Not long ago, at a busy crossroads of Hyderabad, near NTR Gardens bus stop, I was waiting for the bus which was delayed as usual. I happened to notice a stranger then. He was shabby and was dressed up like a hooligan. He had long hair and bore beard that covered half of his chest. It appeared as if he hardly had bath for a while. I keenly noticed him. He kept on scribbling something on a piece of paper that he had possessed. I could not resist my excitement and I started wondering as to what sort of crap, that lunatic might be scribbling on something no better than a rummage of paper and with a mere ramshackle of a pen. He suddenly stopped writing and gazed at me for a while. I was really perplexed at his peculiar behavior. He was very keen on writing on that worn out paper.
My agitation was at its saturation as my bus had not reached yet. On the other hand, that maniac’s unusual behavior furthermore frustrated me while all this lasted for about an hour. Amidst all this drama, it started raining. I had not known who was that person who saw cats and dogs while it rained, but I had sensed that it was elephants and mammoths that were raining. Mr. Rain wasn’t the lone visitor. He was accompanied by Mr. Wind and both of them just took our hospitality to a toss. All the people were unsatisfied with the behavior of their guests. However, that man had not given even a wafer’s thin size of respect to either of them and he rather enjoyed their presence very humbly by drenching himself and enjoying the rain.
That moment, my doubt of he being a freak turned out to be true. He then resumed his crazy work and this time, I hadn’t even bothered to give him attention. After much of a deliberation coupled with humiliation, my bus finally arrived. While I was about to board my bus, that man started pursuing me till the entrance. He gave me that torn, worn out paper and ran back to his place. As I saw the paper, I was taken aback because that lunatic, who I considered to be so, had actually drawn a beautiful sketch of me. I looked at him but he was still busy with scribbling on another piece of paper. Perhaps he felt that I had not deserved his time after the way I had treated him. I was really ashamed of my perception and the impression I assumed of him just by looking at his attire and appearance. I still remember that man, “The Stranger At The Bus Stop". Though I lost my portrait sketched by him (perhaps I had not got the privilege of possessing it), I was enlightened that appearance was something that had not really mattered. I finally conclude quoting, "Do not judge a book by its cover!"
My agitation was at its saturation as my bus had not reached yet. On the other hand, that maniac’s unusual behavior furthermore frustrated me while all this lasted for about an hour. Amidst all this drama, it started raining. I had not known who was that person who saw cats and dogs while it rained, but I had sensed that it was elephants and mammoths that were raining. Mr. Rain wasn’t the lone visitor. He was accompanied by Mr. Wind and both of them just took our hospitality to a toss. All the people were unsatisfied with the behavior of their guests. However, that man had not given even a wafer’s thin size of respect to either of them and he rather enjoyed their presence very humbly by drenching himself and enjoying the rain.
That moment, my doubt of he being a freak turned out to be true. He then resumed his crazy work and this time, I hadn’t even bothered to give him attention. After much of a deliberation coupled with humiliation, my bus finally arrived. While I was about to board my bus, that man started pursuing me till the entrance. He gave me that torn, worn out paper and ran back to his place. As I saw the paper, I was taken aback because that lunatic, who I considered to be so, had actually drawn a beautiful sketch of me. I looked at him but he was still busy with scribbling on another piece of paper. Perhaps he felt that I had not deserved his time after the way I had treated him. I was really ashamed of my perception and the impression I assumed of him just by looking at his attire and appearance. I still remember that man, “The Stranger At The Bus Stop". Though I lost my portrait sketched by him (perhaps I had not got the privilege of possessing it), I was enlightened that appearance was something that had not really mattered. I finally conclude quoting, "Do not judge a book by its cover!"
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