The Wretched Day-2

I had no other go than to nag my dad. I dialed his number. To my annoyance it went on ringing but no response. Being a daughter to a shopkeeper is unpredictably whammy that one has to adjust a lot. I felt as though I was strayed amidst an arid desert. For a minute, I scolded myself for having been so negligent in boarding the bus despite knowing that it would take another hour for the next bus. 

After a minute or so, my phone buzzed. "Appa"— the screen flashed. What a relief! I swiped up to answer. It's typical of my dad to holler into the phone against the noisy surroundings. Esp. in the evenings— the peak hours of the day. 

"You had called me, why?" He yelled. "I'm in TVS Tolgate. I missed the bus....ummm... the bus was.... ", I started meekly to explain (to justify)  "Okay. Stay there itself. I'm coming." Having said that he didn't bother to get a reply;  disconnected the call. That's my dad. No more coaxing, nothing! He never lets me sweet-talk him to get things done. Where there is a need, there is my dad!!! 

So I stood there,waiting for my dad to come, occasionally peeping into my mobile, scrolling through the social media pages to kill the time. In the dim yellow orange light of HPS lamps almost all the bikers seemed like my dad that I averted my eyes and looked away. 

There stood a group of college students— chattering bindaas. Not even a speck of worry, visible in any of their eyes. For a minute I loathed being a working woman and craved to become a college student again. (But of course life is always a one way track) Human minds are faster even than light. It hauled me back to the good old days.

By then I got a call from my mom. As I was deeply engrossed in the past, I didn't even notice the call. Then I had to rush to answer it. 

The call wasn't a usual one. "I'm going to meet grandma. When will you reach home?", on and on she hurried. There was a tinge of worry in her voice too. 

"Why mom? When are you leaving? Are you at home now?" I too shot in a jiffy. But my mom has a weird habit of giving a single answer to all the dozens of questions shot  at her. It had always irritated me but that day it was strange. I felt empathetic. Her sober tone made it clear that something was creepy.

"Is grandma fine?", I asked finally. She stuttered and said...

(To be continued....)