The dark night started to fade into different shades of orange when I got off the overnight bus I took from Dandeli to come back to Bengaluru. It was somewhere around 5:45 a.m. when I reached Bengaluru, and with a backpack and two handbags full of clothes, I walked towards the Kempegowda Bus Station. There I saw a bus to Ramamurthy Nagar waiting for me; the driver was revving the engine as if about to race, which he eventually did and came in first as there was no competition. I got into the bus, scanned the QR code to validate my pass, and took the window seat.
After a while, a few other passengers got in, and the much-anticipated race started. As the bus moved forward, its windows vibrated, creating a sense of music our teeth create on a winter morning, and that is when I heard someone singing, not so clearly but close to a whisper in a silent room. After concentrating hard on that voice, I found out that it was none other than the old man sitting in front of me; he was wearing a green and white striped woollen monkey cap and had wrapped himself in a grey shawl. I couldn’t see his face, but the extension of his spectacles made a good foreground on the cap he was wearing. The swift movement of the bus on the few good roads in Bengaluru helped intensify his voice a bit, which helped my ears identify the song he was singing. The song he was singing was "Chhu kar mere mann ko Kiya tuney kya ishaara." It felt like he was missing his special someone, and it was evident in his voice. After singing few lines he paused for a while and I felt it was my duty to keep Kishore Kumar vibe alive in the bus at this hour, so I started singing with a mellow voice trying to match the Old man’s voice "Kehna hai, Kehna hai, aaj tumse a Pehli baar o o o tumhi toh laayi o Jeevan may mere.." and the old man started moving his head it was like an approval from him. I ended up singing the few lines I knew, and the vibe we created continued to fill the air of near silence inside the bus, and its cradle-like movement just synced with our voices. Then he sang "Roopa Tera Mastaana" to which I replied with the song dear to my father, "Neele Neele ambar par." As my singing ended, we both sat quietly for a while, and I started observing him. He had a black backpack, and I too had one with me at the same time. I wondered if he was my older version who had travelled back in time to this very moment. My thoughts just started to build up, but the bus stopped; it was the old man’s stop.
He took his backpack and got down, and while getting down, he gave me a look with a smile as if we knew each other before. He was wearing specs with high-powered glass, and I could see the colour of his eyes clearly. Maybe this short journey was meant to be.
Thank you for reading.
Darshan Shanbhag
P.S. My brain played the song “Ore manwa tu toh bawara hai” while writing this.
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