I was shamelessly staring at him.

I realized I was shamelessly staring at him but I didn't cease.

At the gas station, our bus was standing among vehicles which constantly honked horns. The conductor was engaged in a fight, a brutal one they said, which I didn't bother to look at. Soon the bus driver, too, became a part of it. 

Half past one, the heat was intense. Cacophony surrounded me. 
Abuses to pleads. One spat paan while the fight continued. For the young men it was a recreation, "Let's call the Prime Minister to sort this out", one joked. An elderly man staring at young girls playing. Women fanning themselves with the loose end of their saree and their mother-in-laws frowning at them as their sarees slipped from their heads. A mother grabbing a handful of chips from the packet her daughter was holding, chewing, cursing the weather, and the fighting men, as few bits fell off her mouth. An unmarried couple, taking all the advantage of the half-empty bus. A lady, post staring me from head to toe, blamed her husband for being a coward sitting next to her and enjoying the show. Two women observing their respective husbands from the window. So loyal!

I called my dad and told him the scene, briefly. 
"Take a cab to the Metro Station", he ordered.

Why spend extra when I have already paid the bus fare? I thought to myself as I prepared to endure the intense heat. Why not when everyone did? But, was everyone actually bearing? It was more of a complain.

Towards my right, he sat.
Where everybody was either shouting, cursing, abusing, fanning, laughing __ He just Sat.
Was he normal? Or just patient?

He was beautiful. Big vacant eyes. You could not read him. 
That small figure.
He stood up, went to the gate. Saw me staring him, he stared back for a moment. When his father saw him standing, he dragged him with his arm and made him sit on the seat. Blurting something in his mother tongue, his father continued to look out of the window, wondering if the fight reached a conclusion. Poor child, his legs barely reaching the floor. He did not say a word! His expression was as it was. He stared at his feet then looked at me. His lips pursed as they were since I saw him. 
Were they bruises? One was above his right eyebrow. Another, on his cheek near his right ear, it was a long one. It put me in thought.
Was he beaten? By his father? Or fell off his cycle? Could he ride a cycle? Did he ever laugh? Smile, even? Why was he silent? Why didn't he resist when his father dragged him? And the heat. Not even a naked man could bear it! Did he not feel it? I did not see sweat, either.

I swiped my forehead with my handkerchief. 
"How old are you?" Thrice I asked him with a smile. Everytime, he looked at me and then looked down. It was the third time that his mother looked at me and said, "Seven."
I nodded my head and smiled.
I would have had counted his teeth if only did he part his lips. 
For a fraction of a second, he looked at me with his sphinxlike eyes.

I stood up. Got down the bus.
Looked back to have a last glance of him.
He was looking at his bare feet.

Why were his feet bare?

I didn't realize I had boarded a cab till it dropped me at the station.