The other day I was late to class. My
jaw dropped in relief on realising that the professor had not turned up. In the
centre, few girls folded the chairs and shifted the desks. We all then sat in a
circle. Three boys pretended to doodle but I thought they were doing only that;
pretending to doodle; while all the time, their ears sharp, heads angled at one
side, they tried making eye contact with the pretty twins sitting next to each
other.
One of the girls, a tall lissom lass
named Lucy with a dragon tattoo inked on the base of her neck, had the audience
in rapture.
She ended up using her hands a lot. Her
nails were perfectly done and were painted a deep red. Immediately, I looked
down at my own hands, which had spidery blue lines running all over making them
look like the hands of a forty year old. My nails, I always kept them chipped
short but now the outer ridges carried blackish marks. For the rest of the
time, I kept my hands hidden under a book.
Coming back to Lucy, she started
narrating an incident on how she and her girlfriend had managed to hitchhike a
ride late one night. This was when a male friend who was supposed to accompany
them backed out last minute as he had to visit an ailing grandmother. Lucy,
stated with a smirk that she thought her friend had cooked up a white
lie.
Continuing with her story, she
mentioned as to how in the middle of the night she and her friend in short
leather skirts and stilettos made a bold picture on the empty roads.
Soon, a police van patrolling the night streets, halted in front of them. A
burly old officer got out and admonished them to get into the
van. Throughout the journey, he lectured them and kept hollering on how it
was unsafe for two young ladies to hitchhike a ride in the dead of the night. A
fellow officer seated next to him had the most charming manners and almost
tipped his head after dropping them home. Lucy said she was blown by his proper
English manners and had winked right back at him. His face changed colour at
once and he quickly turned around. Both Lucy and her friend kept controlled
expressions throughout but burst out laughing once the officers left. Lucy
ended by saying, how she wouldn’t mind trying to hitchhike a ride again, just
for the thrill.
Somehow the word thrill stayed with me
all day long. I realised I too wanted some thrill in my otherwise boring life
which included helping my mother with mundane chores. Every day, after going
back home the pattern was the same. Clothes were hung out to dry, the lentils
were boiled and after adding a few spices, the curry was prepared by me.
My mother was an ordinary woman and
there was something that I hated and loved about her ordinariness at the same
time. On days, when I heard a friend telling me on how her mother smoked pot
the whole day and sat in front of the television in her faded nightgown
watching mindless shit, I was glad to have a mother like my own. One who kept
the house clean and on occasional Sundays, when my grandmother called up,
somehow her mood would spark up. She then ended up baking a mean chocolate cake
with mini florets of vanilla-cream icing.
And on days, when I used to overhear in
the bus about mothers who took their teenage daughters out for shopping, my
heart would drop a beat. One time, a girl whom I chatted with a lot in the
eighth grade had allowed the hem of her dress to slip a little so she could
show her flimsy bra strap that had pale pink flowers running all the way up.
She whispered in my ears, that she along with her mother had gone shopping
together the previous Sunday and had picked up similar bras ofcos in different
sizes.
On hearing this, I remembered staring
outside the bus window for long, looking at the idyllic fields and how the sky
was soon about to change its colour. My own mother and even her mother had
maintained a tradition of always buying plain, ugly looking white bras with
thick elastic straps. After I turned thirteen she had taken me to the local
retail store in the neighbourhood that managed to stock every household item
under the same roof. Specially on Saturdays, they had everything under the
discounted tag and that’s when we bought the mops, the dusters, the green
detergent liquid, a housecoat and of cos the bras, that were discounted too. I
remember my mother picking up three of them which had to last the whole year.
They were obnoxious to look at and I always felt too shy to hang it to dry in
the clothesline outside. Invariably, I used to cover it with another piece of
garment, to keep it hidden from the neighbour’s view.
My mother and I have real short
conversations. And it is mostly about the informal stuff. Like she would ask,
Do you think it’s going to rain today? Would you like to step out and check on
the clothes and get them in? There was never an opportunity to say No and I
would reluctantly go out and bring in the clothes.
**
The morning before, I had left early
from college.
Patiently, I waited for the bus to
arrive but when it didn't I decided to walk all the way home, which was roughly
a distance of seven kms. The muddy path was slippery from last night’s rain. At
some point, it curved naturally and festooned into a lazy string of weeds
growing above the radiant red earth.
Finally, at a clearing ahead the road
simply swept into a loop with corn fields on either side.
In a flash, I recollected Lucy’s tale
of hitchhiking a ride. Tiny thoughts stitched together and started forming a
giant plan in my head.
I stood at an intersection waiting to
hitchhike my first ride ever.
My fingers felt clammy, as I raised my
trembling thumb upwards for a ride. A tram, a truck and a Mercedes S class
passed by without stopping.
What was prompting me to do this? Just
an exhilaration. A thrill of doing something before I turned seventeen this
summer.
Minutes went by and I could feel, tiny
droplets of sweat gathering in the inner pockets of my armpits. The absurdity
of revealing myself in front of a complete stranger and engaging into a
conversation was now slowly dawning. And, what if he turned out to be a thug?
What if he tied my hands, gagged my mouth and in the end dropped me in some
bushes?
Automatically, my arm dropped and I
started moving ahead.
Just then, a large van stopped by. The
driver a friendly looking fellow, with a fine smile crinkling at the corners of
his mouth got out. The lady next to him, heavily pregnant wore a plain yellow
dress with tiny flowers embroidered around the collar. Her hair was in a short
crop and she had the perfect set of teeth that revealed a flash of
dimples.
Hello, I said, holding the backpack
closer to my chest.
It’s going to start pouring anytime
now, he said pointing to the grey clouds that were fast gathering in a menacing
way.
I am sure there is plenty of space in
the back of the van. Hop in right away, before the rain gets to us but let me
warn that you are in for a surprise, he said with a twinkle in his eye.
By now, I was completely drained and
didn’t have the energy to walk any further. My shoes were caked with mud, the
collar of my dress was rumpled, stray strands of hair stuck to my back and my
skin had turned sallow with sweat and dust.
Trudging my feet, I thanked him,
mumbled my address and headed towards the back of the van.
But I wasn't prepared for the sight
that greeted me.
An entire tribe of goats all stood
huddled inside. I threw my backpack in first and in a jiffy, jumped
across to the other side of the van.
Unused to a stranger in their midst,
they all started bleating at once. I chuckled out loud glancing at the company
surrounding me and drew a kid goat closer. At once, he started nuzzling his
fawn coloured head against my face. I somehow clung and found strange comfort
in the smell of grass and dung that afternoon.
The van had started gaining speed. A
beautiful breeze was gently blowing, washing away all my fears and
insecurities.
What a day of adventures, I thought to
myself. A thrilling ride by all means.
I couldn’t have asked for better
company as I cradled another kid goat in my arms.
