At the closest turn an old, rickety white body, blue stripes, bus appears, rising and falling as it rides over the tricky road that leads to me. Waiting on the bus stop for the last few minutes asking the riders of the passing buses, where they travel to? I have tried to decide a place to go to. Unable to reach a conclusion I decided not to decide. A bus shall stop before me and in the spurt of moment I would board it, and once on it I would buy a ticket to somewhere.
Travelling is joy, and travelling to somewhere, not knowing where that somewhere is, yet convinced that the journey is a treat, can be a disguised bliss. As the swaying bus arrived closer not just rising and falling but swinging end to end, its gait intrigued me. The bus stops before the platform and a girl gets off, somewhat gripping with her serenity, and as she walks in the aura of her assured peace, I board the bus to anywhere.
I have a bag on the back, even on a trip to anywhere I carry it along. The bag remains with me wherever I go, I want it with me but I like it light. In the bag is a thin book, a small pocket diary and a pen. The bus has many unoccupied seats I take a window seat somewhere in the in the middle of the length of the bus, I place the bag on the iron frame over the seat. I took a ticket to somewhere and that somewhere remains trivial enough to remember now. The bus is already speeding in its own unique gait.
The trees are the same trees I have been seeing for the last three months, the vast stretches of unending coconut hiding any habitation amidst them, the blue sky as it is regularly so, in this part of the country is dotted by the gray-silver clouds, the temples and churches on the roadside continue to surprise with the regularity of their appearance and the water flows in abundance like every day, unconcerned of where to go I like the water, trees and clouds. The bus moves leisurely through the town and the steadiness of my unhurried thoughts run in resonance with the motion around me, creating an energy that dwells inside me and searches for all leisure there is. The settings and the inside are curiously matched, causing a comfort that sustains itself even as the bus hits a pot hole on the road or when it sways from right to left in response to the sudden whims of the driver.
It’s still just past the afternoon and the evening has still not taken over. I watch a boy returning from school, a basket in his hand with his lunch-box and water bottle in the basket. The bus moves and I have much time to contemplate on all that happens around me, I have so much time to appreciate the houses decorated with palm and coconut trees. As I stay hooked to the scenery the bus stops for the very last time and the conductor tells me, it’s time. I leave the bus, just as I get down, I remember my bag, I need my light luggage I thought and went back to take the bag.
Some other day I will travel again, travel to anywhere and travel laterally around the dimensions, and some day like this one I will travel deeper as I travel longer. On every such occasion I will like the world more than I like it another day, and I would thoroughly enjoy the sensation of being able to like without scrutiny.
PS: I skipped the title because title brings a central theme, a destination. This is an ode to enjoying journey, unwary of the destination.
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