Dabara Tumbler

One Week Has Seven Days-Lie

11. One Week Has Seven Days—Lie .

A/N: There's a lot of things I'd like to say, before going into the chapter, guys.

First of all, I am very very sorry for the late update. My medical Chinese training before I step into my fellowship has not been very kind to me. And this week was full of relapsing episodes of migraine, that I could barely function with the least contented sleep.

I hope I can give another update by Tuesday, or Wednesday, hopefully:)

Himani's hometown—Thiruvaiyaaru—is my own hometown. I chose to write it as hers, since I know most of the things about it, and I'd not have to research. If you've any doubts regarding the chapter, you can always ask me in comments or PM me.

This chapter dedication goes to @TripuWrites . Thank you very much for reviewing Dabara Tumbler in Roasted And Served, Aditi. The review was wholesome, for which I can't thank you enough. Everyone who read the review, including my friends who're not on Wattpad, and a few from family were so appreciative about the way you've written your views on the book. 

Guys, if you'd like a book review by Aditi, kindly fill the form in her review book, Roasted And Served. Also, check out her book, Crossing The 'i's And Dotting The 't's for a good read. She's wonderful:D

Meaning of the words in the chapter:

Thaeradi—It's the name of street where the temple car has been kept.

Athai—Aunty; Himani's mom and Mythraeyi's father are siblings, hence she is her Aunt.

***

"Thaeradi ellaam erangu, (Those who want to get down at Thaeradi, get down, now)."

The ticket checker paced along the aisle, belting the roof of the bus with his palm followed by a lengthy blow of toot from the steel whistle looped in his fingers, giving a sign to sleepy passengers, who'd not want to miss their stop, and to those who were love-struck and as absent-minded as Himani.

She was perched in one of the window seats inside the rust covered, green painted government bus, simply gazing at the uncountable sequinning pair of headlights that crazily moved past her through the half-opened window space, just goalless.

Time was half-past eight well into the evening, and she was barely holding herself together from falling asleep.

Himani did not want to pass out, pressing her head against the grubby window glass of the bus, letting her dribble bathe her, and miss her bus stop. So she decided she'd wait until she got home, and relinquish herself at her bed.

Thiruvaiyaaru—her hometown was over three hundred kilometers from Madras.

The day express train she'd taken from Madras ran only till Ariyalur, a cramped town at about thirty-five kilometers away from Thiruvaiyaaru. She had to wait for almost half hour before her anticipating eyes caught on the unpleasantly populous government bus motioning towards her.

Private buses were finer than the government ones but they'd just stop in each and every bus stop all along the way, which'd consume at least an hour more than she could reach if she boarded a latter one.

Uncomfortably squeezing her worn out frame into the jam packed, turbulently shaking bus, she chose to walk to the middle of the aisle, hugging her compact backpack to her bosom. A few sudden brakes, several deafeningly long sound-horns, and twenty minutes into the rutted ride, the bus had relatively freed and Himani flopped down at the window side, after inserting herself into a three-seater seat.