My Musings, Your Perusing

Five Minutes

In India, a rickshaw is a three-wheeler public transport vehicle, too reasonable for the people to travel short distances.

The dialogues are in Hindi. Hence, I have translated them to English and put them into brackets in Italics.

'Bhaiya' is a hindi word which literally means 'brother' but we often call the rickshaw drivers or the unknown males by that word.

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It's 6.10 AM. I leave my house everyday for the college at this time, with a bag hanging indolently on my shoulders and my happy feet making their way towards the rickshaw stand. They know that they ain't need to walk for the next five minutes at least.

Today, I'm early, I realise. I wait. You ask, why? I wait for my partner, my shaw-mate. Yeah, that's what I name the technically anonymous cohort. He's tall, dusky, with a nice beard that makes him look attractive. It was after six months that I finally became sure of how he exactly looked. I never had the chance to notice his eye colour, though. Maybe because I can't dare to look at him longer.

He is a man of few words, and extremely courteous. I know, because actions speak louder than words. The only word I had ever heard him say and he heard me say was "bye". Everytime we give the 20-rupee note to the bhaiya, we say our "byes" as we turn to two opposite directions, waiting to see each other the next day.

I still wait. I know, my train wouldn't come at least for next twenty minutes. I'm worried, that he might miss his train of 6.25. He has always liked to be before time, I noticed. His lips are usually chapped, maybe because he smokes. I sometimes watch his reflection on the front top mirror in the rickshaw. He always seems to be busy in his phone, scrolling up and down the screen, breathing out a sigh sometimes, sometimes squeezing his eyes hard.

He goes to college, I realised the first time I saw him. He was talking to a friend of his, probably girlfriend, about how he forgot the assignments at home and can't go back as he would miss the train. He looked annoyed, but something that the person on the other side said seemed to calm him down.

He's never late, I'm aware. Hence, I start to worry, get anxious. He had never missed a day. I start thinking what could go wrong. My feet and hands start to get itchy, and my facial nerves seem to have no rest. Three rickshaws come and go. I wait. I still wait. I would have gone by now, but he would feel betrayed. There was no single day when we hadn't went together. My mind instills some patience in me. I wonder if he had come yesterday or not. Because, I had a study leave for today's Maths paper.

My phone vibrates with Snapchat notifications, and WhatsApp group messages when I realise the horn of a rickshaw blowing incessantly. I turn around. Oh, it's our white-bearded bhaiya. Most of the times, he's the one who drops us to the station. He actually knows the deal between shaw-mate and me. I sprint towards his direction.

"Ruko bhaiya. Vo abtak aaya nahi," ("Wait uncle, he hasn't come yet.") I say with a hint of decent, polite smile.

"Bitiya, mein tumhe chod deta hoon. Vo chala jaega baadmein." (Dear, I will drop you. He'll go afterwards.") The always joyful bhaiya seems to be distracted by something. I ask what it is.

"Vo abhi nahi aaega, beta. Chalo, mein chod deta hoon." ("He won't come now, child. Come, I will drop you.") And I genuinely feel annoyed by the way he says it. I insist him on telling why he is behaving in such a way.

"Uska kal aate aate accident hogaya. Mein hi usko hospital leke gaya tha. Vo chala gaya, beta." ("He had an accident yesterday. I was the one who took him to the hospital. He went away, child.") And I sense genuine grief behind his words.

My world stills. The air previously blowing across my face seems unable to move. My head spins and all I can hear is nothing, although I see bhaiya's lips moving and a hint of care in his eyes. I feel dizzy and I fear I might pass out right in the middle of the road.

It's so strange. A person, who is with you just for five minutes in a whole day can have such a heavy impact on you. My shaw-mate.

It's heart-wrenching to think that I wouldn't see his face every morning, that I wouldn't start my day looking at him. I was supposed to initiate a talk with him on his birthday. It was this Friday, I knew. I had heard him saying "thank you" and "Party abhi nahi. 25th pe Taj leke jaunga tum sabko," ("Party - not this time. Will take you to Taj on my 25th birthday.") on that day last year. He sounded very happy and I had felt so satisfied secretly looking at his smiling face. Fortunately, I was good with dates and numbers.

I regret not looking into his eyes, not asking him what his name was, and if his favourite colour was really red, just like his shoes, bag, and the strap of his watch. I regret not saying my goodbye to him. I had no idea that the last "bye" would really be our last. I was deeply affected, I don't know why. I didn't have a crush on him. Yet, there seemed to be something that had had us attached for so many months, making us wait for each other, and not leave without saying our goodbyes.

I will miss you, shaw-mate. I really will. I wish you come back and look into my eyes for once, and know that I adored you in a way that was indecipherable to myself. Come back and take one last rickshaw ride with me. I would never ask you to come back, again. I want the last five minutes with you. Please?