As he stepped in, I tucked in the earphones deeper with Zeppelin blaring and pretended to read an interesting book. Unwieldy and nervous he looked around the bus and although there were plenty unoccupied seats, he chose to sit beside me. Something told me I needn’t be polite or even make eye contact. In any case he was on the phone tossing his bag about and unbuttoning his jacket with one hand. I could see him without actually looking. The lady behind him said, ” Could you get your jacket off my face please.” Embarrassed that he hung the jacket behind his seat, he took it off but in the process dropped his phone and I think the chewing gum fell out of his mouth too. I swear I would have laughed if he wasn’t right next to me.
The National Express from Brussels to London was now on its way. Zeppelin discography was exhausted and it was Dylan’s turn. My well settled neighbor waved his hand before me, I had no choice but to acknowledge. He pointed at a Basilica, it was gorgeous and so I smiled. I guess I had encouraged him, for soon he requested me to take my earphones off. Apparently it was somewhat a pressing matter. He had to share with me how he had visited his aunt back in Brussels and she had packed biryani for his journey and beyond. I nodded and continued reading. “You have such beautiful big dark eyes.” In Hindi he spoke. Since I was in no mood to flirt back I simply said thanks and put my music back on.
Things got very upsetting for me from that point on. As we approached the French boarder we were asked to take our passports and visas out for inspection. The bus stopped and like most immigration offices the atmosphere was tense. Some folks had their bags checked and were asked to throw away goods. A young, possibly newly wed couple was held for questioning for the longest time. I was last in queue, but of course the dude decided to keep me company and ‘protect me’ from God knows what. He had the nerve to snatch my passport to note my name and date of birth. It ticked me off but I didn’t think he could do anything with that information. I let him know explicitly I didn’t want any interaction with him and he was getting on my nerves. Soon the girl who was with the officer started weeping. Her man couldn’t legally cross the border so he was asked to leave. Next, the queue moved quicker uneventfully and we were back on the bus.
I ignored my fellow passenger as he tired to make conversation, apologize, joke around and even compliment my hair, finger nails, eyes and what not. We were getting close to the Euro-tunnel. He began telling me about himself, how he was from Bangladesh and was a student in London Business school, his parents were progressive to accept an Indian woman as daughter-in-law. D-I-L? What the hell was he on about? “Yes” he said “I’m in love with you.” And proceeded to kiss my palm. I was outraged, naturally but could only say, “This is not a Bollywood movie. In real life I don’t fall for men on the bus. So just F’off.”
The bus had now reached its final destination, London Victoria. I walked to the train station. It was dark and rainy as expected. He was following me closely and begged me to give him one chance. Having the worst romantic experience of my life, I got on to my train as I watched him shed a few tears.
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