An Evening Ride

Being grumpy is something I don’t like. But then I inevitably turn grumpy on Tuesday evenings. My eyebrows are creased perpetually through out the evening. I’ll snap at you for no reason and I’m “avoidable”, totally (These days I’ve even noticed my boss schedules meetings every Tuesday afternoon outside office so as not to cross my paths).So if you happen to see someone looking like me on the road and if it is a Tuesday evening you might want to cross over to other side of the road. Why do I hate Tuesday evenings so much? It’s because the next day is Wednesday, the longest day of the week* and weekend looks a far cry.

   Anyways on this particular Tuesday, the grumpy me took off from office very late, and this fact added another 22 ounces of grumpiness into me. Thanks to my inability to generate my signature magnetic smile, I didn’t get a seat in the MRT** and much to my annoyance I had to stand on my point heels, (Don’t even remind me of the man*** who discovered point heels and declared it as a mandatory accessory for power dressing) my soles aching and later on becoming numb, for the entire 32 minutes train ride. The conditions didn’t improve as I limped to the bus station and I missed the bus home by mere seconds, again, all credits to my heels. After a good deal of waiting I got my bus and plunked in to the front seat. I gave myself the luxury of a quarter of a smile. I still must’ve looked the embodiment of grumpiness and nobody sat next to me. That was when a young lady, oblivious of the “disturbing” atmosphere decided to share the seat with me.

By the end of the day at work, I look like a vagabond, my hair sticking out in all four cardinal directions, kajal smudged and clothes crumpled.Somedays I gawk at my reflection in the restroom mirror and wonder whether I slog in the software industry or the coal mining industry. Honestly I don’t know how some women manage to look fresh and pretty after a day’s work, I like to believe that they probably don’t work at all. (I like earning brownie points for making downright nasty comments. It makes up for a bad work day as well.)

On the contrast, the pretty lady looked fresh like the morning dew on a rose. Her black dress was prim and proper, hair tucked behind her ear and a smile played over her glossy lips. I could smell the whiff of a pleasant perfume.Inspite of the crinkled eyebrows, the woman in me had an urge to ask her the brand of the perfume. If you think I was getting envious about her, you are almost right. All I wanted to do was ask her how she manages this. But then our dear lady was very busy on the phone. Even when I was looking (or pretending to look,if you think so)out the window, my ears picked up the sweet nothings she was murmuring into her phone.

“Hey baby, missing me?”

(Yeah right! Here we go.)

“Now, now, be a good boy, I’m almost there.”

(If you are almost there, why don’t you put down the phone and save yourself the bill?)

“Give me a kiss, baby. A nice loud one.”

(I almost fainted here.)

“Here is a big one. MUAH.”

(Followed by giggles)

If you are going to reach home in 10 minutes, why do you have to make a phone call and say “I missed you baby?” There is no end to which people turn mushy.

The conversation lasted three bus stops.

I got up from my seat to get off the bus so did the mush queen.Aha! I waited for her to get down. I wanted to see the “Mush King”. So I unhurriedly tapped out of the bus.

I gave myself the liberty of sporting an attitude befitting a critic viewing Milan fashion week 2011 autumn/winter (winters make the critics grumpier)

And at last like the show stopper of a fashion show, Mush King surfaced. Trust me, I swooned, well almost. Mush Queen was showering him with kisses,”Oh my sweetheart”. I had never seen anything so perfect. The button eyes and soft brown hair; the complacent expression – everything about him was adorable. The happiness of meeting the woman he loves most in world had turned him rubescent. A tiny flame of jealousy burned through me.

He gurgled from his pram and gibbered,” a oo eewww shoo yaa ee,Mama”.He clapped his hand and said again,” Mama Mama”. The nanny and the mother laughed. I smiled in the background oblivious to the trio.

The bus stop was empty but for us. I walked to the coldness of my apartment leaving the mother and son glowing in the warmth of their love. I learned a lesson that day,” Don’t be judgmental on Tuesday evening. The foreshadow of Wednesdays tend to impair your judgment skills”

* Go read this post.Scroll to the end (if you are in a hurry) for the explanation of "why one should hate a Wednesday?"

** MRT: Mass Rapid Transfer train facility in Singapore

***I don’t believe any woman could’ve designed that instrument of self torture. It could’ve been invented only by a man.