It was around seven in the morning when I discovered I had lost my bus pass, and by that time, there was nothing I could do about it because I was already on the bus. I have this small routine I do to catch the bus, and I think it would look quite nice if performed on stage by a group of interestingly clad women to the accompaniment of Skrillex. I loosen up a bit first by waving my arms and shouting, I follow through with a short run-up, and then I execute a graceful, balletic leap on to the bus. The morning I lost my bus pass, I managed a perfect landing and , feeling quite pleased with myself, bowed graciously to the bemused commuters. The conductor came up and asked for my ticket and, as I prepared to hand him my pass with a smug flourish, it came to my attention that I had lost it.
There was nothing to do but buy a ticket, and move, crushed, to find a seat. There wasn't one, of course, but I saw two of my friends, Ethan and Nathaniel, sitting in the men's section, near the back, so I moved over to stand beside them.
Neither of them offered to get up and give me a seat, which I thought was quite rude, although, in a really equal world, no one should offer to give anyone seats. They were discussing the political situation and, from time to time, I put in comments, which they completely ignored.
After a while, the conversation turned to deeper things. Nathaniel was looking pale and worn and Ethan asked him why.
"I have planted Joanna in my heart," he said, jerking his head in my direction, "And she is growing there like a tree. Eventually, my heart will be entirely crushed by the weight of her and I will have to hack her away. Listen!"
We listened, and I realized that a dull pounding had been rocking the bus from the moment I had got onto it, making all the windows vibrate slightly. As he spoke, his heart gave two loud thumps, and I fell backwards onto an old woman who pushed me off again, cursing. It was the sound of a sick heart.
"No one has ever taught you how to love," said Ethan, shaking his head patronizingly, "You must not clutch your heart tightly to yourself and keep it imprisoned within your chest, where it will be poked and prodded by the cage of your ribs, and squeezed by your organs. You must cut away the cords that bind you to it, and let it fly into the sky, where it will wander lonely as a cloud. There it will have room to grow and expand."
"If I let it go like that, it will eventually evaporate, into a scarlet mist, and spread to all the four corners of the earth," said Nathaniel.
"Of course," said Ethan, coolly, "Your heart is not solely your possession. It belongs to all of humanity."
The bus had reached my stop by this time. "Bye!" I said to them. They didn't reply. Ethan turned away from me to stare outside the window.
I forgot about the loss of my bus pass during the day, distracted by the general horror of college. I remembered it again only when I was getting on the bus to come back home. It was afternoon, and the bus was full of drowsing commuters. There was a slight fog in the air - a heavy golden cloud of heat and humidity.
Nathaniel was on the bus again, although Ethan wasn't. He was asleep, and so I thought it would be alright for me to go and sit next to the nameless boy, the one who is always sitting quietly at the back of every bus I get on. I always want to talk to him, but Ethan and Nathaniel disapprove of our acquaintance, so it is not often that I do.
I sat next to him, and he smiled. I felt the golden fog solidify and thicken as it rushed inside my lungs, making it hard to breathe. The conductor came up and asked for my ticket. I paid him, sadly.
"I've lost my pass," I said, to the nameless boy.
"I should get a pass," he said, "I travel on buses a lot."
"Yeah, every time I get on a bus, I see you."
"That's because you have planted me inside your heart," he said, and I look down and see that his feet end in roots that extend into the dirty metal floor of the bus.
"That looks uncomfortable," I said.
"It is very uncomfortable - for you, I'm oblivious to it."
It was hard to think, with the noon sun streaming in through the window, and soon I was fast asleep. I woke up to see Ethan running outside the bus, on the road. He had obviously had a little too much of the warm South. He passed the police chowki on the main road, and shouted at the picture of the policeman on the door, "Good afternoon, officer!"
The policeman-mannequin kept inside the chowki sprang to life and bellowed at him: "You're drunk!"
"So are you!" said Ethan, just as sternly.
The mannequin swore, and started getting off his stand. "Stop right there!" he thundered, "You're under arrest!"
"So are you!" said Ethan, and then he was off, running down the road, with the mannequin in hot pursuit.
"This is my stop," I tell the the boy-tree and he smiles and waves. Nathaniel was nowhere in sight. I felt a dull ache in my chest, which I associated with the loss of my bus pass, and got off quickly.
The city streets were full of cows and traffic. I walked down the road that leads to my house, not looking at anything, not thinking. A young woman was standing, just in front of my house, her hair in a braid and her head hanging down. A car was speeding down the road at her, she raised her head and blinked into the headlights like a startled deer, making no attempt to get out of its path. I leaped into the road and pulled her away, amidst a storm of Kannada and Tamil abuse.
"What's wrong with you!" I shouted, as I dragged her to the pavement. "Don't you know your heart belongs to all of humanity?"
She looked at me pityingly. "Humanity doesn't need your heart," she said.
