Chizokho Vero
The clock said it was 10:30 am as I boarded a city bus from Razhu Point for new Ministers’ Hill for an appointment with a minister pertaining to grant-in-aid for our paddy field that was washed away in a landslide back home.
Later on the journey, I would be metaphorical about my feelings and the washed away fields. But that is for later.
I occupied a seat in the front row as though I was about to escort the passengers and my uncle owned the bus. Heads turned as a smart and attractive young women got on to the bus. She came straight towards me and shared the same seat. After that, my head did not turn but for twice.
I felt embraced like Shah Rukh Khan must have felt with his wife Gauri on their first date. I was motionless. A few Ek So bis Pans and a copy of the North East Sun that I was holding did not help me to overcome my shyness. Undoubtedly, I was powerless to rotate my tiny head, stiff like the wax idol of Amitabh Bacchan at Madam Tussauds but only too living!
When the conductor, in a traditional shawl, asked for fare, I unconsciously handed him, a 500 rupee note. “Itu change na pa bo,” (there is no money change for this amount) he said. The note went back in my pocket. In the embarrassing situation that I was in, she bailed me out by bearing the fare. The lady’s gesture touched me not to mention her appearance and her presence next to me, her jacket brushing against mine. I failed to find appropriate words to thank her. I must have smiled sheepishly.
Her hair let loose down to the shoulders, her blue eyes making the sky look paler and a black mole on her chin made Cindy Crawford look less attractive. Clad in a beautiful black jacket, a pair of light blue jeans and black Reebok sneakers with a leather hand bag, there was none so ravishing I had ever seen.
Seconds later as I felt-actually it was several minutes- the bus halted for a while at one of the stops (Opposite Oking Hospital) as some passengers vacated their seats. I was disappointed.
Luckily, despite me without a mole or sneakers not with her God- given beauty, she remained in the seat and prevented the little baby in me from crying!
As the bus crossed NSF Martyrs Park, near Capi (Vernacular daily newspaper) office, I assumed that I would be like an empty vessel if any words from my side failed to reach her. But I was helpless once again. How to start? What to converse? It disturbed me. I failed to find appropriate words despite vocal chords urging to help me out.
Having the bus stopped near State Academy Hall, she alighted and my vocal chords cursed me no end. I wish she would look at me and share a word before leaving. However, the desire did not materialize. With no other option, I remained calm and stared at her walking towards New Minister’s hill road. Who is she, anyway!
I keep expecting another big day when I could get an opportunity to meet her with total strength, sans nervousness. After all she was a thing of beauty, a joy forever for me. I still think of getting on a bus to the New Minister’s Hill and then decide against it. Thanks to John Keats.
