I boarded the bus , my seat was beside her. I saw a book in front of me in the holder. It was Dalai Lama’s “Beyond Religion”. The cut out limbs from some zombie movie that my hands are; they reached out to the book. I must have been through barely a page that she said “Excuse me, that’s my book, so once you read it please keep it back.”
I must have turned red that time, I was so ashamed that I didn’t even think that this book could belong to her. Anyways that was it and after a few more pages I kept it back as I could feel her constant stare at me. Also because spirituality is not actually my genre.
After some time, she almost startled me by saying “Hie, what’s your name?” For the next five or six hours that we were together, it was a non stop talking between us. To my amaze, she turned out to be my teacher from one of those many previous schools I have been to and I felt ashamed for not being able to recall her let alone recognize her. We discussed our old school, then and now. She shared the same love for fauj as me, being a fauji daughter and a PONGO wife herself. I got some advises, really cheeky ones, which I don’t think I should share here. Actually there’s a lot of things which shouldn’t be shared here. Her husband’s course mate turned out to be my father’s friend. So many relations in such little time. I remember her words verbatim “Don’t underestimate yourself and believe that you will get through” one of those typical teacher type advise. I don’t remember it because they make me believe in myself, but because of the expression on her face when she said this. It seemed as if she believed in me more than I do. It would be inequitable for me to go much into the details of our convo any further. This time she was my friend more and my teacher less. I bid her adieu as chd with a big Pandora box of memories.
These two accounts that I shared may not hold much importance to you but it was not the same for me. We don’t usually meet such people you share so much in common with and even if we do, we don’t talk to them. I don’t understand how people can travel for hours and hours without uttering a single word to someone sitting beside them. That is just so impossible for me and if verbose is the word here to describe me, I accept that.
My mum always says that life is an entwined series of connections and disconnections. This is what she meant by this. After all disconnections ain’t that bad, they happen for connections to happen again. They are a hope in themselves, the word that navigates the map for the universe.
Army makes one go through this whole series over and over again. You meet the same people on repeat plus some new ones in fauj. This is just one of the many reasons I love forces for.