The Bus

"It's 20 km from here," said my father
as I hopped on into the bus.
"Yay! a window seat!," I say sitting down.
I look around, inside the bus,
as the journey is yet to begin...
A young mother; cradling her child.
An old man and his grandson.
Couple of college students.
A family of three.
Another old man.
My father.
The conductor.
The driver.
It is half full.
And now, off we go.
I rest my head on the window pane,
letting myself vibrate,
letting my head relax, enjoy the free massage.
The cool breeze blows my hair,
caresses my face, tickles my neck,
makes me smile.
I squint at the Sun,
thanking it for the warmth.
With every halt and gear,
my head bangs slightly on the pane.
No, it doesn't hurt.
I enjoy it instead...
A Bollywood song sounds from somewhere...
Wait, I know this one. Have heard it before.
But where is it coming from?
Oh, it's the young mother's ringtone.
She answers, a sweet smile across her face.
Her child is beautiful too.
Big black, curious eyes,
tiny hands fiddling his mother's hair.
She brings the phone close to her child.
He grabs it. A questioning look on his face.
"Baba", she says.
The baby passes a kiss through the phone.
Bliss.
I smile at him.
He smiles back and so does his mother.
The grandson;
tugs his old man's shirt sleeve.
His ears have betrayed him it seems.
He lowers his head and the young one says
"Where is our stop?"
Yes, loud enough for me to hear.
 Uncountable folds surround his eyes
as he smiles and says "After the next two."
The young one nods, considering.
Again, I let my head rest on the window pane;
soaking up the Sun,
smiling with the breeze,
awaiting the welcoming smell
of the countryside...
of the village, I not remember much...