It was autumnal equinox. I embused the bus heading to Shimla. It was a sweet ride, the chesterfields were well cushioned, there was a small knob on either side to calibrate the dogleg of the pew. On enumerating, I discovered there were nearly a dozen of echelon and each row faced each other to provide more legroom.
“22B. 22B. 22B”, the hymn continued, as I went on with the search for my seat.
“There it is!”, I exclaimed to myself, as I finally arrived at my asylum for the next three hours.
22B was no dernier cri. It was a seat in the last second row just beside the dormer, the September zephyr taxied inside the caboose, as I wafted my mammoth portmanteau, lifting it up and imprisoning it inside the overhead baggage cabin as I quartered myself on the incarnadine tinted stall, acclimatizing myself to my new surroundings. The pew to my epiphany was really snug. To my incredulity, it also had a welded copper frame, pervenche hued arm-rest.
Before embarking on the odyssey, my antipodean seat was captivated by a matron and her daughter. One could clearly interpret the former to be in her late-thirties. She had hazel eyes and raven hair falling down like a cascade, her fair complexion was highlighted by a mild tint of rose pink on her jowl, probably just because of the algid incalescence. She was wearing a Sang-De-Boeuf dirndl which rippled down to her ankle and a contrasting Sinoper parka with a watchet ascot. She had an aura about her, emanating gray and ambience of melancholia. Contradicting her mother, the daughter was of high spirits, euphoric and curious to know all.
I was fumbling through the olio of my all time favorite poems from the likes of Frost, Dickinson, Keats, et cetera while the girl riveted the passing tallus married to a sap tinted treeline.
“And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!”, I arrested my flow to observe the dynamic mademoiselle. She was in the clouds, filled to the brim with whimsical and aerial cogitation. She paused her observing stature to gander at me as I greeted her with a simper. But to my dismay, she catapulted back to her world of daydreams as I continued to drown in the eerie of silence.
The young damsel invoked an interrogative conversation with her mother while I pretended to read. They were unaware of me eavesdropping the whole way through.
“Ma, why is the sky blue not green and why are the trees green not blue?”,her innocence complimenting her beauty, her raw emotions and curiosity.
“I don’t know honey, but what matters is that it looks beautiful the way it is”, answered her progenitor while looking at her, a faint smile on her face.
“I wish Papa was here to see how beautiful the skies and the mountains are!”
“I wish the same too, love”
“Ma, when is Papa going to return?”, asked the young girl sliding off a strand of hair falling in front of her mystical prussian eyes, a million dreams and reverie held hostage in them.
“Soon. Soon”,the mother replied enbosoming(hugging) her daughter as tears rolled down the former’s cheeks.