Eppur Si Muove

A herd of dinosaurs. That’s what they remind me of. Standing there, stolid, silent, dirty, splashed with mud and dirt, they resemble a herd of apatosaurs at the neighbourhood swamp. They rumble and sneeze, and they bellow. God that sound! It reaches down to my very roots and shakes me up from there. There is a guy, a person, in front of me, and he has on this ‘I’m a rebel, yo!’ T-shirt that says “I HAVE ONLY ONE NERVE, AND YOU’RE GETTING ON IT!” I feel like that statement, stamped in bold Matisse ITC font was written for me by someone above.

He looks at me looking at his t-shirt. He seems to be the “I spik Inglees. Solpa solpa” types; the ones who come from a land far, far away, with a language far, far more incomprehensible than ours. Like Nepal or Tibet. Or maybe Gangtok. I doubt he can understand his T-shirt, but I feel for him. He smiles at me, probably feeling glad that someone appreciates his wonderful sartorial sense. Not to seem rude, I smirk. He turns away.

In the belly of the beast, the heat is intolerable. Sweat runs in rivulets down my face, into my shirt, down my back. My undershirt is stuck onto my back, sticky. I swallow a couple of times; it doesn’t help. Sweat gets in my eyes, and out. The bellow sounds, again, echoing through the vastness of this…this place. Answers erupt from all around, the sound is deafening. It is a lonely sound, like monsters calling out to each other over some primeval bog, with no other species around. It is a teeth-rattling (can I say teeth-rattling? Or is it tooth-rattling?) sound. I shudder.

Sweat is slowly evaporating my deodorant. The stink around me is unbearable. Even with superior technology, at the end, all things said and done, we smell like shit. At least, those brothers of my species standing in front of me do. But I cannot get out. This is the only way, and I have to stay. I may suffocate, I may pass on out of my mortal coil, but I must stay. I do. I’m used to it now. The wait, the tension; the heat, the sweat. I’m used to them all.

Ahead, the whole herd is there. Standing there limply, baking in the horrible heat of day. They holler to each other, in their own code, and answers arrive by similar means. They seem content to just stand there till Eternity, but I know better. I know that sometime, sometime now their stagnation will turn to ponderous motion. And I have to wait.

The time has some. With a great creaking and howling the march begins. The huge forms in front of me move, slowly, oohhhh sssoooo ssssssssllllllloooowwwwwwlllllyyy. But they are moving.

A zephyr enters from somewhere, cooling my forehead but for a moment. It is a like a peaceful interlude, like a sudden piano solo in a heavy metal song (Opeth maybe, or Dimmu Borgir). Then it’s gone and the heat returns, like some demon. It envelops and chokes the life out of me.

But we are moving. The beast slowly rumbles, shudders, judders, creaks, shrieks and screams, and moves. Men all around shout, words unintelligible, gestures flamboyant, as we move out.

Finally.

Finally, we get out of the bus stand. Now it’s an hour and a half to my college. I curse the heat and the sweat and I hang on.

Time: 07:30 Hours.

The usual morning bus ride has begun.

P.S - Go here to know why this article was named thus.