Angel on a rainy night

 Dear Reader,

Today I am going to share the story that inspired me to start writing and to share stories. I wanted this to be my first story. For some reason I kept dragging it until I wrote my first post of this blog. I guess, I wanted to get started and write something quick instead of procrastinating for another bunch of years. It's been about fourteen years since then. The memory keeps popping in every now n then, I make a note of  doing justice to the story, but I keep getting distracted.  It feels strange to me  how long the story stayed with me.

Any way, here it goes. 

I think it was the year of 2008. I was new in Chennai with my first job, figuring out my ways in the big metro city and its rough-n-tough life, particularly the metro bus system. I would travel to work from Ponni Amman Koil, an area in the city outskirts, to Guindy, the central industrial area via Sholinganallur. I would mostly ride a bus number 575. It was a long, hectic and often jerky ride. The bus would arrive at my bus stop at unpredictable times. But for a long period that was my best option. In the crowded and overloaded bus with all the yelling, push-n-shove, shouts for tickets and coin exchange, I would often notice a conductor. He would be managing the whole thing beautifully, with a super quiet and calm attitude, something I can now call "zen-like". I would wonder, "Being a bus conductor is such a hard job! How does he manage it so well?" 

At night, I would return home on 575 as well. Gradually, responsibilities at work kept increasing, and I started leaving work at later and later hours. On one of these nights, the bus did not stop at Ponni Amman Koil on my way back. I had to shout at the driver in order to alert them. Even though the driver stopped the bus to let me out, they warned me that this bus is an express bus and hence is not supposed to stop at a small bus stop like Ponni Amman Koil, and that I should get down at Shollinganallur and take a shared auto-rickshaw (auto rickshaws for multiple passengers). My attempts to argue about the fact that I used to get down at Ponni Amman Koil all the time until then, did not work at all. Any way, after that night, I begrudgingly rode on a shared auto rickshaw between Sholinganallur and Ponni Amman Koil on most nights.

Soon it was winter in Chennai, and time for late monsoon rains. It was annoying how a city that had a few tiny rivers which were converted into sewage channels, would get flooded with just one shower of rain. The rapid road constructions would leave no room for rain water to escape due to lack of planning for drainage. Water would  remain logged for long time once it started raining. One night when it was pouring cats and dogs, I got into 575.  I was worried about having to get down at Shollinganallur and ride in the uncomfortable shared auto-rickshaws. When the bus reached at Sholinganallur though, the conductor quietly instructed me to wait until the next stop, that is, Ponni Amman Koil. When the bus approached Ponni Amman Koil, he blew a soft whistle indicating the driver to stop the bus. I got down after thanking the conductor. This was the same zen-like man, by the way. He did not have to do it. None of the other conductors did it. But he saved me from lot of trouble and fear that night. It seemed as if he was an angel sent to watch over me that night.

Even though I continued riding on that bus for many more months after that, I never got to see him again. Now, I don't remember many details of his features any more. But I remember a silhouette of him, an essence of cool air surrounding him instilling a sense of calmness. Even though I did not finish writing this story for a long time, the memory did not fade away completely. Some day, some where, some how, some thing would happen and it would trigger this memory and I would thank the conductor and hope that the Universe will send my gratitude towards him.

One night, I was scrolling through Instagram and came across this post from the Instagram handle @wordporm:

Some stranger somewhere 

still remembers you because 

you were kind to them

 when no one else was.

 

It reminded me of him, the conductor. Since then, the thought stubbornly stayed with me, so much so that one night I got out of bed even after a long tiring journey and stayed up to jot it all down and my first draft was ready. But procrastination hit again, and it took me another two years to get back to it and share it.

Even though fourteen years late, I am happy and grateful that the story stayed with me until now, and that it trusted in my heart to give it a shape and share it out there one day. I hope Universe is conveying my thanks to him and giving him back in many-folds what he has given to me.

Thank you, my angel in the rainy night!