Of Dust Storms and Clear Skies...

College was over for the day. I sat alone at the Park Street Metro station, staring at the blinking seconds on one of the hanging digital clocks. A small lady clad in a printed saree walked down to where I sat. I shifted, giving her space to sit. Then I went back to the blinking seconds. “ Tumi college e poro, na chakri koro? (Are you a student, or are you doing a job?) ” I looked around startled. Co-passengers, that too strangers, never really spoke at the metro stations. They maintained a stiff neck and a distant look in their eyes, as if it were the rule. Entire stations and those underground trains seemed to be carrying the load of a million mechanical beings, burdened by the woes of existence and worn down by time. The lady was looking at my face, waiting for a reply. I wondered if I should talk to her. She had a certain something about her that appealed to me. Maybe it was the warmth in her voice that reminded me of childhood afternoons spent at my aunts’. The sudd