Summer Breeze

“Oi conductor madam, the a/c is not working. But you are charging a/c fare,” grumbled one passenger displaying his pass.

“Sir, you just got in, settle in first. A/c is in full blast. With 42 degree temperatures outside, it will take time for you to feel the a/c,” Kamala advised him.

It was 11 years to this day that Kamala took on the job as a bus conductor after her husband, a driver with the state transport department, died of cardiac arrest in his sleep. He was too young to go and she was too overwhelmed with the sudden responsibilities. She was apprehensive about the job, yet took it because she had to fend for her then two-year old daughter Deepa. She wanted neither charity nor pity.

She found her voice on the job, quickly learning the art of negotiating for change, elbow space, and respect. Though she had only passed 12^th class, hustling passengers of all kinds gave her all the real world education she needed. She quite liked her faded brown coat that she wore on top of her kurta – it gave her a shield of drabness. When she started, a woman bus conductor was a novelty. She was small built and nice-looking but over the years, Kamala learnt to fend off unwanted attention with her matter-of-factness.

How things have changed. The rusty overloaded buses with students, office goers, housewives, elderly gentlemen, and good-for-nothing fellas used to be a chirpy lot. The college students were mostly high-spirited in the mornings and definitely sullen in the evenings. The buses are now air conditioned and the casual conversations have been replaced by monologues with smart phones.

“Girls, you have to get down at the next stop,” Kamala nudged the two young college girls sharing ear phones and giggling into the video playing on the phone.

“We know, aunty,” the younger one responded, not bothering to look up.

“Why don’t you pay attention to where you are and where you are going? It can be dangerous, you know?” Kamala wondered aloud.

“Chill, aunty, we know the way home,” the younger one said, packing up.

It was now 4 pm and the bus was making its way to the bus depot for change of shift. It was also the time to go to the washroom, before Kamala trudged back home. In 11 years on the job, Kamala learnt the art of bladder control. Just drink a little bit of water, enough to keep hydrated but not enough to feel the pressure.

Kamala got on duty at 7 am. That means waking up at 5 am, getting ready, quickly making breakfast and packing rice and curry lunch for Deepa and herself. Thankfully, she was allotted the route closest to her house and a 20 minute brisk walk took her to the bus depot. And now, on the way back, it would take her 30 minutes – she had to stop at the market to buy vegetables. She should also buy mangoes today, she reminder herself, Deepa loves them.

Kamala counted all the coins and notes in her weathered brown bag and squared the amount with the number of tickets sold. She was ready with the accounts so she could save a few minutes while signing off.

“Ravi anna,” Kamala sat on the passenger seat behind the driver. “I am taking leave tomorrow.”

“Why, Kamala?” Ravi asked.

“Deepa’s birthday. She will be 13.”

“Oh, I totally forgot! Let me buy her a chocolate, before you go. And no need to help with the parking today, I will manage.”

“Thank you, anna.”

As the bus pulled into the depot, Kamala quickly settled the accounts, and rushed to the washroom. By the time she was out, Ravi had already bought a chocolate and was waiting for her.

“Bless the girl for me, Kamala. Won’t you think again about the proposal from Chandram? How long will you take care of her alone?” Head bent, Kamala quietly took the chocolate and slipped it into her purse before hurrying away.

The summer heat was racing her home. In 30 minutes, Kamala was in front of the main door of her house – the door was unlocked and the door ajar. She dropped the bag of vegetables and rushed in, looking for Deepa in the corners of her one room, kitchen and bathroom – she wasn’t here. “Deepa… Deepa…” she continued to shout and rushed out of the house.

“Ammaaaa… I am here, just went to the store to buy a pen,” Deepa called as she was rushing back.

“I told you to stay home and lock yourself. Why did you go? Why dint you wait for me – I would have come with you!”

“Relax Amma. I am 13; I can take care of myself.”

“Not 13 yet. And you don’t know how things are these days. You got to be careful, you know!”

“Stop it Amma! I know when to be careful. How can you teach me to be frail? I see you every day and learn how to be brave.”

Kamala looked at her daughter – she saw a confident girl-woman. Deepa was bent over her books, her face framed with hair wet with the summer humidity. Was she the brave one? Really? Is that how Deepa saw her? In contrast, Kamala saw herself as a rather reclusive person, trying to stay invisible and insignificant. Was she trying to bring up Deepa in her own image?

Kamala shrugged off the thoughts. “Deepa, I am making paayasam tomorrow. Is there anything else I can make for you? Here, chocolate from Ravi mama. Shall we go for a movie? I took the day off.”

“Amma – I have coaching class tomorrow and don’t want to miss it. Let’s go on Sunday, OK? Why did you take the day off? If you already did, they why don’t you rest tomorrow?” Deepa said, bent over her books.

Suddenly the small room felt still and quiet.

Deepa got up from her chair and hugged her mother. “Amma – it’s not like that. You know what I mean. I want to study. You are always working. Get some rest. Why don’t you go for a movie with Ravi mama’s family?”

“Ok, I will think about it,” Kamala said, wiping the beads of sweat on Deepa’s forehead.

Kamala’s thoughts went back to Ravi anna’s swords. Perhaps she should think of Chandram’s proposal. Not because she could not bring up Deepa herself, but maybe it would be nice to have a companion. As she started arranging the vegetables in the rack, she caught a glimpse of herself in the small mirror on the wall. She saw a thirty five year old woman, hair tied back with just a hint of grey at the temples. She does indeed wear her years well.

Kamala looked at herself for a few more seconds, and her daughter words came back to her: “I see you every day and learn to be brave.” That was the moment that Kamala realised that what she lacked in strength, she always made up in courage.

*

Illustration: Mamata