a bus-ticket worth love

some where on the India Gate circle, some time in the sunday morning, when she was reaching college in a cycle rickshaw, and i was going to amul’s place for some project of mine, i once again felt for this bus ticket in my jacket’s left pocket. and thought of its worth.

“is this Rs. 10 ticket worth only this much? or has it some more value attached to it?” if a ticket checker finds me without it, i would have had to shell out Rs. 100 as the fine. which my being very clumsy & absent minded is always a perfect possibility.

so, as i again nervously checked the ‘being thereness’ of this little piece of paper, i felt it was worth more than the supposed Rs. 110 it carried within. it felt infinitely more valuable than that.

this 1.25″ by 3.25″ piece of govt. authorization to travel in state run buses felt invaluable because it was carrying me towards her. and suddenly, everything else in the world, assumed only this role.

every drop of fuel, every rotation of bus tyres, the everyday functioning of traffic lights to every second of sun had this very purpose, of taking me to her. the whole world existed & breathed with life, only for us to meet. and to love. it seemed, the whole universe works overtime to make this a possibility.
a perfect possibility.

12 hours after i left home this sunday morning, look, what i returned with, my love.
a half-finished book, a crumpled bus ticket, some work that was done, some stolen kisses in public places and the memory of our hands taking leave in an eternity.

and a thought on how love changes everyday things into objects of reverence. and a love of the love she has brought in to my life.