The bus' speeding ahead like a steady wave, on the straight
road with it's gentle troughs and crests. Dark frames with the occasional and
fractional yet blinding brightness cast by the street lights and the porch
lamps,or even the headlights, hurtling by; tiny glimpses of clarity and color
among the varying shades of dark grey. Yet time is only inching forward... 11
O'clock.. Sigh.. Still wide awake. I'm not the only restless soul but in the
dark of the bus we all seem lost,isolated in our own catacomb of a seat.
The frequency of the little towns seem to be increasing.
Which means more sepia colored streets under hooded incandescent lamps with dark
backgrounds in your window's movie frames,the muddy brown reds of passing
gulmohar blooms and Vodafone hoardings. In the meantime your eyes adjust to the
moonlight and you pick out details, the lighter and square shades of grey
houses first. Then in surprising detail, everything else. Fields, trees, sleepy
vehicles, telephone poles, hay stacks, bushes, the narrow paths separating the fields,
shadows of the trees; the mountain no longer a silhouette but slopes scattered
with boulders and some tenacious shrubs. Somehow more like filtered daylight
devoid of color rather than the expected black and white movie.
And yet, it's only inching away. 12 minutes still to 12.
Though the occasional yawn visits me, sleep still eludes me. How is it that sandman
blew his dream dust over everyone but me? At this point even the street lamps
seems to have gone to sleep.No one to help me keep vigil over the forts and
temples passing by.
The bus has moved on to the highway and now it's true and
straight like an arrow. The monotonous movement seems to be inducing more and
more yawns. The screen seems a tad too bright now. Time to close this note and
see if I can catch up with the sandman :)
Good night my dear.
