On the bus

On the way to work yesterday, I took the Ring-Road bus that I usually do. These buses are always dirty and with every passing year, they get more crowded- thanks to the influx of people in the capital, which started during the "People's war".

I keep thinking that every passenger must have a different story to tell. I look at them and wonder how many are displaced citizens, how many have lost their near and dear ones, how many heart-broken, how many just won a lottery or how many have nowhere to go.

It's a recurrent theme in my mind.

But I'm getting tired of taking this bus now. I wish there was a faster way of getting to work. I wish there was a way to avoid the Kathmandu traffic, the congestion on its narrow streets. But that will only be wishful thinking for now.

The journey was made lighter by a little school-girl yesterday. She was half asleep, when she noticed that I was reading. (I was actually struggling with THE LINE OF BEAUTY- given my limited knowledge of the homosexual world, among others). She waited a long while before borrowing it from me. Then she scanned though the first few pages and gave the book back to me. There was a point of time when I worried that it would be time for her to get off and she would just leave with my book :). But I probably inspired her. Because what she did next was, got her notes out and started reading. And I noticed she had beautiful neat handwriting.