A Small World

As I boarded route No. 85 from my house to go to Mandi House (where Doordarshan, India's national broadcaster's headquarters are located) and then on to my ex-employer's office in Patel Nagar by Métro, I settled in a shabby looking seat in the third row from the front. I purchased a ticket for Barakhamba Road from where I would get a Metro to my destination. A near two or three stops later I was deep in my thoughts, as I always am when I take public transport, they always give you a sense of loneliness which in the midst of the most pathetic rush. You just have to purchase a ticket and you are left alone with your thoughts (though not always with your wallet). Still in thoughts I observe the doorway. A clean looking gentleman with a tidy pair of blazer and trousers rise up from the staircase of the doorway. He makes his way towards me and before I could observe his face clearly he comes and sits by me. I move, towards the window, I do not want him to feel unwelcome. He is at odds with the majority of gentry which uses public transport in Delhi. He is well groomed, middle aged and most importantly he's with a hard covered book. Had he been with a moustache and a pipe I could have easily mistook him for military colonel. I try to glance at the cover while trying my best not to make him conscious. He was reading English Cricket Collections while in the middle pages of the book. As time passed my curiosity increased. Why would a gentleman from a well to do family take the shabby public transport? If he can afford a tidy blazer, trousers and a hard cover book he must have a car too? Sitting adjacent I even had trouble seeing his face, but he was cleanly shaved and wore a pair of three piece glasses. While I was thinking the bus took a right turn. Any one who has even once traveled in Delhi's buses knows that they are nothing less that a roller coaster ride. The gentleman grabbed the next seat's handle to remain intact in his space least he could fall down on the aisle. The hand therefore remained there permanently, for he knew he'll have to use it more frequently from now on. By now I had almost lost my curiosity just when I realized that his watch with the white dial had The Hindu written on it. "Does he work for The Hindu?”I asked myself. No, but it could also be a gift or a prize he could have won from the newspaper, the 'other' inside me shrugged. But then he is also reading...that too in a bus, is there a connection? I tried to ask but I was inhibited. I started to look through the grainy glass window of my seat. Few moments passed and the spark of curiosity had grown much stronger this time. But I was still inhibited. Even if he does works in the Hindu and I do ask him the question, what if he just answers me with a "hmmm" and keeps reading his book. I shall be so ashamed of myself; I can't even induce a person into a conversation. I was down and out again. The outer world again seemed better than a failed conversation. Moments passed and I did nothing. After a while I glanced at his watch again and asked "Sir, do you work with the Hindu?". "Huh", the gentleman replied. "Do you work for the Hindu, Sir?". "Yes", he said while looking perplexed. “How he knows that by the book I'm reading”, he must have thought to himself. I gave an obvious glance towards his watch. "Oh, yes, I work with The Hindu", he repeated, this time with a sign of relief and an obvious smile. "Why are you a journalist too?", he asked. "Not right now, Sir but I studied journalism.", I replied.
- "From Where?
-"From University of Poona, Sir"
-"Ooooo"
-" And are you working here now?"
-"Not at the moment Sir, but I did earlier"
-"Which section do you work for?", I asked after a brief pause.
"I work in the sports section", he replied. I greeted him with an obvious smile while looking at his book. In the mean while, the driver did what Delhi's drivers are best at doing- overtaking. "What the hell is he doing? How is he driving?", the gentleman said in disgust. "Look how he overtook the other bus and stopped right in front of his face." I was not really interested to talk about how big of a maniacs Delhi's bus drivers are with a guy from Hindu. I was greedy, I wanted to know more about the newspaper. "Though it's not the first newspaper the masses pick up but I'm regular reader of you newspaper", I said trying to augment the conversation. "I find Hindu's editorials quite interesting", I said out of common perception of his newspaper rather than my own intellectual gauging of the same. He nodded in style. "It caters to a certain class", I continued. For a while we talked about common perceptions of some of India's prominent daily newspapers. But the driver was not far from our conversation, he applied the brakes, to the bus and to our stream of conversation too. "The Government is replacing this fleet of 'Dabbas' in a few years; all this will be replaced by high capacity buses in 2 years, before the common wealth games. We can't get these goons drive our public transport, who knows he might even have a criminal record", he fumed. I was curious if he was from Delhi so I asked him for how long has he worked for the Hindu? "Oh! it's been 22 years now", he said with a sense of nostalgia... I lost all my desire to ask him if he's from Delhi or not. Later on the topic moved to anything from location of Hindu's office to how they recruit people. "All the newspapers have their own schools these days, the Times has Times school of journalism in Delhi, the Hindu has Asian School of journalism in Chennai and so on... that is where they recruit the new entrants from. Even India Today is coming with a Tabloid now, you must apply for that".
-"I will, Sir, but does the Hindu takes interns or recruits from outside?", I asked
-"Yes sure, you can always send in your résumé to the editor."
My stop was near now, but I was not done with my interview session. Should or shouldn't I ask for his contact address. I was gripped in a state of confusion. After all how much should a veteran like him trust a guy he has just met in a 16 km bus journey? I took out cell phone in order to find a way to ask his e-mail address but I was too hesitant. I didn't had much time, my stop was now a minute away.
-"Sir can I have your e-mail address please?", I asked in an utter dilemma.
"Oh sure...but wait... I'll rather give you my card. Here is my e-mail and my cell phone number, both." he said, offering his card.
I was flabbergasted, but I didn't had much time to react, "Nice meeting you Sir but my stop is here, I must go..." I said in a haste and whisked off.