The Girl in the Queue
By Deepankar
Published by Deepankar at Smashwords
Copyright © 2012 Deepankar
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without written permission from the author.
In my opinion Mumbai traffic is for bigots. It’s not possible to drive through broken roads and miles of bumper to bumper traffic unless one is insensitive to the environment. Only the ‘me first’ kind of people can drive regularly in the city. Once I dared to take my car to office. After an hour of switching gears, from the first to the second, hustling through traffic crawling at a snail’s pace, cursing the drivers who cut lanes, I had enough. By the time I reached office, my back was aching, my ankles were sore and I was completely jaded. The drudgery of driving didn’t compensate for the luxury of traveling in an air conditioned box and therefore I decided to avail the company bus service. I had to catch an auto-rickshaw first, from my home, but it was a short hop of fifteen minutes to Andheri flyover, the departure point of the shuttle. The shuttle was rarely full and every employee got a place to sit. It always came on time and took slightly over an hour to reach office. I invested the time in reading, listening to music and even watching movies on my laptop, when I felt like it.
Mumbai city, with a population of twenty million, behooves its citizens not to pay attention to things around them, in order to preserve sanity of mind. Everything is so chaotic that the only way people manage to go on with their lives, is to build a virtual corridor, with work and home in its two ends. They walk in that zone impervious to anything else happening around them. They ignore traffic, bad roads, polluted air, corrupt officials, greedy neighbors and life in general, to go on with their version of life. Thankfully I hadn’t caught on that habit yet. I was an outsider, first time in the city, who found everything interesting. I had come to the city a few weeks back. I was ready to soak up life as it unfolded before me every day. My eyes roved the streets looking for idle distractions. The city was so cosmopolitan. It belonged to everybody who lived in it. It changed people and in return, was changed by them. Everyone had their own style and expression, from the youngest to the oldest. People from all over the country came to work in Mumbai and brought their personal touch to it. There was tolerance and respect for each individual irrespective of color, caste, creed, religion or sex. Women were extended great courtesy and treated with respect. I thought this would be the only city in India where good looking women habitually used the city bus services without fear of eve teasing. I had started to like the city and the large heartedness of its inhabitants. They had taken me in too, after all.
The first day I was at Andheri flyover, waiting for my office shuttle to arrive, I noticed a girl in the queue alongside mine. She was pretty but that was a common enough trait when there were so many beautiful women in the city. There was something special about her that caught my attention. I knew a lot about good looking women because I was in the ‘bird-watching’ business. It was my favorite outdoor activity. I’d go into raptures watching each one of those women who hurried to reach their offices and showed various shades of grace and beauty while waiting for or in the act of catching a bus, taxi or auto-rickshaw. The way they dressed, stood, talked on their phones, fidgeted, and pulled the hem of their shirts, placed the hair falling on their face behind their ears, made faces and did a thousand other things, were a gift to my small town eyes. It delighted me to observe beauty amidst such chaos on the streets. My parents were after me to marry a girl they liked, daughter of their friend, but I kept dodging them. There was a romantic inside me who was searching for that uplifting romance that I knew ‘arranged marriage’ wouldn’t offer. Meanwhile, I was not going to give up the moral right to look at and appreciate all forms of beauty till that happened. The woman was nature’s best creation who often went unappreciated or appreciated imperfectly. What made me observe the girl closely was the fact that she was reading The Economic Times. It was a rarity to find a woman reading a finance newspaper. Finance happened to be my domain too. I was an analyst with a leading consulting firm with its offices in Vikhroli. Hence my interest was piqued. That accompaniment made her special, made her stand out in a city of millions. All my instincts told me she must be a rare mix of beauty and brains. She was dressed formally showing good taste in choice of fabric and colors. She was tall, taller than most women around her. She had a well-proportioned body. Her skin was extraordinary, smooth and shiny like velvet. Her silky black hair fell up to her hips and jounced happily with every movement of her head. Dark glasses hid her eyes but gave me hope that she might be noticing me even though her head remained fixed, gazing at the pages of the newspaper. She wasn’t curious like me. While she waited for her bus, she showed no interest in the lesser mortals around her.
