That day ...

It was 1:00 in the morning , a little past midnight , when , without any prior notice the Himachal State Public road transport bus came to a grinding halt. The bus had been running like a gas steam engine, constantly squalling , hitting against the unruly thicket of uneven shrubs and tree branches growing on the sidewalks of the naturally developed road , which lacked any sign of cement or of human intervention. The bus driver, who was habituated to the daily grind of arduous journeys was busy trying to communicate with  other drivers through the handy walkie talkie that he carried. We were still deep in slumber when the bus arrested its movements and were oblivious to the happenings of the outside world.

The breeze halted as if signalling for permission. It was chilly outside and the lack of movement made the weary passengers open the window pane for some fresh air. Couples murmuring, mothers shouting , half -awakened children crying, fathers snoring and other agitated noises filled the bus . There were footsteps from all directions. There was a loud thud on the bus roof, as eager men began climbing up to get a better view of what had transpired. This entertained the kids.

I was still asleep, when I felt something soft , almost hair like rub against my left ear. I had put my head on the support bar of the seat. Soon , I felt someone breathing heavily , struggling to remove something massive and valuable from the top shelf. Her hair had the distinct smell of chameli , the locally grown wild flower. In my daze , I could hear someone , a female calling out to her father. She was seated next to me in the bus and when she moved , she almost shoved me. That woke me up.

I banged my head onto the support bar , on which I had rested my head all this while. The camera bag containing my DS LR Nikon D 40 landed on the metallic floor with a thud. We continued travelling after a exhausting halt of 3 hours.