The hot humid temperature, what had happened to Kathmandu? The only thing about this beautiful ancient city apart from its culture was succumbing to the new age machines. One modern machine called the micro bus stood in front of me, I had no other choice but to get into it. Lingering in this scorching sun could only mean one thing – headache. It was 2.00 PM, already, and the heat was unbearable. I personally never liked traveling in the micro, partly because I love the air privilege the tempo gave me. At least I could breathe or so I thought.
I got in, mortals have very few choices or too many at once. A few were already in there, probably the ones from the pervious stop, I concluded. The conductor had already begun collecting the fare, from the ones who had been there for quite a few stops now. I waited for the bus to leave, it was only then the air could breathe though my hair, cooling down myself. The bus waited for a while more, it has passengers to collect.
It was now moving and the air playing around with my hair, but the traffic wasn’t so friendly after all. The bus stopped for five minutes and then ran, stopped again, ran again. Only pieces of air could reach me one after another. It stopped again and few people got in. First the last rows were filled and slowly the ones in front.
A man with a huge umbrella sat besides me. The conductor blankly asked him to shut down his checked umbrella and put it aside. Was he scared that it could obstruct his passengers’ seat? Poor umbrella dear. The bus started moving and the passengers began their thoughtful talks, the ones who knew each other. Some other were glued to their phones.
Too much for eavesdropping in a public vehicle, my ears were caught by a conversation behind, a one sided conversation. A lady, from a well off family I assumed; the original marimba of the iphone was what she answered to. She told a story about an ear ring of one of her relatives which was ‘fake’ as she assumed it to be, and how a part of it had been broken. The air was getting better, and the people went on with their small talks.
The bus had slowly begun to get overcrowded; people standing in and squeezing in like sponge. What do they think are we? Spongebob Squarepants? For one thing we couldn’t have square pants. And just then a lady got in. Clad in college uniform was she, holding a cylindrical tube behind which looked like the ones carrying maps and sketches, the likes of the engineers and architects. Too big for her size, she carried a large rolls of think chart papers. An assignment it was, I guessed. The bus was already too crowded, people squeezing in in every passing stop. Mortals have very few choices it seemed.
A micro bus filled with numerous people, each one with endless stories of their own, their plights and delights. The world was getting bigger every day, and our lives deeper into the less understood vicious circle of choices, dreams, destinations and outcomes.
The Wordcastle 