I saw the girl only during the mornings. Usually, I was at the flyover, five minutes before ten, before my shuttle arrived. Watching that beautiful girl compensated for the heat and the smoke. Her timings coincided with me, more or less. She would always be there before me, even on the days I came early but we’d leave together, she taking one of the city buses, and I the office shuttle. Her firm apparently didn’t have their own shuttles, and obviously she wasn’t paid well enough to take the auto-rickshaw every day. She waited patiently in the hot sun and humbly boarded the crowded city bus. I felt it was gross injustice to have a queen suffer like this, like ordinary people. I was proud of my intelligence, power of observation and deduction. They were tools of my profession, skills that I used daily at work. In a matter of days I had come to understand facets about the girl without even talking to her. She was matter of fact. She read the newspaper the way I did, absorbing the core messages, flipping through the articles, separating fact from opinions, without reading each and every word. The more I observed her, the more I liked her. She was aloof. She hardly spoke to anyone in the queue, responding to rare requests from fellow travelers about buses and routes, with a few curt sentences. She was quite reserved in her manner. Most women would chatter ceaselessly on their cellphone, unburdening their spare time, on hapless friends and relatives but not her. The few times I observed her speaking on the phone, the conversation barely lasted a minute, as if she was giving or taking instructions. There was a sense of purpose in her actions, a maturity which secured my admiration. She looked like someone who knew what she wanted from life. Slowly, over a couple of weeks, I was being weaned away from the awareness of other women. As she grew upon me I stopped looking at others. I had no idea Cupid was working on me. I began liking her. I thought about her at work, while I was traveling, whenever I was alone and at night when I was going to sleep. She occupied my active as well as subconscious mind. An incredible urge to know her pestered me. I didn’t lack courage to speak with her; I just didn’t want to become a pest. I reasoned there would be hundreds of men like me who might be falling in love with a beautiful girl like her and if all of them started proposing to her, she would hardly be able to lead a normal life. I cared for her.
This went on for a month. Unable to bear the suspense, desiring to know something more about her, facts which my Sherlock Holmes like deductions couldn’t reveal, I followed her one day boarding the red city bus after her. I thought if I could find out where she worked, it’d be a start but it wasn’t a good one because the instant I boarded the bus, I thought I discerned a faint frown on her face. She must’ve noticed the departure from the daily pattern of things. Her peripheral vision probably registered my movement and she didn’t like what she saw. She was obviously an intelligent woman. I was full of admiration which was quickly followed by self-reproach. Had I lost my mind? What was I doing following a stranger? Was this a way to gain her favor? I was so ashamed but I was committed to my tomfoolery. Preparing myself for the worst, I got down with her at Seepz. She turned her head, looked me over and then shaking her head started walking down a narrow lane which shot off sharply from the main road. I was in a dilemma. If I followed her any further, I would make it evident that I was chasing her which could lead to unpredictable results. Not following her would leave me where I was before, with no additional information about her. The first scenario weighed on my mind and my courage gave away. I stopped at the curb, as she disappeared into another lane. I told myself I could come another day. There was no need to hurry. Patience was virtue.
I was hooked. I changed my routine. Every day I followed the girl to Seepz in her bus and then caught an auto-rickshaw from there to my office. It gave me pleasure to observe her. She behaved so majestically in the crowded bus. Some guy or the other would invariably offer her his seat. I didn’t blame them. Who would want such a queen to keep standing? The promise of a reward in form of a smile or a word of thanks made gentlemen out of the roughest of characters. More often than not she’d decline their offer, breaking their hearts, condescending to accept, only when they were too insistent.
I knew what I was doing was crazy and made no sense. She would probably take me for a creep and hate me for the rest of her life. Though she never bothered to even glance at me after the first day, the fear of her disapproval stopped me from pursuing her to her office. I would get off the bus after and watch her disappear down that lane, walking rapidly, uncaring of the love struck man dogging her steps. I guess I didn’t exist for her. I asked myself if I should talk to her and confess that I had started to love her. Yes, that was the truth. I had come to love her and my love was fast turning into an obsession, although a weak one. I hadn’t the lover’s courage which would’ve enabled me to take a solid, meaningful step. Oh! How pathetic was my life? I had no control over my feelings. Neither was I able to confront her nor my own craziness. Thinking about her day and night was making me dysfunctional. I wanted her but couldn’t hope for her. In fact, I was sure of a rejection. A girl like her would hardly bother having a dialogue with a stranger like me; let aside spare her affections for me. Still I was not able to let go of her. I had reached a stage where she had to reject me outright, for me to get over this strange feeling which had become the raison d’être of my existence.
