Archive for March, 2012

Clutching the railing..

28th February 2012
On this particular evening, I was returning back from work; with my friend in this wonderful city called Colombo; I am falling more and more in love with. We got off from the bus, and were waiting in the Dehiwala halt to get into another. There was a man , standing right in front of me; clutching to the railing nearby. It was a usual evening until the clouds started to shift and play thunder rolls.
My friend seemed to ask something to the guy in Sinhala. Even after 4 months its difficult for me to understand Sinhala in native conversation, when they speak fast its all “dot-dot-dot” at break -neck speed . I wasn’t paying attention either, I was already occupied with the thoughts of rain. I love rain; the very idea of rain is so romantic. I love it when the sky decides to be generous and summons clouds from faraway places. The clouds then merge up in the sky; with amazing thunder rolls and fall down graciously to bless the thirsty earth. Rain makes me happy; the sight, the feel, the smell of rain lights up a smile in my face; anywhere and anytime.
I moved further towards the railing, obsessively occupied with thoughts of upcoming rain , towards his side when he turned his head sideways. He was blind; visually impaired. I looked down abruptly, uncomfortable and ashamed, as if he could see the pity that was surging inside me for him. I didn’t look up until I convinced myself that this guy didn’t need my pity; he was still able, even more than me probably and had made his way in this world of people with eyesight.
Buses came, buses went. People got in, people got off. Thunders roared beyond the clouds. Our bus hadn’t come; and his also didn’t seem to come; and he was still clutching the railing. Then, it occurred to me that maybe his bus had come and gone but he must have missed his conductor shouting the destination. We couldn’t hear either. We had to look for the bus number. It occurred to my friend as well; and thank god for that! They started conversing in Sinhala again; the same “dot-dot-dot”; but this time I was desperate to understand it. Pointless, even if I understood it, I wouldn’t know where the place was. Foreign place, foreign person, foreign language; yet the desire to be of some use to this person were so homegrown; so from the heart.
Then, it rained. Like British people would have said , it rained cats and dogs. We were about to run to some cover; but he didn’t budge. I had but one small umbrella. My friend went to find cover so at least two of us could accommodate and there we stood, I clutching my umbrella and he still clutching the railing. Continue reading