Flowers and Moonlight

By Sakhi Dayanand Gundeti

Some three years ago, I was at the Andheri bus stop, racing behind the crammed Bus No. 248 with all the might in my feet. Lucky for me, the bus slowed down due to traffic on the road and I hopped in. Like every day, I hung on to a handle for two stops before getting a seat. I placed my grey bag on my lap, pulled out my earphones, and plugged into some indie music. Listening to the bright acoustic guitar strumming in the song, I untied my ponytail and tied it into a bun. With my white cotton handkerchief, I wiped my face, neck, and my tiny silver nose pin. It was March, so I didn’t expect cool winds.

The bus slowed down in the Navrang market and screeched to a halt. The crowd in front of the bus wouldn't clear. The driver honked again and again but it didn't affect the traffic or the people. Cyclists and bikers slipped through somehow. My stomach growled. I wished I could grab one of the cycles and ride straight home.

"Fresh jasmine, rose, and marigold!" I heard a high-pitched voice.

I pulled off my earphones and peered through the half-open window. I noticed a lean, tanned girl in a blue and yellow salwar kameez on the left side of the road.

"God will forgive your sins, new and old!" She continued in Hindi.

A smile grew on my lips. I'd never seen such an enthusiastic flower seller before. People stopped by her stall, gazed at her flowers, and moved ahead grinning.

I was about to hear more when the bus dragged forward, its engine vibrating and groaning. I saw the girl the next day and the day after that, too. Every time, she was ready with a new marketing spell. She became my entertainment in the Navrang traffic.

***

It was 8:00 PM. I was leaving my coaching class after a long day. The bus was packed but I managed to find two vacant seats. I plodded into the window seat, dropped my bag in the aisle seat, and let out a sigh. The bus conductor gave me a ticket. I turned it around, pulled out a micro-line black pen from my pouch, and started sketching. Jasmine, rose, and marigold. I roughly drew the flowers kept on a wooden cart. A girl behind the cart. When I was about to draw some traffic, somebody tapped my shoulder.

It's a lean girl with a sharp nose, bright eyes, and well-oiled hair pulled back. She's dressed in a blue and yellow salwar kameez. I gaze at her with my mouth ajar.

"Huh?" I ask as she points to my bag.

"Bag." She pokes my bag.

"Oh, okay."

I placed my bag on my lap as she sat beside me. I felt like an idiot.

After mustering up some courage, I started in Hindi, "Hey, I've seen you in the Navrang market. You sell flowers, don't you?"

"Yes madam," She smiled with a gap in her front teeth. "We sell garlands, loose flowers, and mango leaves, too."

"Nice. I really like the way you sell. It's quite unique. What's your name, by the way?"

"Chandni Gupta," She grinned.

"Nice name."

"My mother says I was born on a full moon night, so she named me Chandni - after moonlight."

"Interesting." I nod.

We sat in silence for a while. I hadn't talked that much the entire day.

"Do you purchase flowers, madam?" Chandni tilted her head and asked.

"Uh…don't call me madam, please. I'm Radhika. We're more or less the same age I think," I said, "I buy flowers if Dad wants them for some puja, otherwise I don't."

She smiled and nodded.

"Geetanjali Stop!" The bus conductor yelled. It was time for me to leave.

I waved at Chandni and got off at my house. My curiosity wasn't satisfied. For the first time in my life, I was disappointed it was Friday; I wouldn't be able to see Chandni for the next two days. I didn't know if I'd meet her again on the bus; I hoped I did.

***

Lucky me! The extra lectures made sure I met Chandni when she left her flower stall. I met her every day. She owned the flower stall along with her mother. Chandni left early so as to cook dinner at home. Meanwhile, her mother handled the stall and then wrapped up for the day along with her fellow flower-seller friends. I told her about myself, that I was an eleventh-grade commerce student and I didn't aspire to work in my family’s jewelry business. That came out spontaneously; I had no clue why.

On a Friday on the way back home on Bus No. 248, she said,

"You know, I am getting married in November."

Instead of congratulating her, I frowned.

"Whoa wait, how old are you?"

"Nineteen."

"So?"

"So what?"

"What about your education?"

"My fiance has allowed me to continue my education after marriage. I told my family to wait till my graduation but they said it's time for me to get married, otherwise, it will be too late."

Blood throbbed in my ears. Firstly, she was too young, and secondly, I was jealous of her fiance. He probably didn't know her well, let alone love her. Goddamn arranged marriages.

I stared out the window without uttering another word. There was an urchin selling long colorful pens and an old man selling garbage bags as we took a turn from the Navrang market. Chandni tapped my shoulder. I turned around.

"I know things are different in cities but I come from a small village in Uttar Pradesh. We have to follow certain rules," She said this as if saying the sun rises in the east.

"Are you happy though?" I narrow my eyes.

She slowly nodded with a faint smile on her face.

You've been a coward all your life, I told myself. Now is the time to fix it. Say what you have on your mind before it's too late. Do it.

"I need to tell you something," I lowered my voice and said, "I like you."

Chandni chuckled and said, "Even I like you."

"No, no, you don't get it. I like you the way, how do I explain this…a girl likes a boy, you know?"

Her smile faded away. She glared at me as if I told her she had cancer. She shifted away from me and said, "I am not like that Radhika madam, please-"

"I know that and it's fine. I just needed to get this off my mind. Please don't worry-"

Chandni stood and hurried towards the front door.

"Cha-" I didn't dare call her further. There were people around and she was freaked out.

Why the hell did I open my mouth?!

I dug my head in my hands and told myself not to cry. I blinked deliberately to stop tears from welling up. After inhaling and exhaling deeply through my mouth a couple of times, I looked up.

She was gone. I walked towards the back door of the bus to see her one last time. I noticed a vague blue dress in the distance as tears trickled down my cheeks. Helplessness enveloped me as I plodded back to my seat. I pulled out my earphones and plugged into my favorite songs to calm down the noise in my head and shut off from the outside world. The song with the bright acoustic guitar strumming started playing; the song I listened to when I first saw her. I double-clicked my earphone button to skip it.

That was the beginning of the numerous heartbreaks I had to face in the future. A flower seller named after moonlight gave me a glimpse of what it was to be a queer person in this country. Good luck to me.

By Sakhi Dayanand Gundeti