It was nearly two months. I had been diligently following this routine without a day’s break. What was I hoping for I knew not? It had become a bad habit, a stale passion which was not giving any thrill but was keeping me bound. Probably I was hoping she’d take pity on me and ask me to get lost. Every night I’d decide to rid myself of this obsession but the following day I’d be again on the bus. One look at her and my feet would automatically follow her. I was beyond shame or disgust. I was like a drug addict. Only my drug couldn’t be bought or procured. It had to be earned but I didn’t know how. One day the unexpected or rather the expected happened. The girl got off the bus, turned abruptly, came up to me and said, ‘You should stop wasting your money following me. Take your company bus, as you used to, and leave me alone.’
I was taken aback. I looked around, half-afraid that the next moment she would start screaming, if she still saw me standing there. I would’ve run if my feet would’ve moved. I thought for a second I’d pretend I didn’t know what she was talking about but something in her look kept me in line. How could I put on an act before the Goddess? Her eyes weren’t threatening but they held me in an unwavering gaze. There was a sort of pity in it which unnerved me, shamed me. I nodded, too embarrassed to say anything. She turned her back to me and was already on her way when I finally gathered the courage to open my mouth. The moment was slipping through my fingers like sand. ‘Hey! Please stop! Please!’ I sighed in relief when she turned. I thanked God for giving me an opportunity. ‘I’m sorry. I know I’ve been following you and I shouldn’t have. But you see I can’t help it. I’d like to see you, once. My name is Ashok Verma. I work with a consulting firm. I mean you no harm. I’m your admirer, the best admirer you’ll ever find. I think we’ve a few things in common. I swear.’ The sentences shamelessly tumbled out of my mouth in an incoherent manner.
She stopped and looked at me with an amused smile which she hid quickly and said, ‘I don’t know you. I am asking you politely to stop following me. I could’ve shouted or called for the police but you look like a decent person and I wouldn’t like to give you trouble. But, please, don’t push your luck.’
I couldn’t let go after coming this far. This was more than I could’ve managed on my own. ‘Please, only once, so that I don’t bother you again. I’d like to know a little about the person who has made such a great impression on me. I don’t even know your name. Can’t you be a little kind?’ She hesitated. I think the last sentence was a clincher. Our conversation was attracting curious glances. She quickly gave me her number asking me to call her. ‘I’m not making any promises and don’t ever follow me again,’ were her parting words. My heart was filled with joy. There was hope. I was a drowning man catching at straws and fate had sent a big log floating in my direction.
My hope was short-lived though. The girl had made a fool of me. I spent the rest of the day calling her but with no success. I became restless after the twentieth call. ‘She should at least have the courtesy to answer my call,’ I thought. I should’ve known better. I was so naïve. Perhaps it was her way to dismiss me in a kind manner. She had tolerated my nuisance long enough. However, I was determined not to give up. I had tasted hope and it sustained me.
I went to the flyover much earlier than usual next morning. She was there, the first one in her queue. I was perplexed. I couldn’t understand why she came so early. Perhaps she too enjoyed the sights of Mumbai rising up and starting a day though she never showed an active interest to the hustle-bustle around her. I gave her a beaming smile which went unacknowledged. I was not discouraged. I had to try my luck. I took a few steps towards her but she shook her head, so very slightly, signaling me not to come and talk to her. I took her cue and respectfully waited for the city bus to follow her. When I got down at Seepz, she was waiting for me with a grim look on her face. ‘Listen here. You don’t know anything about me. My life is complicated. I’ve a great many things to do after work. I can’t explain everything and don’t think I need to. You’re a nice guy but I don’t have time to socialize with anyone. I want you to understand that and leave me alone. I don’t want you to be disappointed,’ she said, commanding and pleading at the same time. I was surprised, like a schoolboy who is praised by the teacher instead of being reprimanded after committing a mischief. I looked for sarcasm in her voice but found none. She was actually thinking about me. There was no end to the mystery around her. I was desperate to spend a little more time with her.
‘Could I walk with you to your office?’ I said. She was looking at me quizzically. I was afraid she’d think I was prying into her affairs and hurried to offer an explanation. ‘I have a car but I don’t drive because I hate the traffic in this city. But if I can drop you, I won’t mind it at all. You won’t have to waste time and we can get to know each other better. Would you allow me to do that for a few days? If you don’t like it after that then I swear I would disappear from your life. You’ll never see me again on the Andheri flyover again, I swear.’ She laughed and nodded her head in agreement. I was overjoyed. My sincerity and constancy had paid off. She had felt the depth of my passion.
