Glimpses from going back

Ah winters! Short days and long nights - right out of my 7th class Geography book. First thought which comes to my mind as I walk out of office at 6:30 pm. After a short call home, to tell them I'll be home in about two hours, I begin my daily trek to the bus depot. It is dark, and I am feeling hungry. I take out my muffler and wrap it around my neck. Though the winter has been a benign cohort from my childhood days, I've learnt not to trifle with the ice cold air currents which romance the velvety evening as I walk down the street.

Now, something has to be said about my muffler. It has a bright green border, and is covered with a pattern of black, red and white diamonds. I have had it since ages, and my friend G says that I look like a doodhwalah with it wrapped around my head. So I am quite used to the curious surreptitious glances it attracts from all around.

I walk down a long well lit street to the gate of the campus which opens onto the main road. And the world erupts in a flurry of headlights, taillights, street lights and red lights. As if being blinded is not enough, I am simultaneously deafened by blaring vehicle horns from all around. Between all this commotion, I accompany two college students, a portly aunty all tucked up in a shawl and a nervous old man holding a perky kid's hand, in their attempts to cross the road. We alight from the pavement, dodging first the bicycle rider, then the Maruti 800 and then stop dead in our tracks to let the DTC bus pass. The wine red Tavera screeches to a halt inches before aunty, just as she puts up her palm as the divine gesture asking him to stop. Everybody scrambles onto the safety of the road divider, and then a repeat performance ensues for the other half of the road.

I walk into a dark bus depot, with a solitary street light marking the spot where the peanut seller has setup his stall. Five rupees for hundred grams seems to be the going rate for roasted peanuts. I stuff my pockets with peanuts and rewri (small tablets of jaggery and sesame seeds). While I make the purchase, the bus strolls into the depot, like a drunken elephant. Everybody scrams to get a good seat, as do I. The conductor bellows at everybody to pay him the exact change for the ticket, while a dilapidated radio blares:

Zindagi to bewafa hai, ek din thukraayegee,
Maut mehbooba hai apni, saath lekar jaayegee,
Mar ke jeene ki ada jo duniya ko sikhlaayega,
Woh mukaddar kaa sikandar, jaaneman, kehlayega.

Another hour, and I'll be home.