At this point, my mother came and stood on the balcony of our house. "Joe? Is that you?" she said, "You left your bus pass in my bag today, did you have to buy tickets?"
Grey and silver clouds filled the sky, and raindrops slid endlessly down my face. "Did you have it all the time?" I called back to her, "I thought I'd lost it."
The tree I planted by the side of the road shivered in the rain, and stretched its leaves to the weeping sky.
There was nothing to do but buy a ticket, and move, crushed, to find a seat. There wasn't one, of course, but I saw two of my friends, Ethan and Nathaniel, sitting in the men's section, near the back, so I moved over to stand beside them.
Neither of them offered to get up and give me a seat, which I thought was quite rude, although, in a really equal world, no one should offer to give anyone seats. They were discussing the political situation and, from time to time, I put in comments, which they completely ignored.
After a while, the conversation turned to deeper things. Nathaniel was looking pale and worn and Ethan asked him why.
"I have planted Joanna in my heart," he said, jerking his head in my direction, "And she is growing there like a tree. Eventually, my heart will be entirely crushed by the weight of her and I will have to hack her away. Listen!"
We listened, and I realized that a dull pounding had been rocking the bus from the moment I had got onto it, making all the windows vibrate slightly. As he spoke, his heart gave two loud thumps, and I fell backwards onto an old woman who pushed me off again, cursing. It was the sound of a sick heart.
"No one has ever taught you how to love," said Ethan, shaking his head patronizingly, "You must not clutch your heart tightly to yourself and keep it imprisoned within your chest, where it will be poked and prodded by the cage of your ribs, and squeezed by your organs. You must cut away the cords that bind you to it, and let it fly into the sky, where it will wander lonely as a cloud. There it will have room to grow and expand."
"If I let it go like that, it will eventually evaporate, into a scarlet mist, and spread to all the four corners of the earth," said Nathaniel.
"Of course," said Ethan, coolly, "Your heart is not solely your possession. It belongs to all of humanity."
The bus had reached my stop by this time. "Bye!" I said to them. They didn't reply. Ethan turned away from me to stare outside the window.
I forgot about the loss of my bus pass during the day, distracted by the general horror of college. I remembered it again only when I was getting on the bus to come back home. It was afternoon, and the bus was full of drowsing commuters. There was a slight fog in the air - a heavy golden cloud of heat and humidity.
Nathaniel was on the bus again, although Ethan wasn't. He was asleep, and so I thought it would be alright for me to go and sit next to the nameless boy, the one who is always sitting quietly at the back of every bus I get on. I always want to talk to him, but Ethan and Nathaniel disapprove of our acquaintance, so it is not often that I do.
I sat next to him, and he smiled. I felt the golden fog solidify and thicken as it rushed inside my lungs, making it hard to breathe. The conductor came up and asked for my ticket. I paid him, sadly.
"I've lost my pass," I said, to the nameless boy.
"I should get a pass," he said, "I travel on buses a lot."
"Yeah, every time I get on a bus, I see you."
"That's because you have planted me inside your heart," he said, and I look down and see that his feet end in roots that extend into the dirty metal floor of the bus.
"That looks uncomfortable," I said.
"It is very uncomfortable - for you, I'm oblivious to it."
It was hard to think, with the noon sun streaming in through the window, and soon I was fast asleep. I woke up to see Ethan running outside the bus, on the road. He had obviously had a little too much of the warm South. He passed the police chowki on the main road, and shouted at the picture of the policeman on the door, "Good afternoon, officer!"
The policeman-mannequin kept inside the chowki sprang to life and bellowed at him: "You're drunk!"
"So are you!" said Ethan, just as sternly.
The mannequin swore, and started getting off his stand. "Stop right there!" he thundered, "You're under arrest!"
"So are you!" said Ethan, and then he was off, running down the road, with the mannequin in hot pursuit.
"This is my stop," I tell the the boy-tree and he smiles and waves. Nathaniel was nowhere in sight. I felt a dull ache in my chest, which I associated with the loss of my bus pass, and got off quickly.
The city streets were full of cows and traffic. I walked down the road that leads to my house, not looking at anything, not thinking. A young woman was standing, just in front of my house, her hair in a braid and her head hanging down. A car was speeding down the road at her, she raised her head and blinked into the headlights like a startled deer, making no attempt to get out of its path. I leaped into the road and pulled her away, amidst a storm of Kannada and Tamil abuse.
"What's wrong with you!" I shouted, as I dragged her to the pavement. "Don't you know your heart belongs to all of humanity?"
She looked at me pityingly. "Humanity doesn't need your heart," she said.
At this point, my mother came and stood on the balcony of our house. "Joe? Is that you?" she said, "You left your bus pass in my bag today, did you have to buy tickets?"
Grey and silver clouds filled the sky, and raindrops slid endlessly down my face. "Did you have it all the time?" I called back to her, "I thought I'd lost it."
The tree I planted by the side of the road shivered in the rain, and stretched its leaves to the weeping sky.
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