Airports are fascinating places to observe life as it passes by. Which is what I am doing now. Now, if only I could speak my mind. The din of the drill is just blinding. My mind can't see what it wants to write.
A little girl stretches her legs out on a trolley. She gets a free ride. Whee. Three humans walk through the pyramid of trolleys. No, not a pyramid, but a queue. They lend direction. Whee. People walk around. Two people talk to their own left shoulders. "Sho cute no baby?", a young woman whispers into the ear of an old man, albeit loudly. "Baby"? I turn back and look, I extrapolate to fit their story as I hear snippets of a language which was once familiar.
Indulgence, temptation, reward - the ad for a credit card company screeches, blinding the one remaining sense.
Dad calls. He considers me incapable of finding my way around the hundred metres worth of distance. Fly I can, walk I can't.
Like a sniffer dog, I hunt for free wireless. Sniff sniff, I lean against the wall. Refresh. Sniff. I give up. Packet data not available. I breathe. I discover little boxes of viagra in the makeshift pharmacy with chastity belt of a rubberband tied around them. I peer. People stare at me. Why would someone would leave their nose prints on a pharmacy window?
I read the first five and last ten pages of a new book in a crowded bookshop, standing, as my backpack blocks the way of everyone that walks the aisle. The ordinariness of his writing is punctuated by the "excuse me", "excuse me" of all the people who want to take the shortest route to the other famous book. Also ordinary. Everyone wants to find the quick route to easy writing.
In the coffee day lounge, people drink beer at 8 in the morning. In the newspaper, a Sanjeev Kapoor lookalike finds innovative things to do with Rose syrup. Oh wait, that *is* Sanjeev Kapoor, he has shaved off his moustache. On India TV a channel finds a mega thag, someone who poses as God. Someone switches. On another channel, Women's bill becomes a priority. Someone gesticulates.
Dad calls again. Miles to go before I sleep.
Two drunk people talk in the quiet recesses of their brain. To the outside world they are mumbling. Someone looks surreptiously at me. I stare back. Someone judges. Do I look like a loose woman? I look at him as he guiltily squeezes ketchup onto his potato chips. He then licks the leftover ketchup off his fingers.
Now, Ma calls, all nervous. "Can you find your way?", she questions.
I ask for a coffee.
"No, just coffee."
I put two single-serves of sugar in it.
Indulgence, temptation, reward.