By the time we headed back to Ernakulam, it was around 1:00 A.M. Our bodies ached and desired nothing but rest. As we were about to collect our luggage from the cloak room, we found that Vivek had fallen sick and was suffering from loose motions.
Then...
Well, not so fast. We need to step back a little first. We've got an interesting anecdote involving Vivek to dissect.
FLASHBACK...
Since it was the last bus to Ernakulam for the day, securing seats felt like a battle. Fortunately, Vivek got hold of a window seat in a two-seater behind the back door of the bus. Meanwhile, Uppi and Guru Bhai secured separate three-seater rows, with Kaushik sitting beside Uppi and myself beside Guru Bhai.
As both of our rows still had an empty seat, we offered Vivek to join either of us instead of sitting alone elsewhere. But according to Vivek, giving up a window seat for a side seat didn't seem like an attractive deal. So, he rejected our offer, which was absolutely fine.
No issues.
But remember this clearly—he even teased us about having the two-seater window seat, as if it was the only window seat on the entire bus.
Before the journey even began, the bus was packed to the brim, with several passengers standing. As it sped through the night, we were genuinely praying not to end up in tomorrow's news headlines. It stopped at so many places along the way that we eventually lost count.
At one of those stops, two families with small children boarded the already overcrowded bus. One woman, along with her little boy, somehow managed to get the seat beside Vivek. Another woman, accompanied by her little girl, sat beside Guru Bhai and me.
We started playing with the little girl and chatting with her mother about our trip. Out of nowhere, we heard a loud shriek—and it came from Vivek's seat.
The little boy, for reasons known only to him, suddenly screamed.
Vivek assumed that perhaps the kid needed some fresh air. So, with a heavy heart, he gave up his prized window seat to the woman and her son.
A clean gentleman's move. I totally respect him for it.
But that doesn't mean he's exempted from teasing.
Remember, karma is a boomerang—you get what you give.
With all the creativity we could muster, we came up with a completely ridiculous story. According to us, the little boy had been asleep when he boarded the bus. The moment he woke up and opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was Vivek.
Now comes the best part.
The kid supposedly mistook Vivek for the Boogeyman, got scared out of his wits, and screamed in terror.
Holding on to this absolute cock-and-bull tale, we laughed at him and teased him endlessly. We didn't stop there. Guru Bhai and I even narrated our fictional masterpiece to the lady sitting beside us, making her burst into laughter.
We probably stretched Christopher McCandless's philosophy a little too far.
After all, he did write in his journal,
"Happiness is only real when shared."
In reality, though, Vivek had already been feeling under the weather after our non-stop travelling and genuinely needed the window seat to catch some fresh air.
Now, already frustrated about losing it and having to endure our relentless teasing, he was nearing his breaking point. Instead of arguing back, he simply went quiet and tried to get some sleep.
Unfortunately, fate wasn't done with him yet.
After issuing tickets to everyone, the conductor arrived at Vivek's seat and informed him that it was reserved for the conductor.
What could the poor guy do?
It simply wasn't his day.
He got up and stood near the back door.
Seeing his condition, we even offered him one of our seats so he could rest, but he bluntly refused and remained standing near the back door for the rest of the journey, enduring it until we finally reached Ernakulam.
Now, cut back to the present.
For our stay, we had contacted a man who provided beds for ₹200 per person per day, based on some random flyer we had found. It was an unbelievable deal. We weren't going to find accommodation anywhere else at that price. The only catch was that the place was about 2 kilometres from where we were standing.
By then, we were all dog-tired from the journey.
Hiring an auto at that untimely hour would surely make a noticeable dent in our already fragile budget. So, except for Vivek, we all agreed to walk the distance somehow.
To be fair, he was sick.
But he insisted that we stay at the same place as our fellow Telugu gang, which was conveniently located near the railway station and much closer to the bus stand.
It would've been the best option if it had also cost ₹200.
But it didn't.
It was ₹300.
An extra hundred rupees may not sound like much, but we were planning to stay there for two or three days. For one night, it would've been manageable. But once you multiplied that difference over multiple days, it became a genuine budget concern.
Vivek wasn't ready to walk that distance and believed paying the extra ₹100 was worth the comfort. He tried his best to convince us, and before long, it turned into an argument.
We didn't budge.
We looked at it through a financial lens and stuck with the stay we had already arranged.
He wasn't willing to agree either.
So, we split up, and he went his own way.
After that...
Honestly, I don't even remember how we managed to walk those final two kilometres.
Somehow, we reached our planned accommodation, collapsed onto our beds, and finally gave our exhausted bodies the proper rest they had been begging for until late the next morning.
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