Triii…, triii…, trii…, my alarm clock goes off yet again. Having snoozed it so many times, I decide it is finally time to get out of bed. I glance at the clock and the dim red lights show that it is 6:30. ‘Shoot, I’m late,’ I mutter to myself as I practically jump out of bed. Again, I will have to skip my skin care routine today, like I do almost every other day. My sister will go ballistic if she knows about this. I can almost hear her saying ‘That’s why your skin looks like that of a farmer’ with a huge scowl on her face. But I do not have time to dwell on that. I hurriedly make my way to the bathroom to brush my teeth and take a quick bath.
By 6:55, I’m all dressed and ready to go. It’s almost amusing how I did in twenty-five minutes what would normally take me over an hour. I say a quick prayer and race to the bus stop. The bus arrives a few minutes later. I pay my fare and board the bus. Every other day, I spend my time on the bus listening to the latest episodes of my favorite podcasts or just some good music. I enjoy it, and my earbuds signal to whoever is sitting beside me that I am not interested in making small talk. But today, I do not get the chance to.
On the other side of the street, an uproar draws my attention. A street boy is being accused of theft. A mob has already gathered. They all look angry and ready to beat the boy to death. The boy looks small and terrified in the middle, begging for mercy with tears running down his cheeks. I feel a pang of pity for him and hope that the crowd forgives him, but the bus moves before anything else happens. As the bus moves on, everyone on the bus begins to talk about it and almost everyone is of the opinion that they should punish him.
‘But things aren’t always what they seem to be,’ the lady sitting beside me says quietly with a wistful look on her face. ‘That’s right’, I say and nod my agreement without even thinking. This serves as an opening and for the next few minutes, we talk about the various valid reasons the boy could have possibly had to steal the money. And how people who commit crimes are not necessarily bad, sometimes they are just people life has dealt a bad hand. This attracts glares from some of the other passengers but we are both too engrossed to care. We then go on to talk about other controversial issues and strangely, it feels as if we’ve known each other forever. Soon, the bus stops, and it is time to alight. I wave goodbye to the lady with a smile and start walking towards the building where I work.
As I walk, I think about how that was the most refreshingly honest conversation I have had in a while. And with a stranger, no less. I hadn’t even gotten around to asking for her name, let alone her contact. We might have been good friends. Or not. I guess we’ll never know. Sometimes, the most meaningful moments in life come from fleeting connections with strangers we may never see again. Perhaps that is something we simply have to accept.
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