I never thought it would be so insipid a feeling. In fact, no feeling at all.
Right from my childhood I were brought up with the thought that flying in an airplane would vindicate success of my professional life. Now, right when I am feeling like the most successful loser, I was gonna fly, for the first time. Woke up at 3:30 am and got into the cab by 4:15 and reached the airport by 5 or something. The flight was to take off by 5:45.
I had heard stories of people who embarrassed themselves by doing something stupid in the airport during their first flight. I asked the I-will-do-it-myself-explorer within me if he wants to try this time. No reply. He must have been sleeping. Or he must have been dead. I explained the Spicejet attendant my first flight predicament and told him that he got to tell me everything possible for me not to make a scene. So, he made me wait near the helpdesk for the guide to come. Yeah, I got a guide in a bloody domestic airport. Hmmm… I probably could have followed other passengers. But, it’s quite risky, you know. What if I follow the wrong guy and end up on a plane that would take me to krakozhia.
As other passengers proceeded past me and my wait went on, my parents outside must have gotten perturbed. Just when my dad called me to enquire if everything’s okay, I realized they were still waiting outside, feeling proud and elated watching me walk towards glory. Or probably they were just making sure that I didn’t wait for them to leave and escape from the airport. By the time the guide arrived, we had some misinterpreted glances exchanged. I bid them goodbye and followed the guide like a little lamb, who knew that it’s gonna make biriyani better the next day. I was lost.
I never thought it would be so insipid a feeling. In fact, no feeling at all.
haha. thanks for coming to my blog.. you have a funny bone man.. but where r u .. keep writing
ReplyDeleteEnding of the story:
ReplyDeleteWhen he was on the boat and it had set sail, when the swollen flood-waters of the river started to heave like the Earth's brimming tears, the postmaster felt a huge anguish: the image of a simple young village-girl's grief-stricken face seemed to speak a great inarticulate universal sorrow. He felt sharp desire to go back: should he not fetch that orphaned girl, whom the world had abandoned? But the wind was filling the sails by then, the swollen river was flowing fiercely, the village had been left behind, the riverside burning-ground was in view. Detached by the current of the river, he reflected philosophically that in life there are many separations, many deaths. What point was there in going back? Who belonged to whom in this world?
But Ratan had no such philosophy to console her. All she could do was wander near the post office, weeping copiously. Maybe a faint hope lingered in her mind that Dadababu might return; and this was enough to tie her to the spot, prevent her from going far. O poor, unthinking human heart! Error will not go away, logic and reason are slow to penetrate. We cling with both arms to false hope, refusing to believe the weightest proofs against it, embracing it with all our strength. In the end it escapes, ripping our veins and draining our heart's blood; until, regaining consciousness, we rush to fall into snares of delusion all over again.