Within three years of my service I was transferred for the fourth time. I have been in Bombay now for six months. Bela and I have adjusted to and familiarised ourselves with this place. Some time ago Bela went to spend a few days with her parents at Baroda. After two days I began to miss her very much. I just did not know what to do. I was bored with going to the cinema alone. The television was of some help and I somehow managed to pass Saturday evening. On Sunday I awoke at my usual time but was feeling very lazy. After lying in bed for some time I arose, prepared tea and settled in the chair by the side of the window. Soon I felt a queer sensation in my legs. I was compelled to stand and move about. Finally I went to the balcony.

The sky was bright but uninspiring. The leaves on the tree in the compound of my building did not evoke any special feeling. On the road the passers-by were all human beings and there was nothing special in that. It was a very dull morning and I was confined to the house. If I had to go out I would have to get ready. But where would I go? I had never felt like this before. Every day I arose and got through my routine without thinking. But now each act: brushing my teeth, shaving, washing, needed special motivation. I wondered if it was necessary to shave on a Sunday. I could not find a reason, so I decided to toss a coin and was then compelled to shave. After shaving, I looked at myself in the mirror and discovered some hair on the left side of my face which had escaped the blade or perhaps survived because the blade was not sharp enough. I realised why they often gave my queer looks at the office. I could not even shave properly. I was disgusted with myself.

I washed and was again at a loss when it came to dressing up. To avoid the burden of decision making, I simply put on casual clothes and decided to stay at home. The television and the news paper saw me through the morning. After that I ate lunch. The food was toxic. I felt drowsy and dizzy soon after. I lay down in that half-sleepy, half-awake state for quite some time. Finally I felt it was not possible to fall asleep. So I prepared some strong coffee which reactivated me. Then I picked up the paper but soon got bored. I sensed some tension mounting within. Enough is enough. I had to go out. So I dressed up and left home. As I started walking, I remembered the conflict I had had in the morning about which clothes to wear.

The sun was in a punishing mood even at four in the evening. Absentmindedly, I started walking towards the bus stop. Soon I reached the main road and decided to take a South-bound bus because I did not want to cross the road. Not knowing where to go, I decided to take the first bus that came along irrespective of the route. At the stop I saw people scattered in some small and some even smaller groups. There was an attractive girl accompanied by two guys. They were trying to impress her. She nodded politely and smiled at them in turn. There was a hint of flirtation in their talk. A little distance away from them was an elderly gentleman accompanied by his wife. He seemed to be recovering from a stroke. He held a walking stick in his right hand and was cursing people for not having allowed him to board the previous bus. His wife was trying to pacify him but in vain. She told him that Sunday was not the right day to travel to Prabhadevi and she would ask her son to visit them rather than them visiting him. I shifted my attention to the first group. One of the youths, wearing a plain shirt, was worried that they might miss the beginning of the movie. "Let's wait a while longer, said his friend. He suddenly turned back and caught me staring at them. I looked away in the direction of a fat lady wearing a yellow sari. Her five-year-old son stood near her holding her fingers. Every time he cried she said, "We'll soon reach Uncle's house. Mahalakshmi is not very far". I wondered how she would get on the bus.

A bus went right past the stop. A low scream emanated from the people but their voices were not in unison-it was not anger or protest. It had a benign, assuring tone suggesting that it was something they had been expecting. As for me, I did not join in. I had been at the stop for quite a while and moved some distance away from the crowd. Another bus came and picked up some people. I did not want to get pushed around so I waited for the next bus. A tall woman with a stern look on her face had just arrived. She was accompanied by an adolescent girl. They were probably attending a marriage. The perfume they wore hit my nasal mucosa. Their glittering ornaments gave them a sense of pride. I looked towards a group of well-dressed guys. One of them was smoking a pipe. They were going out to have a good time. A little distance from them were two girls waiting silently with folded hands and stoic expressions on their faces. They suddenly waved at a cabby and then went away in the cab. Then another bus came along which took away some more people. I could not board the bus because I was over-powered by all these people who had somewhere to go to.

