Thazhampoove vaasam veesu

The bus has stopped at one of the stations on its way, some passengers have got down for a smoke, some are still in the grip of slumber induced by the rocking journey. There’s a sweet rottem smell from the discarded fruit and flowers near the platform where the bus is parked. They are parked diagonally, and if you looked from the top, they would look like bricks at an angle, parallel to each other, as if dropped from a tetris game. It’s getting stuffier inside. Outside someone is trying to sell you a ginger drink or fruit or coffee through the window. You say no, and look at a couple of 12 year olds who’ve come onboard to sing the most recent hit songs in the most grating, unpleasant manner. You smile at the quality of the rendition, but they mistake it for appreciation and come to you for money. You fish around and give them some coins. Thankfully the bus starts, and on hearing the horn being honked everyone gets inside. As it moves, a slight breeze blows though the windows, and just as the bus exits the station, you hear this song coming from possibly another bus that has a music system or a tea shop. You’ve heard it before, you know the melody, and it runs through your mind long as the bus leaves the city limits and hits the highway with fields on either side.