THE VISIT

They boarded the bus together. A few seats were empty. Kamala settled down near the window. Vinay sat next to her.
She opened her handbag. The red, yellow and orange strands hanging from the bag were yet fresh after two years of use. Slipping her hand inside, she took out some coins. They felt cold against her palm. She glanced at Vinay. He was staring straight ahead.
Beep. The bus avoided a dog on the road. “These stray animals on the roads are a nuisance”, she thought. “They should be kept away. They’ll kill themselves and us too. Foolish dog.” The conductor, swaying along with the moving bus, came up to them. She gave him the coins. Flicking open the ticket book, he tore two tickets and handed them to her. Vinay hadn’t moved.
The bus stopped. “Get out, get out. Hurry man. You wait there. Wait. Ok now climb in. Hurry up.” The women muttered, pushing their fish baskets, holding babies and tugging at the children. The men got on from the other gate, folding their lungis[1]. The seats were occupied. “Get in, get in. Go on. There’s place there. Move” The women pushed in, crowding the aisle, holding on to the bars above their heads. The conductor tapped a young girl’s shoulder. “Move”, he said, his face dark and angry. The women standing beside defended her. “There’s no place man. Where do you want us to go?” The bus moved off again.
The woman standing next to Vinay handed him her baby. His nose was streaming. The mother leaned over and wiped his nose. Kamala looked fondly at the baby and made a chuckling noise. She glanced at Vinay. He was still looking ahead. The baby looked at Kamala then at his mother and started crying. The bus jolted. The women and men on the aisle almost fell over each other. People got down at the stop and more climbed in. The driver switched on the music.
As the bus picked up speed Kamala felt the breeze against her cheek. Her hair flew loose from the clip and tickled Vinay’s face. He removed it. Kamala looked at him again. The smooth cheek, the well-curved lips, the sharp jaw, she knew it all too well. His lashes were long, just like her’s. Her fingers itched to caress his hair, thick and unruly. But he was fiddling with the bag’s zip.
“Vinay,” she said softly. “Listen.” He looked at her. His look was empty. “Oh dear, please don’t do this to me and to yourself.” She pleaded. He looked away. She hesitantly held his hand. It was limp and damp. His shoulders were pressed into her. There was no place even on the seats in the crowded bus.
She removed her hand after a while. She sighed. It was no use.
A few men got in at the next stop. They stank of cheap liquor. Some others had sprayed a strong deodorant. Kamala held her hand to her nose. The mixture of liquor and deodorant smelt awful. But it didn’t touch Vinay. Kamala’s patience was waning. “He’s so moody and gets angry so easily. At least it makes him immune to these smells, jolts and the rough travel.”
Their stop was two minutes away. Kamala combed and retied her hair. Lifting the bag from her lap, she smoothed her dress. She had now given up on coaxing Vinay. “Let him do what he wants. I’ve had enough with him and his temper. His hair is unruly. Let it be. I won’t say a thing. He never listens anyway.” Hardly anyone was standing on the aisles now. Most had got down at the previous stops. As the bus halted, they made their way out.
They walked along the road silently. Vinay was staring into the traffic. They reached a yellow building. Kamala rang the doorbell. There was a pause. Vinay lowered his head. “Sorry. I’m sorry Ma. It was my fault. Please forgive me.” Kamala’s anger vanished. She smiled and kissed her son.
The door opened.