The rest half hour of the journey was spent in studying this curious creature.
Thinking things like...
How his family must be...
Does he have a son? Is he working?
Does he have a daughter? unmarried (God forbid) ?
Why is he even allowed to work at this age?
Have his children abandoned him?
Does he earn enough to feed all his family?
Does he earn even half the amount he carries in his (ever getting heavier) bag daily,
back and forth, again and again, on and on?
His eyes, behind those scratched lenses, were really something,
His watery, dreamy eyes, suddenly cleared up whenever a passenger arrived,
He used to do a kind of survey of the bus after every stop, and give a reprimanding look to all those who didn't buy a ticket...
By this time, you are probably thinking I am the one senile, the one who needs to be urgently taken to a psychiatrist in that same god damn bus. :-)
Senile or not, I was filled with these questions, as I returned home that day. . .
What will happen to that guy?
Will he ever stop working?
Will he just cut his last ticket one day, never to return?
Would anybody notice that he is gone for ever?
And then, on a more serious note...
Do all men end up like this?
Why don't we hear of women going senile?
Why cant people just die, instead of having to go through this 'senile' phase at the end of their lives?
Do they understand others people and what others think of them, when their own brain cells are dying on them?
And then sometime, somewhere in the future. . .
Will I have the patience of handling such a guy?
What happens when someone in my close relation turns (God forbid) Alzheimeric or some other such crap?
Will I share the same fate some day?
Why cant I just say farewell and get on with my journey to heaven?
(very less chances though!)
********************************************************************************
Thinking things like...
How his family must be...
Does he have a son? Is he working?
Does he have a daughter? unmarried (God forbid) ?
Why is he even allowed to work at this age?
Have his children abandoned him?
Does he earn enough to feed all his family?
Does he earn even half the amount he carries in his (ever getting heavier) bag daily,
back and forth, again and again, on and on?
His eyes, behind those scratched lenses, were really something,
His watery, dreamy eyes, suddenly cleared up whenever a passenger arrived,
He used to do a kind of survey of the bus after every stop, and give a reprimanding look to all those who didn't buy a ticket...
By this time, you are probably thinking I am the one senile, the one who needs to be urgently taken to a psychiatrist in that same god damn bus. :-)
Senile or not, I was filled with these questions, as I returned home that day. . .
What will happen to that guy?
Will he ever stop working?
Will he just cut his last ticket one day, never to return?
Would anybody notice that he is gone for ever?
And then, on a more serious note...
Do all men end up like this?
Why don't we hear of women going senile?
Why cant people just die, instead of having to go through this 'senile' phase at the end of their lives?
Do they understand others people and what others think of them, when their own brain cells are dying on them?
And then sometime, somewhere in the future. . .
Will I have the patience of handling such a guy?
What happens when someone in my close relation turns (God forbid) Alzheimeric or some other such crap?
Will I share the same fate some day?
Why cant I just say farewell and get on with my journey to heaven?
(very less chances though!)
********************************************************************************
