Never search your pockets while texting

The bus that day was unusually vacant. There were two girls giggling away in the seat right behind the driver, a beautiful woman was sitting beside a tall bespectacled man on the other of the aisle, the bright myrtle and the exceptionally large number of bangles covering both her arms, from wrists to almost elbows told that they were recently married.  I took the window seat just before the last row, far away from the happy couple and the giggly girls. Shoved my bag under the seat, took out a mango, from my pocket I took out the parts of my cell phone and assembled them. With crossed fingers I switched the device on, it worked, I made a brief call to my mother, who was disgusted at the turn of events, after a lengthy complaint on the rising cost of vegetables and an equally lengthy lecture to take care of my health she reluctantly disconnected the call, considering the rising cell phone bill.  A message from the vodaphone told that I had another 10 rupees worth talktime left. Reluctant to spend it I decided to send an SMS to ‘her’.

“eh rati … vskp gacchAmi ….. adya nA vadatu zaknOmi … st .”

I opened the contact book and searched her name in the long list of carefully ordered contacts.

“ekkaDiki!” came a hoarse grunt.

Startled, I looked up it was the ticket conductor, his bad mood was evident from his irritated face, and I decided that it was better to buy the ticket first than to send the SMS. With the phone still in my hand I dug out my wallet out of my Jeans pocket.

“Vizag” I muttered out handing a rare, crisp, new, unscribbled 100 rupees note to him. He put it into his leather pouch and dug out a dirty 20 rupee note, two wrinkled 10 rupee notes and a disintegrating 5 rupees note and tucked it into my palm.

He then unceremoniously plucked out two small slips of paper from a big bunch of papers which looked more like lottery tickets that bus tickets, punched holes on 4 different numbers and handed them to me. I took them and smiled to myself, one of them had the number 5000 and the other had 500 upon it. Paise coins are long gone from the Indian market; these bus tickets are perhaps the only reminders to the Indian common man that the smallest unit of Indian currency is not 5 Rupees but 1 Paise.

Tucking away the precious slips of paper (If you lose them you have to part with 1000 Rupees) in another pocket, I looked at my cell phone. The screen flashed

“Messsage sent. Call cost 0.00 INR INR. STD/local SMS balance still left 2909. Your current balance is 10.98INR”

Perhaps I had accidentally pressed the send button at some instant while buying my ticket. Now I was waiting for her response which usually is instantaneous. With the cell phone in my left hand, I took another big bite off the sweet raw mango. The reply had not yet come; I did not text her anymore. The bus had reached Tagarapuvalasa, another one hour and I would be in my Aunt’s house.

I felt a vibration in my palm and then a beautiful tune on a double reed flute. My cell phone was ringing the screen flashed, “VijayKumar Drpnnpll”. He was a fellow classmate and I wondered what made him call at that time, for rarely does he call.

“Hello! Durapannapalli Vijayakumar”, I called out(I love calling people by their full names).

“You know I found out why you go to Vizag so often!” he smirked.

“What’s there to find out? I go to my aunt’s house away from the stupid hostel.”

“Don’t lie dear. You go to meet ‘Rati’.”

I was dumfounded, not a word came out of my mouth, how the hell did he find out the name. I was still wondering when the speaker came alive with his words full of sarcasm.

“’Eh rati, vskp gacchAmi…………………………………’, now tell me sir who this ‘Rati’ is. Isn’t she your girlfriend?”

“I need to change the order of the wretched contact list.” I thought to myself, interestingly when you are nervous your thoughts come out through your mouth, and that’s what happened to me.

He laughed at my unintended comment.

“I do not have girlfriends.”  I said.

“Not girlfriends, just a girlfriend, Rati. You know, I googled the name and have saved the screenshot of the results, which I am tempted to show you.” he laughed.

“Anyways enjoy your trip…………… lets talk after you return.” The phone got disconnected.

“Enjoy my trip! now that you have spoiled it.” I said aloud.

The conductor and the other passengers stared hard at me. Embarrassed I was trying to find out a way to cover up things when the silly thing rang again.

This time the screen flashed, “Bharanikumar Papiraju”, my thrashing heart lost a couple of beats.

Bharani and Vijay, were two bodies one soul, they exemplified bromance, if it had not been for their own individual personal affairs, a stranger could have easily confused them of being gay, now that it is legal in India.

“Why has Bharani called?”

“surely not for Rati or is it for that.”

“But how would he know? Could Vijay have told Bharani?”

“It’s impossible. See the time it is not even 1 whole minute since Vijay disconnected, during such a short duration no one can tell stories.”

“Perhaps they are nearby?”

“Hey you know their parents. Bharani would get the thrashing of his life if he dared not return on time from college.”

My mind and heart argued while the cellphone kept ringing.

Confused and cautious I answered the call.

“Hello” I could not say anything more.

“Hey ! Would you be able to come for second show tonight.” Bharani boomed

I was relieved; surely he had not yet spoken to Vijay.

Gathering my voice, I replied.

“Oh no Bharani, I am sorry I can’t.”

“Why?  what happened? What will you do over the weekend? You will get bored. Why don’t you join us?” Bharani was adamant.

“you see Bharani ……. I am going to Vizag, and I would return only after Vinayaka chaturthi.”

“To meet Rati” Bharani added casually

My heart sank. The idiots had spoken to each other. No! They were nearby for I could hear Vijay guffawing and catcalling on the other side.

“Stupid fellow! “ bharani continued. “You never let me get the slightest hint of it. Just return! We would talk about it.”

The phone got disconnected.

I was in a shock; I cursed my phone aloud, ignoring the disgusted looks. Indira Gandhi Zoological garden did not mesmerize me that day, nor did Kambala Konda eco park. Visalakshi Nagar and Hanumanthawaka flew by. At Venkojipalem I gathered my luggage and told the conductor that I wanted to get down at Isukatota. The conductor stared but obliged. He signaled the driver to stop at Isukatota, where I got down.

I did not feel like taking an autorickshaw to my aunt’s house. Rather I took the much required walk to snap out of the concussion, which had engulfed me since the horrific calls.

* The words from Indian languages with the exception of proper nouns are spelled according to the Harvard Kyoto convention for romanisation.