Scrolling through my last file for the day and sipping that remaining bit of coffee, I looked around to see if any of my colleagues still sat on their chairs, scrolling their way through an enormous chunk of data.
I rolled up my sweaty sleeves, regretting my decision to wear a white cotton shirt on a loaded work day. Making my way down the aisle, I tied my hair into a messy bun using my pastel pink scrunchie, the only saviour I had for my silky hair on the way back home in Bengaluru’s dusty landscape.
Reciprocating a smile back at Lara I boarded an auto to the metro station. Lara was the one who served us meals, and she also made sure to ask everyday if we had our share of the fruit bowl serving. Well pretty rare of a person in today’s times.
My wedges proved their existence each time I climbed the staircase up towards the ticket counter. I bought myself a ticket, and hurriedly headed towards the platform. The platform was a less crowded than usual. My dial read six. At that moment I couldn’t help but admire the beauty of my new rose gold watch. I always thought rose gold was one of the most authentic colours.
To witness the sunset after a busy day is therapy. At least therapy for people like me who admire nature and all its creatures’ intricacies. It was five minutes past six then and the sky had turned lavender-pink. I was sitting on a cold steel seat, waiting for the train to arrive. Hushed silence-so juxtaposed to the traffic that was three floors below on the ground.
I got into one of the compartments, found a comfortable seat, and sat there gazing at the sky, the dipping sun and all the beauty this phenomenon added to the world. A curly haired girl was sitting in front of me, holding tight onto her bag. That reminded me of the days when I had important school assignments in my bag and I held it in the same fashion. Suddenly my glance shifted towards the person who stood diagonally to me.
He was tall, wore a black mask, plugged in earphones, and had these very fashionable tattoos on his hand. What caught my attention was that the tattoo was inspired by ancient Indian art and architecture. The delicate designs were not common among the millennials and I was happy to see that there were people who still thought we could inculcate styles from our roots into tattoos.
He held onto nothing for support in the moving metro and seemed to vibe to a certain song.
He was lost, and perhaps so was I.
It was time for me to leave, and I had my nirvana moment when I realised just then that it was Shaurya’s birthday and I had to get him a present. I juggled my way through the crowd, I had to board a bus at the earliest. I was still an hour away from home. Well, this is how travelling works in Bangalore. You could travel for twelve hours and still be lost in the city.
It was seven p.m.
I could hear nothing but the honking of horns, the chattering of a few old ladies seated behind me and a whole lot of people ranting about their day at work. Bengaluru is home to people of all kinds. Hustlers, dreamers and most importantly thinkers. Everyday a new idea is born and everyday an idea breaks like delicate glass that slips and shatters when not taken care of.
I got down and walked to the gift store. The best thing I could find was a book on Indian architecture and mythology with some really beautiful illustrations and a pair of sunglasses. Wrapped it, rushed back home. Shaurya was at the door.
The first thing I gave my eight-year-old brother was his gift. He gave me a hug, I felt relieved. I told him, “If you ever want to get a tattoo, take inspiration from the art you see in this book”. Little Shaurya said, “Oh like that brother sitting on the couch, ah but he doesn’t have sunglasses, maybe I’ll look better then. Thank you!”
I looked inside only to see him again. Well, the world is small indeed!
(Picture credits: Pexels)