Wonders, lost

While getting out of the house at 7.39 am every day, thoughts of moving to a faraway land ran through her mind. Winnie, as everyone called her, was already tired of her life. The atrocity of college did not seem to end. And with the burden of books, the nerd stepped onto the roaring city streets. The bus would arrive soon, she thought. Putting off the idea of getting a perfect cup of roadside tea, she started fighting sleep off under the station shed.

The bus had arrived, and like every other day, she tumbled into the putrid, still air of the vehicle. Luckily, as a minimal form of comfort, she found a window seat. As battered as it was, she thanked her lucky stars. Funny how once she used to wish for adventures. She remembered that as a child, she wanted to go to France and see the Eiffel tower in all its glory.

'I can go anytime I want.' She thought to herself. But Wordsworth had told her the reality long ago – the lovely woods of adventure were surpassed by the promises that needed to be kept. Staring at the wheel of a passing rickshaw, she tried to understand how her life had been trapped into a vicious cycle. Moving on without answers, she focused on jaywalkers rushing against time to avoid being hit. A small rabbit-like man that caught her eye reminded Winnie about her grandmother.

 To the little Winnie, grandma told her about a little girl who would spend her time by the river, following a white rabbit in her garden. It was a special rabbit, she used to say, that had an immaculate idea of time. It had a pocket watch and just like this man on the road, it would hop its way into the bushes whenever the clock struck. She also said that the rabbit had brown fur around its eyes, making it look bespectacled. Ever since, Winnie would look out for one such rabbit every time her car passed the pet shops of Katabon. To her disappointment, as a child she never could find one like that. And it was long before she understood that the girl was from the gardens of Mr. Caroll.

She looked at the time. There was no point in fidgeting — she knew that no carpet was going to fly her over the traffic that awaited her. And as she felt the wheel of her life going through another one of its vicious revolutions, there was a loud bang on the street. A car had run into a rickshaw right in front of her. In the crowd that was quick to gather, Winnie was non-existent.

Witnessing the chaos, she saw how calm the old rickshaw puller remained. As he pedalled away and the traffic cleared, he had already showed Winnie where to go.

Just like every other Saturday, the old age home let visitors in. The young lady walking into the empty guest lounge saw her grandmother's face light up. Looking at the wrinkles on her face, she wondered how old her Alice had gotten. And as grandma told her the story of the rabbit once more, Winnie wandered off to the words of the old rickshaw puller.

Pedalling away, he had muttered, 'If I never stop, my wheels will not go anywhere new.'

She smiled. Winnie remembered then that her favourite fairy tale tunnel always had a wonderland waiting.

Zarin Rezwana is a weird potato trying to be a French fry. Send help or send ketchup at riditah4@gmail.com