As much as airports fascinate me, equally, I find them
confusing. They make me wonder. Like, where to go? Where’s the washroom? Where am
I supposed to wait? What do those big black screens flashing numbers indicate?
Or,
why is coke’s disposable and club sandwiches so expensive than usual here at
the airport? And that one particular fear that always get to me: How am I going to find my person that I’ve
come for? Or how are they going to know where I am? What if I am waiting in the
wrong lounge? What if they never found me? What if I got lost somewhere here?
–Pure paranoia. Childish paranoia.
So yeah, here I was, with that particular fear, standing
consciously in the middle. Her flight’s time was 8:45, so I decided to take a
seat at the waiting instead of making a fool of myself. So, very carefully
I walked to the series of jet blue seats that were fixed to the ground –smart, I complimented –and joined other
people who were already seated there. Just as I sat down, I
secretly expressed my dismay at the plastic
seats. Couldn’t they have kept foamy
couches instead? That would’ve been more comfortable. Totally inconsiderate
management. I took my compliment back. And probably I wasn’t the only one
who found those plastic seats uncomfortable. The uncle sitting next to me had
the same annoyed expression. Or maybe, I was over-thinking, just so I may not
feel alone.
Actually, airport is the only place where you can never be
alone. People are continuously coming and going, arriving and departing;
personifying our world, our lives. Smiles exchanged at the arrival, tears shed
at the departure; like happiness is shared when a new member is born, and despair
is absorbed when a dear one dies. From one destination to another; lives in
constant motion…
My thought processes were interrupted by the loud cries of a
kid –such a shrill irritating voice it was! I couldn’t help but turn around to
see what’s wrong with her. Dressed in a light blue printed frock, she had tears
rolling down here plump cheeks. Her hair which was a mixture of golden and
copper color was tied neatly in two ponies. I would’ve called her cute had she
not been crying like this. I saw her mother and immediately realized from where
the girl has inherited such beautiful hair. She called a boy who was playing at
the elevators; he was most definitely her elder brother. The mother asked him
to take his little sister to the elevators. And I already guessed the reason
for why she must be crying. He held her tiny pink hand in his with affection,
and walked her to the elevators. For some unknown reason, I followed them with
my gaze. They stepped on the elevator together with a bunch of other crazy
children. I watched in amusement, how her tears vanished, her lips twitched and
curved up into a smile –the smile was distracted when for a second she lost her
balance, her brother quickly took her hand again– the smile returned, and I smiled
with her. It’s true; sometimes all we need is that one hand to hold –that one
hand, which could save us from falling. Sometimes all we need is that
assurance that at least somebody’s there to watch over us. A little assurance,
that no matter what, that one hand
will always be there, to guide us out of dark, to help us walk through the
foggy lanes, to mend us and help us run in one piece all over again. It’s true,
that one hand can really save us from
falling…
They came running and screaming in joy from the other
elevator, debating over who will push the luggage trolley when grandfather
would arrive. I smiled again. Those kids over there represented a part of my
childhood that is long lost…
Hundreds of shades of life; all exhibited together at one
place.
My eyes were moist, because when I looked up to see who it
was, the picture was blurry. It took me a little time to realize that she had finally
arrived, and had found me.
