First came the carved walking stick, followed by an old lady. As the bus conductor helped her in, I took her arm and helped on to the seat next to me. She must have been atleast 80. Small, wizened, short hair, saree ankle high. And ofcourse the walking stick. She bought a ticket for Shilpara, a longish way off from where she boarded.
If she can manage to move around by bus (at all) and that too in a sari, perhaps its time I should too. I just so love wearing sarees, but the thought of the commute by mini bus gives me heebie-jeebies. Don't want a situation where the bus conductor says "Here's your ticket didi and here's your sari!"
Soon, a tall well built chap boarded with his tot. The longish seat adjacent to the driver, where i was sitting was full. He stood in front of me and tried to balance himself, his tot, the water bottle and school bag. I picked up the tot and put him nex to me (there was just enough vacant space for him), while the father looked at me gratefully.
The tot on my left, soft, chubby, freshly scrubbed angel, smelling of Johnson baby powder, happily leaned into the crook of my arm that I had placed behind him to prevent him bumping his head on the metal window frame and made himself comfy. And on my other side, the old lady, put an arm on my shoulder to steady herself in the mad bumpy ride! You know, it felt really nice!
Two generations to my left and right and me - the generation gap, in the middle !