She kept her word. She came and sat in my car, next day, when I came to the flyover to pick her. The radio was playing ‘Jealous Guy’ which brought a smile on her face. ‘I love Lennon. Think in a group your expression gets stratified. Not saying Beatles weren’t great but he made such excellent music on his own. I guess that is why so many bands break up. By the way, my name is Simran Baweja.’ Oh God! Everything she did or said made me fall in love with her ever so more. Simran sure had class. I kept stealing glances at her as I drove hardly believing my luck that she was sitting alongside me. In reply to my questions about her work, she said she was an Analyst in a firm which analyzed creditworthiness of customers belonging to big insurance and credit card companies in US. She said bitterly that she prepared reports which the firm sold for hundreds and thousands of dollars. I dropped her in front of her office, Negative Solutions and went to mine, not worried or distraught with Mumbai traffic anymore. It had given me the opportunity to find love.
I chauffeured her for a month though at the end of it I had made very little progress. She blocked me from knowing her after a certain point though I told her everything about myself. I spoke on my own about my family, my small town upbringing and life at Bhopal, my education, friends, and my job and about my aspirations. The more I opened myself, the more she remained hidden. Her inner self was sacred and I remained a stranger to it. I figured I would’ve to earn the privilege of knowing her intimately and it wouldn’t come in a day or a week or a few weeks. I don’t know if our daily drive amounted to a relationship. I don’t know if we were even friends. But whatever we had was completely on her terms. If she refused to answer a question, I had to drop the topic though I loved her equally for her denials. There was a charm in everything she did. She was from Delhi and had been in Mumbai for the past five years. My knowledge about her personal life stopped there. She wasn’t excited about her past and gave me a distinct feeling that it was her private domain. Other than that she was open to any conversation. I could talk to her about stocks, books, politics, music, movies and even about Cricket. She had an opinion about everything. We talked about the entire world and what was happening in it, debated on why it was the way it was and questioned our roles and motives in it. I felt from her arguments that her life had been bitter and it made me extend my sympathy, unconditionally. She was quite strict about our rules of engagement too. She wasn’t available anytime after I had dropped her or before. She refused to reveal where she lived and never allowed me to pick her up on the way back from office. She would never answer my calls or reply to my text messages. Sometimes I wondered if she was actually married and was carrying on with me to escape the monotony of her marriage, or, if she had escaped from home with her boyfriend who might’ve dumped her after promising to marry her. The latter explained her mistrust better. In the absence of facts, I was full of conjecture and since I couldn’t make anything of the mystery surrounding Simran, I decided to celebrate it. Admittedly, it made me feel very special. I had what no one could’ve had, a beautiful and mysterious girlfriend. I had faith that eventually she would come around to trusting me completely.
A few more weeks passed in this manner. My patience was fraying. I hungered for love. I was completely in love with Simran. She was the most amazing woman I had ever met. I could’ve gone to any length to make her happy but there was always a formal air around her which discouraged me from admitting my feelings and in seeking her affection. I was determined to have her or hear her dismiss my plea of love. It was becoming difficult for me to go on like this. I had come this far. Surely she must have seen some goodness in me. I made up my mind to confess my love though the right moment never seemed to show itself. I loathed the thought of proposing to her while driving her to office. There was no music, no poetry, and no romance in that. I wanted to get away from the crowded city, away from people. I wanted to be closer to nature, find a place which would help me inspire her. I hit upon the idea of a trek. I was counting on the humility that comes while climbing a hill to overcome Simran’s tough demeanor. She would be tired with the walk, a little awed by nature, a little appreciative of my efforts and the combination might make her give assent.
I had heard of Sarasgad fort, a couple of hours drive from Mumbai, as a very picturesque place. One day while driving her to office, I asked her if she would like to come on a trek with me. I saw a gleam of excitement in her face. Anyone who lives in Mumbai loves the idea of getting away from the city to either the sea or the hills around it. The idea of getting away must’ve appealed to her but she refused demurely, citing her commitments. I didn’t insist. I let the proposal hang in the air, making it a point to bring it up once in a while, always mentioning how much it would mean to me. My disappointment would be evident, each time she turned down my proposal. A few weeks later she finally accepted, out of pity, I guess, if not anything else. I was fully convinced she cared for me. It must be her personal circumstances which prevented her from committing herself. I wished she would share her life with me instead of struggling alone. I could help, wanted to help. I earned well and more often than not money was the panacea for most troubles of this world. I would’ve gladly assisted her if she’d only state clearly what was bothering her. She believed that the world was after her only for her beauty and wouldn’t have anything to do with her troubles. I was going to tell her that I was ready to accept her with all her baggage. The trip to the hills was going to change my life and I was determined to make the most of it.