Chapter 5: Bus Stop Blues (2012-2013)
Life had settled into a comfortable routine in Bangalore. I found a great friend in Dipti, a lunch buddy with a genuine sense of humor and honesty. While oblivious to her deeper feelings, I was content with our platonic connection.
Then, in late December 2012, a chance encounter on the company bus changed everything. A burst of laughter, a misunderstanding about my Gujarati cooking instructions—Vibha's charismatic presence sparked an immediate connection.
Over the following weeks, our daily bus commutes became a highlight. She confided in me about her divorced parents, and when she spoke to her father on the phone, she changed from being carefree to responsible, which touched me. It was very soothing to see her transformation from a vibrant and playful girl to a caring and responsible daughter.
One evening, lost in the labyrinthine world of a book titled "Mind of God", I barely noticed when she slipped into the seat beside me. Glancing up, I met her gaze and offered a smile, a silent greeting across the crowded bus. But her response was unexpected.
"How can you read such a book after office hours?" she questioned, a hint of disapproval in her voice.
I explained my fascination with complex ideas and my thirst for knowledge that extended beyond the workday. She listened politely, a slight nod being the only acknowledgment. A comfortable silence settled between us, and I found myself drawn to the way she seemed to inhabit her own world, a world I longed to explore.
As the bus lurched to a stop at my destination, a pang of disappointment shot through me. We'd only had those stolen moments, yet our conversations, confined to the brief journey home, felt like a refuge, a world built in just twenty or thirty fleeting minutes.
However, there were signs I missed. The way she'd disappear at the last stop while I lingered, her initial disinterest in my bookish pursuits. Yet, an undeniable pull drew me to her. Navigating through awkward silences, we stumbled over words in our conversations, desperately seeking common ground in the vast expanse of our differences. Once I excitedly pointed out the window,
"Can you see all these 4-digit vehicle number plates?"
Her response was a cautious, "Okay...?"
Grinning, I assured her, "It's a very simple but interesting puzzle."
"Go ahead," she said, a hint of amusement in her voice.
I then launched into my explanation about the near-universal presence of either repeating digits or a predecessor or successor in these license plates. She peered out the window, genuinely intrigued, a smile spreading across her face.
My desperation to spend more time with her resulted in some awkward situations, such as offering a poorly received "puzzle" about car number plates. I created an elaborate, heartfelt text message proposing a date for late 2013 while I was oblivious to my infatuation:
"He doesn't remember which day it was, but for sure, that day was very special for him. He was going home early, very hungry. He called his home to prepare delicious khichadi. He was speaking in his mother tongue and talking very loudly. A sweet, catchy female laugh from the seat next to him suddenly caught his attention. Initially, he was confused about her laugh. Then quickly he realized that she might understand what he was stupidly and loudly broadcasting, i.e., she was also Gujarati. He saw her stunning smile on that first day. It was like thousands of bulbs lightening together at a New Year party. He saw her eyes like a window to her heart, showing her zeal and vibrancy. He saw her juicy pink lips like the soft petals of a rose, full of life. Her voice was just like a sweet, rhythmic electromagnetic wave, carrying signals of her integrity and innocence. He didn't know what happened, but he was sure there was something about her. Later, he was so restless that one evening he asked her for a..."
My heart pounded as I sent the SMS to Vibha. It was more than just a text; it was a culmination of stolen glances, whispered conversations, and a growing sense of affection. I stole glances at her as the message was delivered, desperately trying to decipher her reaction from her body language. I prided myself on being a good observer, but emotions always muddied the waters. Unlike me, who wore his heart on his sleeve, Vibha seemed an enigma—a master of subtle expressions, both genuine and feigned.
As she read the message, a slow seriousness settled on her face, a stark contrast to her usual vibrant smile.
Finally, she looked up, her voice subdued. "For a...?"
"Well, you know what it should be!" I blurted out, a touch of desperation creeping into my tone.
"A real date, somewhere with better music than this bus engine, more time than 20 minutes, and a seat more comfortable than this tiny thing."
The silence stretched, thick with unspoken emotions. My stomach churned with anticipation.
"What happened?" I finally managed to get a tremor in my voice. "Didn't you like it?"
"It's sweet," she admitted, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. "But honestly, I don't think I'm ready for that."
"Why?" My heart sank.
"I just got out of a relationship," she explained softly. "I'm emotionally unavailable right now." - By the way, I have had no clue how can one be in a binary state such as emotionally available or unavailable?
Disappointment washed over me, a cold wave threatening to drown the embers of hope. Maybe I had been too hasty. The cultural nuances surrounding dating in India added another layer of confusion. Here, a simple request could feel loaded.
Despite the rejection, I clung to a sliver of hope. We continued our daily bus commutes, the stolen moments filled with conversation and laughter. Vibha's beauty seemed to intensify with each passing day, especially on Fridays, when she seemed particularly radiant. Perhaps a harmless flirt was in order.
"Why do you look so stunning today?" I teased.
"Maybe because the chances of a subordinate looking gorgeous increase on Fridays," she countered, a playful glint in her eyes and a hint of pink coloring her cheeks.
Meanwhile, Dipti's life took a turn. The news of her engagement sent a bittersweet pang through me. While I was genuinely happy for her newfound happiness, it highlighted the stagnant nature of my own situation with Vibha. I was trapped in a self-made purgatory, clinging to false hope and fantastical possibilities while reality loomed—a painful truth I desperately tried to ignore.
This one-sided yearning was a lonely prison. It made me question the unspoken rules of love and attraction. Why did men bury their feelings under layers of bravado while some women, like Dipti, perhaps masked their true emotions? In the end, all this emotional dissonance led only to one thing: a heart laid bare and the sting of unfulfilled desires.
I called Vibha after a few drinks and some pent-up emotions. The conversation was a reality check. Her anger and clear declaration of interest in someone else shattered my self-created illusions.
Yet a strange sense of relief accompanied the sting of rejection. The truth, however bitter, was preferable to the emotional limbo I'd been in. It was a humbling experience, a dismantling of the "stud" persona I'd built around myself.
Ironically, after her outburst, Vibha apologized for her anger. My response, however, was calm and self-assured. At last, the fog of confusion lifted, and the clarity that washed over me brought a sense of liberation and self-discovery. We shared a final, awkward ride before her departure to IBM, a parting that felt more like a liberation.
This experience, as painful as it was, became a turning point. The heartbreak led to valuable self-awareness, a crucial step in my journey towards self exploration.
*-*-*-*
When I reflect on these memories, I'm amazed by the wide range of feelings they arouse. The joy of observation, the pain of rejection, and the comfort of shared laughter have all shaped my current self. Even though some of our relationships came and went, they all contributed to my understanding of the things that I really value in friendship and love. The path continues, and I face the future with a heart open to new experiences, knowing that even the most unlikely people may impart invaluable wisdom about love and self. Although this protracted series of events may seem to be coming to an end, it is really just a warm-up before the really difficult parts. However, let's halt for a little.
DESSERT:
The reality remains, though: from a writer's point of view, a fully fictional work appears like a foreign zone, yet I think it's still considerate to infuse fantasy colors into real encounters. The things I've written have always been reflections of my emotions. It doesn't matter whether it's muted, magnified, or totally metamorphed; what matters is that it resonates with my emotions and morals.
