in-transit certainties

Winter has just departed, it isn’t spring either. The air nonetheless carries the discomfort of summer. It isn’t unpleasant though.

I am at the airport much before my filght departs.

I am thinking about the time spent with her, while writing those ‘important’ work emails. My mind was attending several thoughts. I cannot avoid observing those passengers or airport staff. The young couple juggled between shuffling luggage and soothing their infant. The mid-aged gentleman is engrossed into Economic Times. Those two children are happy playing merry go around. At a distance, the security person was all attentive with his suspicious gaze. Right ahead of me, an old couple are seemingly having light conversation. The lady seems observant of the surroundings.

I think the mail reads fine, I hit send button. I start drafting another mail, few thoughts fade away. To my left I notice a girl in blue denim jacket. She has a serious expression as she talks over phone. I stare at my words, the mail is far from complete. I look at her again. Now she is in tears, still on phone. She continues to cry, talking few words sometimes. I wonder who is on the other end of the phone. What sad or hurtful words are traveling over the air waves, rendering tears in her eyes. I cannot do much, I stare at my screen again. She continues to cry when I look up. She disconnects the call, dials another number, she cries as she speaks. May be her lover broke up with her, or her parents yelled at her, or may be it was something from work. I guess, I may be completely wrong. I can only guess while my mail is almost done.

The old lady who was sitting ahead, is now standing, her feet pointed towards blue denim jacket girl. She continues to cry, looks at her watch and hurriedly gets up. Disconnects the call, wipes her tears and picks up her backpack. She looks at the old lady approaching her. Momentarily they speak through their eyes, neither utter a word. The old lady hugs the girl tightly, for a few seconds. And whispers something in the girls ear. Almost as if she said, ‘it will be fine,’ there is relief in the girls face. They walk away from each other. The old lady settles ahead of me, again. The blue denim jacket fades into the crowd. I hit send and look up.

I know no one here. Yet everyone is so familiar. We are all in transit, away from our comfort zones, yet we find these moments of comfort. I can only smile and be thankful to these moments.

Earlier in the day we had spent a few hours talking over coffee, walking the narrow lanes and visiting those well concealed fabric shops of Old city Ahmedabad. We parted our ways. I had enough time to explore the old walls and roofs, standing strong as homes for many people. Capturing those pigeons in flight was my moment of comfort.

I am in transit. So is she. And everyone else this day. We shared a tiny part of our stories with each other. Some of these impressions might emerge only later, perhaps. Like the film, holding stories until it was developed.