The bus

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.