A letter to M

The monotonous journey on the bus route 66B would not have been so interesting and memorable without you being there! The first day I saw you was at the St. Helen Street bus stop, when I was in the queue and you passed by me. I guess it was raining then, and you had an umbrella and a heavy bag on your shoulders. Your face brightened up the otherwise gloomy day. My friends were talking about you all the time after that, and I was just listening with a smile on my face; you looked familiar, you were breathtakingly beautiful. The few days after that passed as usual, just your face brightening up the scene on some days, at the bus stop, in office or in the canteen. I never knew  who you were, where you came from and why my heart skipped a beat every time I saw you. And the day you talked to me, all by yourself, is the unforgettable of them all. I was engrossed in the book I was reading while coming back on the same 66B bus, and as soon as the seat beside me became free, you sat there and asked me, “Where did you get these Bengali books?”; I was truly startled. And I can bet on all my pennies that the whole bus was sighing and all the men in the bus was having an envious look on me, and they were thinking that why don’t they have any Bengali book to read. That started the conversation, and I came to know your name. As I was eagerly giving you the directions to the public library, the back of my head was thinking “Should I ask her out? Won’t that be too early?”

The conversations were much frequent from then on, at my desk or canteen, and my friends kept bugging me to introduce them to you, which I skillfully avoided. At the bus stop and in the bus, the conversations became more loud, and the number of envious eyes on me increased day by day. The discussions changed from having a All-Bengali lunch sometime, to the best place to get Hilsa and other Bengali food items, to even planning a trip to Paris with friends. And one Saturday, I met you at the Town Centre, fully loaded with books and a happy smile on your face. I didn’t have to ask, your smile told me that you found the library. I was still hesitant, the back of my head saying, “Ask her if you can carry the books to her house!” I think otherwise, and walk away saying bye and with your contagious smile on my face.

And then the fateful evening came, the evening I came to know that you were married. It was the same 66B bus, quite late in the evening, not many people on the bus who would have heard the sound of a breaking heart. And from then the meetings were rare, I was careful not to bump onto you, and I guess after a few days, you were transferred to some other location. The lunch never happened, nor the Paris trip, but I still remember you, my gorgeous lady of the gloomy day.