it impossible to restrict noticing the young- handsome man standing next to us. There was something phenomenal in him, something invincible in him, something steadfast in him. Steni and I unanimously made up our minds to venture out that “something” drawing us towards his smouldering eyes. And we found out what it was. A book!!! A book that he had been keeping so close to his heart. What else than books be capable of impressing true literature students!!! Indeed there is an intact urge in every literary enthusiast to fall for a man of (his) words. That theory thus got totally proven in our case.     

The curious bookworms in us at that spur of the moment launched into a mission. We anxiously glued to our seats firmly to discover the title of the book Mr. Bibliophile had been holding so long.

“It must be an anthology of metaphysical poems,” commented Steni.

“No.. no..it’s just a work of fiction,” I remarked scrutinizing the book with my wide-eyes.

“Never. Look right into his eyes properly. Can’t you see Donne?” my comrade quizzed me.

“Certainly not. I see George Orwell in him,” answered I at the top of my voice unwittingly inviting other passengers’ attention to our conversation.

“Ssshh. Everyone is listening. Put your finger on your lips,” Steni begged and stood from the seat as it was time for her to get down at Sterling bus stop.

I grinned and said a silent bye to her. She after descending the bus, waved and wished me good luck in a language popular only among our posse.

My partner very cunningly abandoned me all alone thus leaving the mission of discovering the title of the book on my shoulders. I was sure that the next day she would enquire if I had won the investigation and the subsequent events that took place in the bus after her departure. I wanted to show her that I had the guts to find out what she could not. Meanwhile I wished I could shrug off the incident with a make-believe story. But I was afraid to make it as my intimate friend Steni was uniquely skilled enough to figure out even the smallest of the small lies of her bestie. Anyway, I was adamant to put in more amount of pursuit so that my mission would be successfully accomplished.

I continued waiting for my Lady Luck to bestow her blessing on me. And my prey did not even seem to be making any sort of sharp movements for his hunter to feel lucky to be. The more I spied on him, the more he kept hiding the book from my vicinity. However I did not settle down. Only to be disappointed.

The 29C took a turn towards Barnby Road and Conductor Uncle whistled and called out K.M.C: my destination. Disgusted, I began to rise from my seat turning away the mission until I heard a disturbance on the footboard my prey had been standing. I saw a college boy requesting Mr. Bibliophile in plain Tamil to give him some way to get down. For that my prey turned around and said in a rude voice to his prey: “Unakku mattum dhaan ingai eranganam endru ninachitiyaa. Enakkum eranganam.” I felt like help Mr. Bibliophile drill into his hard skull that he was literally making a mountain out of a molehill. But I gave it up as I learned that I was thoroughly enjoying his free of cost show. 

And then those eyes that were brimming with anger till a few seconds ago caught my eyes next. To my utmost surprise, he handed over his book to me and said in a joyful tone: “This is for the restlessness you showed towards this book.” I was motionless hearing that and found myself fumbling for words to be in reflex. But before I could get back to my senses Mr. Bibliophile vanished. I got off the bus and walked home with his book in my hand. On the way, I looked at the cover page of the book. It said: “The Unbearable Lightness of Being.” 

Mission Accomplished.            

P.S: The book after my reading was donated to a public 

library because certain tokens of appreciation need to be 

kindly chucked out.