At 8:20 a.m. on a Monday, the most hectic day in college, i find myself in 912 (which is thankfully DTC and not a blue line. Though it doesn't make much difference now.) sitting on the seat right before the conductor's. A genteel girl is standing nearby, definitely very uncomfortable (who wouldn't be if there were two pe****s rubbing against you ), yet bearing it all.
Her face speaks of an agony that stretches far beyond this bus-ride. A daughter's agony, whose father doesn't believe in her but has full-faith on her evidently useless brothers and everyday, she steps out the 'comfort' of the house into this big bad world which is chiefly plagued with predators; only to prove her father wrong. Only.
Her neatly manicured hands, nicely done hair and a carefully chosen pin-striped crisp cotton shirt with a vest screams that she is dying to be noticed- by you, by me, by her colleagues, her friends and the man of her dreams. Her dreamy eyes betray the solemn look on her face. They speak of dreams unheard of. Dreams of reaching such heights that its not expected, even atrocious, of her to even 'think' of them.
She doesn't tell you that she comes from a family which has difficulty in providing the basic comforts... no, not comforts... the basic needs; but the cuffs of her shirt, flared at ends and her jeans, torn... in a way that is certainly not 'fashionable' let you in on this secret.
Her dusky complexion, sharp features and a square jaw, possibly inherited from her father, exude certain exuberance, beauty. Beauty, that is not flamboyant or dumb but made even more charming by the asperities that she under-went.
She speaks... oh yes, she does!
She tries hard to sound disdainful and overbearing but there's an unmistakable hint of diffident modesty in her voice that she fails to conceal even after trying hard to sound reticent and withdrawn.
A blood red handkerchief in her hand speaks of a passion that she seems incapable of possessing, but nonetheless its an insight into the romantic that's buried deep inside her heart. She won't tell you how much she doted on a certain chocolate-boy- "OH! He's just okay."- but deep down she wishes to have a complete fairy-tale existence.
If there is one thing she is adept at, its ensconcing her wishes. Dreams are one thing, they wiggle out even if she doesn't want them too. There she has no control. But wishes- only she is aware of her wishes- no one else.
And she gets off.