The fast and the furious - bus adda circuit

I had walked a couple of kilometres in that lightly foggy night. It was quite late, about three, but morning was still far enough for the night to feel like night. Warm yellow lights shone from distant houses, slanting through the air, exuding not brightness but a feeling of sleepy contentment.

I sat comfortably, in the warmth of my jacket and muffler, on a long wooden bench, leaning against the reinforced glass of the shuttered metro entrance. The tea maker stood behind his portable workstation, boiling tea, leaning forward, at times, to add sugar, and sometimes, to add tea. The chap in charge of distribution was smoking a cigarette, the smoke pouring through his nostrils each time he released heavily, and was talking about the weather.

“Winter isn’t anywhere as cold as it was last year.”

I was about to agree, but remembered that it had become quite cold the last couple of days.

“It hasn’t snowed up there in Simla and Manali. That’s the reason”, he continued.

“It’s windy this time so it’s hard to compare”, said a small boy, who was washing empty tea glasses in a nearby bucket. He washed them, continously, glass after glass, the cold air closing in around him, although he hardly noticed. The tea maker would turn towards him routinely and add a dollop of hot water to the bucket.

“Its colder when its windy”, said the distributer. “So, even if it is windier this winter, that still doesn’t change the fact that the winter this year is warmer.”

The tea maker looked up. “You know, the rain does make it colder, much colder.”

“If it had rained, we would all have frozen!’ I added, furthering the fruitless vein the conversation had taken.

“All I’m saying is that had if it snowed up there in Manali", the distributor was a hard man to knock off his stride, "it would have been helluva colder here. In any country if it snows in one place, it become colder everywhere else.”

There was a pause in the conversation. The tea seller bent down and stirred the tea, his face glowing red from the stove. The only sound, moving softly through the stillness, was of water spashing against the bucket.

“Happy new year”, said the distributer to the tea maker.

“Happy new year”, repeated the distributor.

“Happy new year” said the small boy, crouching next to the bucket, not looking up.

I realised then, that it had been new year’s eve. I don't know how I could have forgotten. It was a huge occasion and my friends, I knew, must be partying like crazy. People generally start making plans for this night days in advance, trying to line up at least two or three parties, so they can usher in the new year in style. Drinking, dancing, going wild.

Somewhere in the darkness, he was stirring his tea slowly, content not to concern himself with anything else . The small boy crouched quietly, washing glasses. The distributer was munching on a piece of bread, he dipped it occasionally in his tea.