Just Plain Bad Luck by unknow

Author:unknow
Language: eng
Format: azw3
ISBN: 9788172343439
Publisher: Prakash Books
Published: 2012-11-20T16:00:00+00:00

That day, he was still looking at me. I pushed my eyeball to the corner and he was plainly examining me. I could feel the heat of his gaze entering my body. I was irritated, intimidated also. Tired of this glancing game, this time I looked straight into the ball of his eye. He then averted his gaze.

He was in bandages like all other days. The redness on his arm, the seemingly ever-bleeding bruise, dried and rocky, the swollen lip and his noticeable jeans, cut in places which were not in fashion. The guy seemed immersed in thoughts, round and round, or maybe it was the bus that was taking a turn. He knew I was looking at him; he made sure not to look at me when I was looking at him.

Then, the bus stopped.

I first saw him twelve days ago. He was dressed the same way everyday. It made me wonder; was he depressed or was it poverty? Though his clothes seemed decent, they were ripped unusually. There was something not quite right about that guy. Then followed the striking of eyes and turning away of the eyes, like balls at a snooker table hitting each other. Human instinct is sometimes life-threatening. Those twelve days were without colour as if you are being sketched brutally with pencil strokes with the tip poking your life. I remember the greyness, all grey remembrances. It was cold inside the bus even in summers; an atmosphere of staleness overtook the ruckus of the world outside the bus. The nauseating smell inside, sometimes made me gasp for air – fresh and breezy. I could imagine the sun fighting with the heaviness inside the bus and making its presence felt. But, was the bus jinxed or the atmosphere loaded with glumness unnaturally? The silence seemed interminable; there was a kind of noise in the silence asking you to keep the pervasive quietness out. Shutting your ears won’t help, air mixed with silence has an anatomy of its own, and can creep and crawl with a mind of its own. Sometimes, I saw a blurred vision, not acknowledging the absurd play of situations happening to me. Was I numb? The smell of decomposition, the still life, dampness all around went into my bones, incapacitating me, my sensory faculties.

Everyday, he was there on the same bus, route no. 313. I never saw him smiling. He used to stand alone in one corner; it was the same corner everyday. I was now exhausted seeing him just the same each day. It made me wonder at the monotony of his life, or was it the banality of my routine. But, it continued. I was curious, human instinct drove me to the reality. No one seemed to notice him except me. And if all of a sudden I turned around to see him, his arrow-like eyes were on me, maybe I could feel his eyes on me. It was definitely surprising for me to see someone just about everyday and find him ever the same.

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