41st Iffley Road

Stap your seat belts for your safety said the man, no I was not in a plane, I had just gotten out of one, I was in a bus. He further instructed if your want to use the lavoratory, it is to your rear and enjoy your ride. It was past midnight, I was in the bus from Heathrow to Oxford. Before getting into the bus I had just seen England below my feet, lights shimmering on wherever you could set your eyes on the land below, the half moon with a sheepish look, glowing to glory. Picking up my bags I walked to the immigration, and boy there were people, walking smartly, in quiet a hurry, trying to get out of the port and back to their hurried lives, and I seemed to be the only one around with nothing much but a lot of time. So I dragged my bags slowly, gaping at everything that passed my way or whose ways I passed; asking people for the information centre, the calling card shop and the ultimate question, which bus can I take to get to Oxford?

There they were everyone who knew where to go and what to do, and there I was a lost child, enjoying the feeling of not knowing.When I got to the bus stand it said Oxford and I was relieved, I was at the right place, the huge tube pulled up infront and the driver got down to put the baggage in the luggage compartment, sorting them out according to their destination; my turn in the queue and he asked, “where to,” I said “Oxford,” with a puzzled look he said, “ But Oxfords big, where in Oxford,” I managed to remember my college room address and muttered with uncertainty “ 41st Iffley Road,” he shook his head and said that’s a long road, and in my mind I thought, and how was I to know that, it was my first time. The queue behind me was building, so I hurriedly said, drop me off, anywhere close to that, and he said the last stop, and even before he could utter the name, I said “yes yes.” It was one of those embarrassing times where you don’t want yourself to look like a fool and end up saying “ yeah, yeah,” to everything.

So there I was, jet lagged, destination unknown and strapped in a bus! The straps are quite a help really, especially when you are deprived of sleep and want something to hang your head on, what better than a strap to keep you wanted. I slept in bits and pieces, craning my neck to whatever passed on the way, half awake dreaming and then the pilot spoke on his microphone again, a thick British accent,’ we are here, watch out for your stops,’ and this was a dreaded moment. I rubbed my eyes shook myself from the quick slumber, and now time for vigilance, time to look out where to get out, but “where” is a big question?

“Gloucester Green, the last stop,” said the man, so I picked up my bags again and prayed some one should help, like god ( if you exist?), its late at night, how do I know where to go, how? The Bhutanese way, pray, and prayers do get answered; as I was taking out my luggage, an amount too humungous for my size, an English man said, “you wanted to go to Iffley road, and I was glad, there was my angel,” I said yes, he said well you cannot walk till there, you have to take a taxi, come I will show you from where, I followed more than willingly, he pulled my bags for me too, godsend. Taxi and there was I, infront of my house, I had a room in there, but no keys. Second task, to get in you need the key, and to get to the key you need to know where you can get it, but middle of the night colleges are closed, so now what?

Pray, say your prayers, wish. I was already missing the mountains, the food, my room back home but for now all I cared for was a bed, safe one. So I hit the bar below my house, it was a Friday and all bars are packed on Friday, that’s a universal rule. I saw a man with pink hair (coloured) and two ponies serving drinks, and there I go again with my questions, “ would you know anyone who lives upstairs, I rang the bell but no ones answering,” and pink man says “ it’s a Friday, you will not find anyone,” I knew what day it was but I needed better information than that, “ I need my room keys,” I was asking a bartender and he could be god for me at the moment, “try the college lodge, ” “ don’t know where it is and will it not be closed its quite late” said I, “ its open 24 hrs,” said pink man, bingo! and that was what I wanted to hear, 24 hrs. With the help of another landscape gardener who was drinking, I made it to the lodge which was not far away, picked up my keys, flashing my passport everywhere and when I held those in my hand, it was victory, I felt like I had gotten the biggest treasure of my life.

So there I lay, in my bed thinking, what a few days I have had, hopping from the nestled kingdom to this bed. I missed home, quite terribly but I was representing home, the only 'Bhutan' in this hub of nationalities, and that made me feel better, more like that was only way of consoling myself.