Transient to Tamil Nadu

I felt really happy. Sitting in my usual seat (second from the back) in the evening bus I glanced outside at the fields, rivulets and rivers passing by. I thought of how great the beauty of nature and life was. The ride home was filled with expectation and joy for the weekend lingered ahead. My grandmother sitting in the front also took the bus with me and I thought about the two new movies I would watch over the weekend along with great food.

I felt a hard stop. Opening my eyelids it felt like small needles hitting piercing my eyes. I closed them again and pressed the lids hard, opening them again slowly to accustom to the sudden rush of the morning light. I had been dreaming about my childhood and mother, who is sadly no more. The journey on this bus had brought back memories of that bus that I used to take everyday as a child and my mother who I lived with. My mind left the halcyon days of youth and came to the present; my body sprawled on the long seat of the bus, feet jutting out, and head resting on my bag that had formed an unusual pillow. Still a bit dazed, I slowly sat up. I had been up at 4am and left home after 5 to come to Krishnagiri, Tamil Nadu to present the findings of our research. As the rest of the group was already getting off the bus and I quickly pulled myself together.

The group explained that it has been an eventful trip, for while I was sleeping two other travelers had grown suspicious seeing the intermixed group who lacked any significant amount luggage. As such after discussing with themselves, the conductor was informed that we looked like runaways and could be potential terrorists. They exclaimed that we should be checked for identification immediately, with further police action to follow. The conductor refused to believe their logic and informed them that it was a free country, and he could not check identifications on some erratic whims. Entirely not convinced the passengers kept their attention on us for the entire trip afraid of what maybe unleashed if they did not carry out their civic duty. After the bus stopped and we were off they relented and went their own way. The story was narrated by one of our group-mates who had heard the conversation and drama in Tamil.

Arriving at the District Collector’s office we began our presentation in the presence of the Collector who is the architect of the program, along with other stakeholders and UNICEF representatives. I have been the positivist of the group and though we have disagreements on certain aspects we are all committed to see the change and program succeed. For the presentation there were no dramatic examples, just a well articulated preamble to how the program had succeeded and what changes were required. The Collector, a man of vim and commitment was very pleased and gave us credit for giving him further initiative to make the program a success. He heartily invited us to return in two months to see the program in its full force.


After the presentation we celebrated with a hearty Punjabi meal that we ate at a dhabba or small street shop. It was nice to have north Indian food instead of the staple diet of south Indian food. In the afternoon we left the district for what would be our last time. As the bus passed by the Collectors office which stood apart from anything else with grandeur, I looked back with longing for one last time to catch the building that formed the hope for so many in the district. Like the shimmering reflection of the Golden Temple in the sacred pool, the District Collectors office is also an image I shall always carry with me and in my dreams.