<p>At dusk, over two decades ago, I was sitting by the window of a battered bus in Dharamshala in Himachal bound on an overnight journey to Bharmour. <br /><br /></p>.<p>Being the shandy day, the town was thronged by a multitude of farmers from the upcountry for their weekly shopping. The only bus back to their town was crowded with people and their merchandise from potatoes to poultry.<br /><br />Most of them, having run around the whole day and finished business, had helped themselves with a shot or two of liquor. As they filled the bus one after another two rather unkempt villagers heaved on to the seats beside me. And within minutes their long beedies were lit and a cloud of grey smoke lifted up. <br /><br />Unable to withstand the nauseating odour I gently asked the man next to me if he could put it off. But that was not to be. He was bent upon going ahead in spite of my showing him the board in Hindi not to smoke inside. I opened the window and faced some fresh air though it was biting chill. The two insisted the window be closed. Few arguments followed with my unrefined Hindi and their native dialect but when they challenged me if I could tell all the others to put off their beedies I simply gave up the futile attempt.<br /><br />The uneasiness slipped off my mind after a while and as I tried to catch some sleep the man beside began to drowse and drop his head on my shoulder every now and then, and startled, would regain his upright posture. As this annoyance increased I asked him to rest his head on my shoulder and sleep anyway. He felt sorry, but convinced that I surely would not mind, he reluctantly placed his head and went into a deep slumber all through the night.<br /><br />As we woke up at Bharmour by dawn this man was all emotional saying “Aap Bhagwan hai, Bhagwan hee aapko bheja hai” ( You are like god, He only has sent you here). That was nothing I said as I got down. But there was no way I could go without visiting his house on a hill. Treating me as if a VIP had come home he arranged for hot water to wash and tea. Still under the hangover he even offered a drink innocently duly scolded and dissuaded by his family. <br /><br />I thanked him and accepted the sweet apples which he cut and peeled for me with utmost devotion. I was at once overcome by his true love. The apples he gave me were the sweetest ever I ate and the experience one of those beautiful moments that mark the journey of life.</p>
<p>At dusk, over two decades ago, I was sitting by the window of a battered bus in Dharamshala in Himachal bound on an overnight journey to Bharmour. <br /><br /></p>.<p>Being the shandy day, the town was thronged by a multitude of farmers from the upcountry for their weekly shopping. The only bus back to their town was crowded with people and their merchandise from potatoes to poultry.<br /><br />Most of them, having run around the whole day and finished business, had helped themselves with a shot or two of liquor. As they filled the bus one after another two rather unkempt villagers heaved on to the seats beside me. And within minutes their long beedies were lit and a cloud of grey smoke lifted up. <br /><br />Unable to withstand the nauseating odour I gently asked the man next to me if he could put it off. But that was not to be. He was bent upon going ahead in spite of my showing him the board in Hindi not to smoke inside. I opened the window and faced some fresh air though it was biting chill. The two insisted the window be closed. Few arguments followed with my unrefined Hindi and their native dialect but when they challenged me if I could tell all the others to put off their beedies I simply gave up the futile attempt.<br /><br />The uneasiness slipped off my mind after a while and as I tried to catch some sleep the man beside began to drowse and drop his head on my shoulder every now and then, and startled, would regain his upright posture. As this annoyance increased I asked him to rest his head on my shoulder and sleep anyway. He felt sorry, but convinced that I surely would not mind, he reluctantly placed his head and went into a deep slumber all through the night.<br /><br />As we woke up at Bharmour by dawn this man was all emotional saying “Aap Bhagwan hai, Bhagwan hee aapko bheja hai” ( You are like god, He only has sent you here). That was nothing I said as I got down. But there was no way I could go without visiting his house on a hill. Treating me as if a VIP had come home he arranged for hot water to wash and tea. Still under the hangover he even offered a drink innocently duly scolded and dissuaded by his family. <br /><br />I thanked him and accepted the sweet apples which he cut and peeled for me with utmost devotion. I was at once overcome by his true love. The apples he gave me were the sweetest ever I ate and the experience one of those beautiful moments that mark the journey of life.</p>
