The adrenaline pumping action sequences and the grandeur of Bahuballi was laid to rest in the silence of the diverging road outside the theatre.
A seat witnessing the glory of the make-believe movie world fiefdom and the contrast of the life outside is a reality check.
In the midst of those goodbyes and people requesting the ever-so-demanding autowaalas to drop them home, the ‘Sorry, we couldn’t find you a ride’ notification from Uber wasn’t a surprise.
As I skittled in vain to book a cab, a sense of ‘chal theek hai, thodi hawa khaate hain’ seeped in. And I sat there doing absolutely nothing.
I’m pretty used to being on my own. It is very mood dependent but still a major part of how I like life to be. Less intrusive, unless I allow others in. On my own time. I’m not anti-social nor do I dislike people or their company. But to stay sane, I find being selective is important.Growing older the fear of being stuck with bad apples is far more than the occasional pleasures of solitude.
I like conversations. The ones where you’re not reacting or in a rush. The elaborate ones. Listen. Speak. Listen.
The driver arrived and was in a mood to talk. Probably just to stay awake for a few more hours and clock the mandatory hours/rides for the day. More Small talk. I’m okay with the awkward silences. Rather, over time, have got used to it. And so have my friends. (Hopefully!)
But the driver needed it. And so we talked. About Dinner, about Bahuballi’s impressive collection, his family, him being the sole bread earner and the standard driver-passenger talk about ‘How’s Uber doing?’.
As we said Goodnight to each other, my philosophical musings from earlier were overshadowed by the tough life of the driver. There I was pondering over me being alone after watching a movie, spending money equivalent to 4-5 rides he’ll have to make to match. First world problems!
Walking upstairs and crashing on my bed, when I wanted to, never seem such a luxury.