06.09.2002 | 12:28 p.m.
Like in a Hollies song.

I should be back at the apartment. I told Mama I'd be back by six and right now it is six. Waiting for the 371 is always a harrowing experience. With me at the bus stop is a British woman in her sixties, a Filipino woman in her thirties, an Indian senior, an Indian freshman and a group of American freshmen standing in a tight circle. They're all female and dressed funkily and smoking with contrived sophistication. I throw the empty bottle of Diet Coke in my hand into the a bin and while doing so, brush against one of the Indian students. I recognise him from last semester. He has a very pretty Syrian girlfriend. "Sorry", I mutter embrassed. He gives me a half-smile to dismiss my apology. A block of red rumbles towards us and everyone sighs with relief that the 371 is not 30 minutes late like always. People queue up decorously and I hear an unmistakably American voice ask "How much would a ticket cost?" An unmistakably Indian voice answers, "Seventy cents. Pence. Um. Pence." I buy my ticket from the bus driver who says hello to me; I recognise him from previous journeys. The bus is comparatively empty today. Only three or four senior citizens are in it. I choose a seat towards the back. Those are elevated and don't make me feel nauseous. The others scatter themselves around the empty bus and the Indian freshman sits on the seat next to mine. I move in further towards the window. I take out the copy of American Psycho that I'm reading and ignore him. I open to where I left off on the bus ride to school. Page 14.

"I mean don't you know anything about Sri Lanka? About how the Sikhs are killing like a ton of Israelis there?" That has got to be one of the funniest lines I've ever read in a book, and if it was in the movie, I didn't catch it. I can't help laughing aloud, softly yet perceptibly. He looks into the book unabashed and starts reading. I glance at him momentarily hoping to embarass him but he doesn't realise. I hate when people read over my shoulder. It makes me terribly uncomfortable.

"So uh,if you're done, may I turn the page?" I wonder what his reaction would be if I actually said that. I'm sure it's fun being a bitch sometimes.

"Hi. Are you from the university?" He asks finally. I answer affirmatively and shut the book because it would be rude to continue reading.

"Junior?"

"Nope, sophomore."

"Oh. So how come you have classes in Kensington then?"

"Excuse me?"

Sheepishly he tells me that he overheard a phone conversation I had at the bus stop. I realise he's referring to my conversation with Jenny. She had called earlier to find out if I would go with her to Kensington tomorrow. I said I would because I wanted to see if I remembered the way there. I am slightly pissed off but mostly amused by his candour.

"I can take upper divison classes because I've completeld all the pre-requisities." I explain.

"You can do that?"

"Yes." I empathise with his confusion totally. I had no idea how things worked when I first came here either. What the hell were credits anyway? The system he came from was rigid and stern and intimidating and so he expected this one to be the same way. "Don't worry, you'll get used to this soon enough." I assure him hoping I don't sound too condescending.

"You're Indian,right?" he asks.

"Yeah...where are you from?"

"Calcutta."

"Oh cool, my family is from there originally. I'm from Bombay."

"I'm Chandan." He extends his hand and I shake it lightly.

"Aurina. How do you like it here so far?"

"It's...."

"Overwhelming?" I laugh.

"So are you going to the boat party tomorrow night?"

I didn't even know there was a boat party tomorrow night and I tell him so. He tells me it's in Central London and that there's an admission fee of 5 £.

"I don't think so. Actually. Definitely not!"

"Well, do you want to go with me...?"

He's a sweet boy. He's not bad looking either. Denim jacket, black t-shirt, blue jeans. He's adequately tall and adequately built and yet his face is tainted with high school callowness.

"I can't really afford the travel fare and and the admission fee. I'm not really into parties anyway.." I coolly pretend that he didn't just very obviously ask me out. I feel bad but I don't want to get myself into anything I will regret. Besides, it's true. I don't want to spend money. I don't want to be forced to dance to Shakira and whatever boy band is trendy this weekend. I don't want to stand in a corner to prevent my ass from getting grabbed by some drunk freshman.

"Okay. Well,think about it." He gives me his number that I pretend to enter into my phone but all I really do is press random buttons. He doesn't ask me for mine. He tells me he's a business major - I knew that the minute I laid my eyes on him. He seems impressed when I tell him I'm a Sociology/Anthropology major even though I have to explain to him what exactly anthropology is. We talk about dorms versus off-campus accomodation and when I tell him my new flat has four rooms, he asks if he can move in with us.

"Our contract doesn't permit us to let out to anyone else." I lie. I've known him all of four minutes. I don't want to live with someone I've known for four minutes. Not this semester at least. Lower Mortlake approaches. He shakes my hand again. We exchange "see you around"s and he gets down like half the bus does. I always wish random, decent people ask me out and when it does happen, I react with utmost cynicism and reluctance. The bus moves. That was my stop too.

deja vu? | jamais vu?