At that moment I realised that there was a man with a blank face, leaning against a pole. He had been there even before I came to the bus stop and I had now been at the stop for well over ninety minutes. He did not seem to be bothered by the crowd, the traffic, the infrequent buses. He also did not seem to be waiting for anybody. The sun was receding but he did not seem to pay attention even to that. What was he doing there? Was he thinking or just staring blankly? Then an empty bus arrived and he boarded it. Since I had nothing to do or any particular destination to go to and since this man aroused my curiosity, I decided to follow him. So I boarded the bus and sat a few seats away from him. I bought a ticket for the last stop. The bus was plying up to Opera House. During the journey, he lapsed into that queer state. I wondered if he was a junkie, but he seemed to be in good health. I thought of all those people at the bus stop. That old paralytic man was visiting his son, the two women were attending a marriage, the fat lady was visiting her brother, those guys and the girl were going to the cinema. Everyone was going somewhere with a purpose. They must have planned their Sunday well in advance and here I was thanking this pumpkin of a man for having given some direction to my lonely, amorphous, Sunday evening. At the age of thirty I was still unsure of myself and I did not even know how to spend a Sunday evening. The weight of all my years was condensed into the evening. I cursed Bela for leaving me in this state.

The bus halted at the lights opposite Opera House. The man got down and so did I. He crossed the road and walked towards Chowpatty. Some religious minded amateurs were performing Ram Leela on a huge stage in front of a large crowd. He did not even glance at it. He kept walking on the sand, neatly maneuvering himself through the crowd. He did not buy anything to eat

Soon he was out on the footpath. I followed him. I was intrigued by his behaviour. He had come all the way from Irla to Chowpatty not for Ram Leela, not to eat something, not even to sit down for a while at the beach. He was walking near the parapet which bordered the sea. His pace was brisk and he did not seem to appreciate the music of the sea waves breaking against the parapet. He did not sit down to observe the traffic, the people. I felt a strong repulsion for him, but kept following as I appreciated those tall buildings illuminated by neon lamps and the electronic advertisements. At Marine Drive, across the road, a marriage party was on in one of the elite clubs. The air carried the rich voice of a male singer and the sound of the band blended with the sound of speeding cars. I was stirred by all this but he just kept walking on and on. At last he stopped to buy peanuts and then walked again. At the lights he crossed the road and entered a dark alley leading to Churchgate Station. By now my aggression had vanished and I was merely confused by this man. He went to the ticket window, bought a ticket and walked towards the platform. I bought a ticket for Andheri and now followed him out of plain curiosity. I sat facing him. Now I could see that he had a bony face, was unshaven but rather clean. His hair was oiled and he was wearing a clean well-pressed shirt and terene trousers. His leather shoes were old but shiny. His stubble was a sort of paradox. I tried to look him in the eye but he stared blankly through me as if I was transparent. He did not seem to be a man given to initiating conversation with strangers. When the train halted at Andheri he alighted. I ran after him, tapped his shoulders and said, "I am intruding in your privacy but I have been following you right from the time you boarded the bus and all along I have just been wondering what you were upto". He stared at me icily and said, "How does it matter to you?". I sensed indifference in his tone. I explained to him why I had followed him. He cleared his throat and said. "You followed my because you had nothing else to do. You found me queer because I was waiting at the bus stop for a long time. By my appearance you decided that I was odd. All this makes no difference to me. Now to answer your question, this is the way I spend my Sundays and even other holidays". Incredulously I asked him, "What do you mean by that?" We had left the station. He invited my for a cup of tea. We went to a cheap restaurant. "I have nothing to keep me busy on Sunday, so I just go somewhere like I did today. But I don't do it on all Sundays. Sometimes I just sit in my room and while away the evening". "But how can you just go somewhere without any reason?". He laughed and said, "That's very simple. When I am in the mood for going out, I just set up a goal. For example, today I decided to find out the colour of the shirt the peanut seller was wearing. Sometimes I go looking for money which people might have inadvertently dropped. On occasions I just time myself. Once a goal is set, I try to fulfill it and then I have a purpose to my evening. So what you think is a goalless amble is not really so". He paused for a moment and then, as an after-thought, added, "However, sometimes I do not set a goal and just go for long walks. Thus, a goal is not all that necessary. If there is an end, it helps, if not, it's alright". I could not understand what he was saying. I thought he had misunderstood my question. So I asked him a basic, simple question, "Don't you have a family?. How can you live like this?". In a flat tone he said, "I am a clerk, I have no wife or mistress. But I am not distressed by my situation I don't have to do something to rid myself of my solitude, I cannot afford a five star dinner, cinema tickets and hygienic whores". I felt very sick and somehow checked my impulse to punch him hard on the nose. We left the restaurant and he parted without any cordiality. What a morbid man he was, I thought. He doesn't feel like meeting people, doesn't mind being lonely and goes on such stupid missions. Why doesn't he die then? Anyway, I had to thank him for giving some purpose to my lonely evening. A fortnight later I met him on the train. I smiled at him. We had a small talk and as I was leaving he asked "How did you spend last Sunday?"

"I have decided that henceforth, if my wife wants to meet her parents, I shall accompany her", I replied.

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