On a Rainy day…!

On a rainy day… that’s when it all started!

Waiting in the bus shelter, I prayed for the downpour to cease. Don’t get me wrong, I love the rains. In fact rainy season is my all time favourite season and every year I look forward to the monsoons. The sky was opening up, letting out all her pent up emotions, as if crying her heart out, unleashing her fury within, like a sad girl who refused to be consoled.

But today was different. It was my first day in office and for no reason I wanted to be late. Not that the incessant rain would bother me, but it made the traffic crawl and the auto rickshaws disappear, made the people irritated and short tempered, and there was every chance that my crisp cotton salwar kameez would be crumpled in the rush in the bus.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the Gods decided to send out a rainbow and there was a bus coming around the corner. Thank heavens. Things looked like they would be alright from here.

Little did I know that this was just the beginning and my life was about to take a completely new turn.

He got in from the next stop and asked if the seat next to me was taken, and if he could sit over there. I looked away, not wanting to entertain unsocial elements, but taking in his appearance which stood out from the crowd. The guy was young, looked like he belonged to a well to do family, not very good looking but not too off putting either, but why was he wearing a kurta? Maybe he is one of those struggling artists whose numbers were multiplying in my city. Not giving a second thought I plugged in to my ipad and hummed away a Rahman number completely ignoring the surroundings.

The day went by like a breeze, I loved the children, and the cherry on the cake was that they seemed to like me too. We learnt a few rhymes, drew a couple of pictures and had our lunch together. Time flew by, but I did not fail to notice that it was still raining outside.

The bell rang and the children immediately ran off thanking me and picking up their satchels – some to meet their parents waiting outside the school gates and some to the waiting school buses. I knew as a teacher, I could avail the school bus facility that plied in my route.

There were just two people in the bus not wearing the uniform. I glanced across to see a vaguely familiar man in a kurta sitting with some children and singing songs with them. With every passing stop, the children became fewer in number and we could no longer ignore each other’s presence. He walked up to me and offered to shake hands with me, and told me his name. At the exact same moment the driver decided to honk the life out of me, and I missed what his name was.

We are good friends now, and over time I learnt his name too. There is much in common with him and my dad which automatically can be blamed for the soft corner I have for him.

Two years have passed and we are still friends, but if you ask me, we are more than friends. Our relationship is definitely headed somewhere, but it is too early to tell now, and all thanks to that rainy day.

 

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda

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Writing to me is therapy, it frightens and comforts at the same time. Liberates like nothing else. A book in my own name is a dream, but a bigger dream would be to write something that haunts the reader even after the last page is turned and the book is shut. I enjoy reading and music, spending time with family whilst battling my social awkwardness.

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