A Software Traveller

By Sagar Kamalam

Romance | read 02 min #shortstories #expression #romance #traveller

Hello,

Hi, I’ve known you for a month, but you don’t know who I am. I work for Sister Helps Pvt. Ltd — the same company where you work. I got an appointment as a Programmer Analyst two months ago.

It was overwhelming for me to see you here. I replied to her — she was called Ria — and later on, I came to know more about her. It all happened in a ruckus-filled place at the bus bay where I regularly wait to reach my domicile, and she left in a car. Maybe that's his boyfriend, I give a thought in my mind.

Later,

I have often met such people and been curious to know why they were entrapped in this unhealthy habit of drinking. I asked a person the reason. He smiled and said to me, “Ye mere liye ek bhulawa habit hai” (This is how I try to forget my frustrations...).

Someone muttered while sitting next to me, but I couldn’t relate to it while traveling.

As a proletariat, I must take care of my work and every penny in a proper way to sustain myself until I get relief from my financial arrest. I’d like to have a comfortable living, but things get hard. It’s simply a story of a common Indian — dragging all these thoughts together from the corner where I’m seated, which makes life seem so small as I imagine, during my daily journey.

When I go to the office, it looks like a modern planned prison — everyone is busy capturing their bucks in the name of professional work, along with some popcorn entertainment on the side. Nothing special.

The Next Day,

Ria came to my workplace and sat on my table, looking like a monster. I didn’t understand why, and meanwhile, her corsage made me more troubled for a while, as I was a nerd.

She said, “Are you a faggot?” with a smile on her face. She started off thinking it was true.

“You frivolous little lady, tell me what you need,” I asked.

She replied, “Why do you wait so long for the bus? Instead, you can have a two-wheeler, a company-provided vehicle, or any other.”

I didn’t want to explain my story to her. But I said, “It’s very complicated and a lengthy story. I don’t think you have enough time to listen to it all. I have a lot of work to do. Don’t disturb me. Just go from here.”

“Just tell me why you wait,” she asked again.

“I don’t know, Ria. Go, get away from me and my work,” and she left. I felt embarrassed after that.

For the next few months, she never appeared near bustop or niether much in the office. I wondered why.

But one day, I saw her on the same bus I travel on. I didn’t understand why, and I never tried to talk.

It continued for a month. What could have happened on her side? I was never interested to know, nor to ask.