The Zip
She thought that that was one of the most embarrassing moments of her life. Even now when she thinks of it she blushes. Those were the days when buses in Delhi were over crowded because there was no metro. On that particular day the situation was simply out of control as the Government’s decision to provide reservation in jobs on the basis of caste had infuriated a large section of college students. A students’ agitation was on and thousands had collected on the capital’s roads from all over the country. One had to wait and wait before one found place to sit in a bus. Ultimately people just got in somehow, stood inside and reached their destinations standing. Sitting was dangerous because one couldn’t get up easily to get off the bus if one made the mistake of sitting.
She was always a sensitive person in any case, but that day she was trying to cope with the situation somehow as she had failed to get into bus after bus due to the overcrowding and now somehow she had managed to get into one. She had worn her favourite cotton salwaar kameez of a delightful lemon shade and her heart broke every two seconds when someone or other pressed so hard against her that her dress got more and more crumpled. The worst happened when a young man standing next to her got the buckle of his belt entangled with a slit in her dress. The entanglement of his buckle kept tearing her kameez a millimeter a minute. She remained ignorant about this just as he did. She flared up when she found how tightly she and the fellow were fitted together in a posture where it was impossible to move even by a hair’s breadth. She stood looking towards the direction in which the bus was moving and he stood stuck to her right arm, his body down his chest glued to her arm. From her right shoulder she had slung a bag which came up to a few inches below his belt buckle. She was worried that someone could pull away the bag without her even knowing it. But the tightness of their situation prevented her from shifting it to another place. Even sardines are more comfortably placed in their tins.
The belt buckle gradually did its job, making an inroad into her dress. She tolerated this for some minutes but then snapped at him.
‘Stop it. How can you . . .’ she said becoming quite red in the face.
‘I am sorry Ma’am. I know what you must be thinking, but believe me, there’s not an inch for me to go this way or that. In ten minutes the bus will stop and as soon as someone gets off I’ll move out.’
Ten minutes could have been eternity, she thought, and in any case the bus never stopped after ten minutes it went on and on without any one getting off. When it stopped there were waves of people pushing their way in and only a few managing to pop out of it.
The pressure on her right side still remained. She was forced to protest again.
‘Aren’t your ten minutes over now?’
‘They are but the situation remains unchanged. It has gotten worse, in fact.’
‘I know you fellows very well. You are enjoying each second. You don’t want to move away. I know it.’
‘You are mistaken Ma’am. I am also very greatly inconvenienced. Do you realize you are hurting me and I am having the greatest of fears? I could lose virtually everything a man is in possession of in the next minute. You are comparatively safe. My loss can be much greater than yours.’
She looked at his face and found him looking innocent and actually worried. She realized his plight and decided to say nothing to him after that even though his buckle was continuing to do the job and she could feel things happening.
The bus conductor yelled out asking the passengers to keep two or five rupee notes or coins ready in their hands as he was trying to pick them up from the them like an acrobat moving across the bus, often placing his feet to the backrests of the seats and in emergencies even on the passengers’ shoulders.
She tried to put her left hand across her body to where her right was trapped along with her bag. Somehow she did manage to take it to the point where her bag was suspended. The bag had got into an angle due to the pressure of the two bodies, hardly hanging vertically from the shoulder anymore. She had to unzip it and take out the five rupee coin.
By hard means she reached the pull tab of the zip and by harder means began to pull it. Slowly it began to open, millimeter by millimeter. As it did she found the man getting more and more worried. When she had gone an inch ahead of her starting point he seemed to protest.
‘Ma’am!’
‘Yes, now what is it?’
‘Ma’am, please.’
‘Please what?’
‘What are you doing?’
‘Trying to unzip.’
‘I know, but what will . . .’
‘What, “what will?”’
‘What will people say?’
‘What can anyone say? Can anyone even see what I am doing?’
‘But I’m not made of stone.’
‘Did I say that you were?’
‘Ma’am, please.’
‘Shut up!’ she said and pulled the zip open finally.
Then she tried to put in her hand and found that the contents of her bag felt rather alien, very different to the ones she was expecting. At this point she felt something that sent chills up her spine. It was then that the moment of realization dawned on her. How stupid she had been. She had unzipped the flap of his trousers instead of her bag and entered the wrong domain. How very careless and idiotic. She was totally red and began to perspire, suddenly feeling the heat in the over crowded bus.
‘I am so sorry. I thought it was my bag I was unzipping.’
‘Oh, is that so? It’s perfectly okay,’ he said in a weak voice.
‘Please forgive me,’ she pleaded melting in embarrassment.
He was in no mood to talk. The bus was slowing down and lots of passengers were making an effort to alight. He looked at her and found the courage to ask her a question.
‘Should I get down here alone, or will you also get off?’
‘I think I’ll also get off, I owe you a cup of coffee. But first pull up the zip,’ she said as they both stepped out of that experience with unending smiles on their faces.
