bustand

The first time I went to Shimla bus stand to receive my mother alone, I was fifteen. Papa was on duty and he said, "You go, you are big now." I wore my best sweater and reached one hour early because I was scared I would miss her bus.

It was December and the fog was so thick I could not see the buses coming. The announcement speaker was crackling loudly, and I kept checking every HRTC bus that entered. My hands were frozen because I forgot my gloves at home. Every time a woman in a red shawl like my mother's got down, my heart would jump. Then it was not her
After forty minutes, I started panicking. What if she went to the old bus stand? What if her phone died? I had no money for a second call, only ten rupees in my pocket. I called her once; she said, "I am near, ten minutes." I waited again, pacing near the tea stall.
Then I saw her. She was struggling with two heavy bags—one had rice and