The Night Hassan Came Back to Me
A journey that began on a bus, drifted into memory, and quietly found its way home
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I didn’t plan to write this story.
It found me somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, between a bus stop and a memory I thought I had left behind.
Where the Journey Began
It’s a story I want to tell you all, and I keep wondering how to begin.
It began on a bus journey from Bangalore to Puttur. Somewhere between Kunigal and Channarayapatna, the bus came to a halt. I woke up with a jolt, thinking we had already crossed Hassan.
The time was 12:30 AM. For some reason, it felt like the bus was moving in fast reverse—or perhaps time itself was. The reason was obvious: Bangalore traffic. During festival season, just crossing the city to reach Nellamangla feels like a task in itself. You sit there, staring into nothingness, silently hoping for a miracle to reach your destination on time.
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A Pause in the Middle of the Night
As I shook off the sleep, I realized we had stopped at a Kamath hotel. Outside was a sea of buses—a battalion of state carriers and private ultra-modern sleepers. You know that moment when you wake up from deep sleep—the first order of business is always a nature break.
With sleepy eyes, I climbed down and walked toward the restrooms, only to find a massive queue waiting outside.
I decided to wait, telling my inner aatma to stay calm—your turn will come.
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A Face That Stirred Something
As I shuffled forward in that queue, I saw someone who looked incredibly familiar. His face flashed before me for a split second and then vanished into the crowd. That image stayed with me.
I finished what I had come for, walked back, and climbed into my seat—sorry, my sleeper seat.
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When Sleep Refused to Return
The bus started moving again, but somehow, I couldn’t drift back to sleep. Nidradevi—the Goddess of Sleep—seemed to have forgotten me entirely, refusing to let me rest.
With nothing else to do, I reclined and stared out at the dark world rushing by—endless, deep, and silent. Here and there, tiny lights blinked in the distance. Outside, it was pitch black.
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The Roads That Remembered Me
As we crossed the Channarayapatna bypass and inched closer to Hassan, my heart began to beat faster. These were the roads of my younger days. Every place here speaks. Every corner carries a memory.
A Thought… and a Call
As we entered the Hassan KSRTC Bus Stand, a thought kept circling my mind:
What if the person I saw was real?
What if he calls me right now and asks where I am?
Would I pick up that call?
And as if the thought itself had summoned it, the phone rang.
The screen showed “Unknown,” but somehow, I was already connected to the call.
I picked up.
From the other side came a voice:
“Where are you, maga? Appa will come to pick you up.”
“Amma… I’m in Hassan Bus Stand. Okay. Appa is coming to pick me up.”
In that moment, I was suspended in pure joy. Was I really hearing this, or was it just a dream?
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When Logic Let Go
I got down from the bus and turned back. The vehicle I had been traveling in had changed. It was now an old KSRTC Sarige bus, and the nameboard simply read Hassan. Logic no longer mattered. I couldn’t connect the dots—and I didn’t want to.
As I stepped out of the bus stand, I felt myself slipping into a different timeframe altogether.
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The Ride Home
And then, he was there.
My father came to pick me up on his Bajaj XCD bike. I hopped on and sat behind him.
I held on as if I would never let him go—that deep, quiet need for family finally complete. I wanted to speak, to tell him a thousand things, but no words came out. All I could do was hold him tightly.
With the breeze brushing our faces, we crossed the City Circle and turned onto BM Road.
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Hassan, As It Once Was
I felt it instantly—this was the old Hassan I knew. Even the mobile phone in my hand had changed. It was a Motorola C168, and the date showed somewhere around 2010.
Before I could process any of this, we were already on Shankara Matt Road, passing the Canara Bank building. He took the right turn.
That road—once our bread and butter.
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Home, Frozen in Time
As we passed our old workshop building, I saw the two trees we had planted in front, rustling gently, as if saying “Hi” and “Thank you” to my father. Sparrows flew alongside our bike, chirping happily.
Soon, we reached Silver Jubilee Road. The long canopy of trees over the park felt like a dense forest, embracing us. Two minutes later, we were home.
I opened the gate and saw Mother waiting for us.
Throughout the entire journey—from the bus stand to home—my father didn’t utter a single word.
He was just smiling.
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The Return
As I stepped inside the house, everything suddenly began to rewind. The scene where I had asked my father to go home—everything shifted into reverse gear.
Within moments, I was back inside my sleeper seat.
A sudden brake from the bus driver jolted me awake.
I was back in reality.
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What Stayed With Me
As I stared out of the sleeper bus window into the dark night, a flash of light passed by outside. It was the place where his journey had changed its form.
With that dream—and that fleeting flash—I felt it clearly.
He is with me.
His presence walks with me, in every step.
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Why This Story Exists
One day, I may no longer be in this world, but this blog will remain—to show love, family, and happiness. Maybe, just maybe, this smile will make someone else smile too.
Lost in those thoughts, I noticed the time—it was already 3:00 AM. Nidradevi was finally knocking, gently asking me to sleep.
By the time I reached Puttur, it was much later than usual.
7:30 AM.
That night, I didn’t just reach Puttur.
I reached home.
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Inspired by a real journey, real memories, and a love that never left.
