The Woman in White

It was a clear day when I found myself in the Thane Transport Bus Depot – waiting inside a State Transport bus, called a Laal Dabba (‘Red Box’ for its sheer unpretentious looks) going to Mahabaleshwar – I had to go to Mahad, a small industrial town – some 200km south-southwest of Mumbai. The bus was full of rustic folk – my old trousers and shirt bore stark contrast to the dirty white drapes and shirts of the menfolk (with an equally dirty Gandhi topi to match). The womenfolk had colorful sarees worn in a way to make it easier to work in waterlogged fields. The already narrow aisle space was cramped by heaps and sacks – mostly lumps tied up in bedsheets.
And it being a weekday most people were elderly – so I practically stopped searching for a pretty face – still the seat next to me was empty -and I was hopeful.
Then there came this young female – dressed in a white Punjabi suit – an old man had come to see her off – as luck would have it she came and sat next to me – she took the window seat and I slid to the one beside.
The man left off – and I did not realise when the bus started moving.I opened my Times of India – though from a corner of my eyes I was studying the occupant of the window seat – I could not place her.
She was not pretty but quite good-looking – but what seemed bizarre was that every effort had been made to make her look unattractive – her wrists were bare – no jewerlry on ears or nose either – no Bindi – the suit - pure clean white, seemed to be made and worn so as to the conceal the protrusion on her bosom – the hair were just clumped together in a heap. There was a small metal badge on the left of her chest – the etching not legible. All this put my mind into a turmoil – I finally came to the conclusion that she must have been widowed – recently.
The woman seemed reluctant to talk (that’s never been a problem with me). She seemed to be curiously interested in the Page3 of Bombay Times I was holding (which splashes images of the Who’s who of the city’s burgeoining social circles – men and women fashionably attired holding wine-glasses in one hand).
I donot remember how I broke the ice – but it did and I finally  got to learn that she was a member of the Brahamakumari Samaj, the spinsters’ union. She turned out to be surprisingly talkative from the point onwards – she could speak good Hindi and I was able to see the world through her eyes – a world where all men were looked upon as brothers (brought over by years of brain-washing) – and then there were Mothers and sisters – she stayed in an Ashram in Mahad – preaching virtues to brothers and sisters who visited the Ashram – controlled by mothers – there was supreme mother she refferred to as Mamma. I tried shifting her focus from the doctrine she preached to, herself – I wanted to know ‘Why’
It seemed she had been ‘donated’ to the Samaj by her parents – and since her teens she’d been part of this – she could visit home once in a while but they were proscribed from doing some common things like watching TV and reading newspapers and ofcourse making friends wth men was unimaginable.
I wanted to ask her if she never ‘felt’ anything – but was at a strange loss of words – I thought up a ploy and told her since she thought her Mamma was her idol whether she never wanted to become a Mother – in the true sense – that of having kids.
That switched her to thinking state – I looked intently at her – she looked beyond – still thoughtful – mayabe I could imagine a sigh escaping ? – no there was no sign of dissapproval – nor of contempt for me for making such a prepostorous suggestion.
Talk thinned – Mahad came – I helped her to her solitary suitcase from the rack above – she thanked and asked me to visit her Ashram if I could find time.