Lift

7am. She stood at the bus stop. She was on time as always. She tried to be composed and blasé, but could not resist peering down the road. The office-going crowd was yet to come. This was the best time to get a bus, and get a seat as well. It was a small matter that she would reach half an hour earlier than she needed to get there.

A man standing next to her asked for the time. 7:05 she replied crisply, not wanting to make conversation. Her heart began to start a steady drum… almost time. He would be punctual as well, as always. Anticipation made her palms clammy. She adjusted her dupatta and stood under the shade of the shelter, to avoid the rays of the morning sun that suddenly shot up to illuminate her face.

Smiling to herself she thought, he cannot miss me today. The orange and yellow salwar that she wore, seemed to catch the rays of the sun. Yesterday, he had been half a minute early. But then, he had been on the phone and had stopped for about a minute a little before the bus stop, so that she could see him; and she had waited patiently for the car to crawl up to stop right before where she had been standing. The half a smile, the quirked brow and the cheery good morning never failed to raise her spirits. “Want a lift?” he would ask, laughter in his voice. “Oh,” she would reply, “Which way are you going?”

“The way you are,” he would reply, now laughing openly. She would take a quick look around and hop into the passenger seat of his maroon Santro, and the long road to her office never seemed long enough.
Their conversation during the drive would be about this and that, a bit of flirting, some confessions, and then, office. She would get off with a casual wave, a wave so casual that the onlooker would not know how important this lift was to her, how it made her day, how it made her look forward to another day…

Today, she stood, her orange-yellow salwar making her a bright spot in the bus stop, as several of her route buses stopped, took on passengers and moved on. She was almost rooted to the spot, her now anxious face turned in the direction his car would come. 7.45 passed, then 8… Her lower lip trembled, but she controlled the thought that engendered the tremble as well as the tremble itself, covering up by mopping her face with the end of her dupatta.

Someone asked her the time, again that morning. She looked at the display on her mobile. 8.15! And suddenly, there his car was, rounding the curve in the road at the distance, briskly driving towards the bus stop, towards her. He must have a reason for being late she thought. The maroon Santro did not stop. Instead it drove past at a good speed. He was at the wheel, an animated very pretty woman beside him, making conversation, laughing… He did not turn to look in the direction of the bus stop at all.

How long she stood rooted at the spot, she did not know. Then suddenly, a familiar car came to a smooth halt in front of her. “What are you doing here still?” he asked, getting out of the grey Ford Ikon, his brow creased in concern, “Hasn’t your bus come as yet? Aren’t you very late?”

Seeing her unresponsive face, he put his hand on her shoulder and shook her slightly. Her face turned red and she mumbled something. Turning her around gently he said, “Come, let’s go home. You seem unwell. Rest at home. Perhaps, I will take it off as well. Isn’t it quite some time since we spent time together at home without the kids?”

Nodding, and fixing a slight smile to her face, she got into their car.