ETERNAL TURBULENCE

          Note: This happened during the start of my second semester. I had written it in paper and mom sent it to various magazines, in the hope of seeing her son's piece coming up. Perhaps, her love for me covered the fact that this one is not worth being published. So, here it is for the distinguished readers online.

          I was standing at the Saidapet bus stop with lots of hope to board a ‘good’ bus to Guindy (Well… ‘good’ refers to the bus with hot girls). My friend Kumar (name has been changed for the sake of anonymity) was becoming more and more restless. He was walking here and there with a tensed look and also seemed to be jumping up and down as if making some preparations for gymnastics in a spring – board. (Of course, I thought perhaps he had to answer nature’s call).

          “Giri, are you crazy? Another ten minutes and we’ll get fucked up in the crazy crowd. It’s peak time, dude. School children and office – goers would go mad even to hold on to a fully – loaded, jam – packed bus”, Kumar was yelling. I didn’t retaliate because I knew the mistake (of waiting there), or ‘blunder’, according to Kumar, was on my side.

          I had just got my books for my second semester from a book – bank, where the rent was far more than the original price of the books. “Choosing Mechanical Engineering has some other drawbacks like this apart from the lesser number of girls in the class, it seems”, I muttered to myself. I have to admit that I was cursing myself for asking Kumar to accompany me. He is a moron and turns his face to 180 degree whenever he spotted a hottie. But, I had no other option as there was not even one of my friends willing to come with me. Their hesitation was obvious because when some guy gets spotted in public with a bulk of books, girls believe him to be too nerdy and best try to avoid him.

          I was desperately waiting for ‘that one good bus’ to appear, when I just heard a voice behind me, “Thambi!”. I turned back to see a wrinkled, exhausted lady, who could, in any case, be easily above 70. Her eyes pleaded guilty for disturbing me. Although I stared deeply as if she had interrupted my mission of climbing Mt.Everest during the last leap, there was something that made me sympathize with her. “Ennamma?”, I enquired. I liked it very much to address elderly women with the motherly relationship.

          She said she had to return to Velacherry and was worried because of her night – blindness. She requested me to help her board the right bus, which she conveyed in due course of her stretched inspiration and expiration. I was in no mood to think about ‘cool chicks’ now. At once, I held her hands and sauntered in order to keep pace with her. I sensed there was something more than physical ailment in her.

          To get rid of her feeling tied and lonely, I asked with care and concern, “Unga kooda yaarum varalayamma?” (“Hasn’t anyone come with you, ma?”). At that instant, I didn’t know why, I heard my mom in mind – voice, “You stupid! You don’t know how to make conversations with elderly people.” Maybe, mom was right because the old woman had started weeping by then. “Sorry, extremely sorry”, I kept repeating to her. “No problem”, she said, wiping the tears with her sari. The next 120 seconds went in dumb silence. “Damn, fuck you, buddy”, I thought to myself, “You shouldn’t have asked her that.”

          It was then she started speaking up. “My son lives in Mumbai”, she said in Tamil and continued, “He is working in an MNC there. He chose his education, career and wife all by himself. His father died when he was a toddler.” At this juncture, she choked. It was evident she required some water. I bought her Kinley and she drank it earnestly. “It was I who brought him up sophisticated in spite of my being a coolie. I wanted him to become posh and rich. And..... And, that was where I had totally been absurd.”

          Again, she paused for a sob. I was seriously irritated. I don’t like people who take unnecessary breaks during the narration of a story. Mom knows it a lot. However, this was something real and saddening. So, I waited for her to go on. “My son graduated as a Mechanical Engineer from IIT – Madras two years back. He was the gold medalist then. I was on cloud nine as I imagined all my family’s burdens gone in an instant. Yes, it was all nice. He came to Chennai once in a month to take care of me. He built a new house for me at Velacherry with all luxuries. All was well until one day when he called me over phone and informed that he had married a North Indian girl. I wouldn’t have stopped him even if he had informed me earlier, would I? After all, I always wanted him to be happy.”

          I was shocked. I couldn’t bear that, really. I wished to console her, but my voice got stuck up somewhere between belly and vocal – chord. She continued, “Then, he never came back here. But, he sends money regularly. I never use it for myself and always donate it to some orphanage or temple. And, I am mulling about selling that house, too.” At this juncture, the required bus for her arrived at the stop. I was wondering whether she was left with some parts of the story or to ask her to board the bus. I didn’t want her to cry once again.

          “Amma, your bus has come”, I said in a soft voice, so as to sound serene. She boarded with the help of me and Kumar, and made herself comfortable in a window seat. She thanked me several times and finally said, “There’s no use of money, son. All this world needs is love, care and affection.” It seemed a hammer was being banged brutally on my skull several times, cursing my desire to get placed in some company, which paid me rich.

          I was brought back to reality by her rhetoric, “You are not an Engineer, right?” I suddenly turned pale and could not think of what and how to reply. “Tell me, son. Please do not say you study Engineering like my son.” A thunder rocked my cerebrum and collapsed all my nerves in the brain. “Er, well… Here, no, I, I…..”, I stammered and eventually managed, “I am doing my B.Com. I want to become an auditor.” She smiled in a contended manner, as the bus started moving. “God bless you, son”, she uttered, as I and Kumar stood there speechless, numb and aghast.