As I was flipping through the Sidney Sheldon bestseller, I noticed a middle aged man sitting diagonally in front of my seat in the bus. Nothing spectacular about him, I muttered. He was looking blankly out of the windows. The Haryana bus crouched slowly towards Delhi. I was occupied with thoughts about my unfinished projects (which perennially remain unfinished, if you know me well). I was even planning new ones without caring for the past. The bus was utterly slow. I repented for not driving the car to office. The thriller also appeared dull and boring in this insipid situation. I tried to concentrate on the buildings – the shining glass exteriors, the innovative designs, the cars, the smart and jazzy guys and gals, and so on. Shining India!
The bus conductor finished his job of issuing tickets. He occupied the vacant seat just beside the man sitting diagonally in front of me. After some time, I discovered an animated conversation going on between the two. Must be some talk about politics men love to discuss, I thought. But the man, I found to my surprise, could not speak – he was speech impaired, to use the more civilized word. He was using some sign language and trying his best to put his ideas across to his newfound friend, the bus conductor. It was a silent eloquence, I should tell you. More attractive was the way in which the conductor was responding to the man. He was equally reciprocating with his own method of sign language, picking up from his just acquired knowledge. Obviously, the conductor was not adept at the sign language the speech-impaired people use for group interactions. The crux of the matter was he did not leave it at that. He simply refused to accept his failure to ‘talk’ to a person who could not talk.
Suddenly, the environment in the bus appeared very lively to me. I forgot to curse the driver for his not-so-expert driving capabilities; the bus interiors did not matter any more. I had seen before some of the speech-impaired students walking down from the Gurgaon bus stand. They would discuss among themselves in sign language. Mine was always a curious look at this amusing conversational art but I never cared about their world. I considered they were happy to interact within the group itself. Unknowingly, I used to justify my attitude towards them: we did not have any business interfering in their affairs nor did they have any urge to share their thoughts with us.
And now here before me were these two men – one had been unkindly ordained a big NO to speak and another – a simple, not-so-well educated bus conductor silently offering me the humane lesson: KNOW to speak.
The bus conductor finished his job of issuing tickets. He occupied the vacant seat just beside the man sitting diagonally in front of me. After some time, I discovered an animated conversation going on between the two. Must be some talk about politics men love to discuss, I thought. But the man, I found to my surprise, could not speak – he was speech impaired, to use the more civilized word. He was using some sign language and trying his best to put his ideas across to his newfound friend, the bus conductor. It was a silent eloquence, I should tell you. More attractive was the way in which the conductor was responding to the man. He was equally reciprocating with his own method of sign language, picking up from his just acquired knowledge. Obviously, the conductor was not adept at the sign language the speech-impaired people use for group interactions. The crux of the matter was he did not leave it at that. He simply refused to accept his failure to ‘talk’ to a person who could not talk.
Suddenly, the environment in the bus appeared very lively to me. I forgot to curse the driver for his not-so-expert driving capabilities; the bus interiors did not matter any more. I had seen before some of the speech-impaired students walking down from the Gurgaon bus stand. They would discuss among themselves in sign language. Mine was always a curious look at this amusing conversational art but I never cared about their world. I considered they were happy to interact within the group itself. Unknowingly, I used to justify my attitude towards them: we did not have any business interfering in their affairs nor did they have any urge to share their thoughts with us.
And now here before me were these two men – one had been unkindly ordained a big NO to speak and another – a simple, not-so-well educated bus conductor silently offering me the humane lesson: KNOW to speak.
3 comments:
Thanks for sharing such an insightful observation with us. If more and more people had that sense of treating them normally, we would learn that they are better than us in communication; for what they save on words, they express in intelligence.
lovely piece of writing and experience sharing here.
Truly wish we could all move out of our shells and interact more.
That was splendid!!!
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