Hamad International Airport, Doha; October, 2010.
"Last call for Nishi Burman. You are requested to report immediately at gate number 23. QR 546 is ready for departure".
For the past eight hours, she was used to the code 'QR 68' from Frankfurt to Doha. Clinically, she had waited for the last call even as she sat right near gate number 23, fully awake, opposite the 24 Seven outlet musically calling out sale promotions. She got up, relaxed her back muscles with a stretch, eased out the crease in her cotton indigo trousers, slipped back into her light blue Crocks, rolled up the sleeves of her white shirt and wore her long hair in a lazy bun which she tied up with a blue and white Mango scarf. As she picked up her pure brown clean-cut Fendi bag, she slid up the RayBan to her head. Each thing she owned, she wore, she bought, she gifted, she did it with utmost care. She walked towards her gate and made it to her seat, carefully picked a day in advance, by the window, with ample leg space. She was prepared to sleep for most of the journey to Kolkata. All that was left to be picked up for the span of the next two months was the alcohol which she would from the CCU Duty Free. A Glenmorangie for self, in solitude, and a Jameson, when with friends.
As she pushed up her seat back to its upright position before takeoff, she was pleasantly surprised by the person who came back from the bathroom to take the seat next to her. The man in an olive green Lacoste t-shirt. She had worn Lanvin today, and closed her eyes to think of the hours in between. The hours in between Frankfurt and Kolkata, at the Doha stopover. The hours in between. The rabbit like cloud came to a level of friendly nearness, and was chasing the map of Canada cloud. She smiled at him and feigned to be asleep.
Five hours back, Nishi was still trying to come to terms with the divorce that she had asked for, and eventually got. The Europe trip could not fade the human amount of sorrow maligned by the inhuman amount of relief. Only when she had to pick a person to love, she tripped flat on her face. She fell for a name like Ramesh Chaudhuri over the Ayushmans and the Aniruddhs and the Pallavs. She was ashamed, hurt, deeply wounded. Such a mistake was unexpected from her. She went in to the smoking zone at Doha and pulled out her Benson and Hedges Lights.
The hours in between were like the cigarette smoke, trapped in its own flight. Here in Doha, she felt more at home smoking than she did in Kolkata. She asked for a light from one of the many smokers. As she scrolled down Facebook, she was struck to find Ramesh put up a post on his collection of knives. His collection. Which she had carefully built. She was angry at herself for being so effected by his public showoff. She stubbed her cigarette and after thirty seconds took out another. She lost all her poise somewhere in between.
An hour later she regained control and went back to being Nishi Burman. And in between all the guards she had to live one life, she died a thousand deaths of the untamed. Unnoticed. In-between.
Five hours back, Nishi was still trying to come to terms with the divorce that she had asked for, and eventually got. The Europe trip could not fade the human amount of sorrow maligned by the inhuman amount of relief. Only when she had to pick a person to love, she tripped flat on her face. She fell for a name like Ramesh Chaudhuri over the Ayushmans and the Aniruddhs and the Pallavs. She was ashamed, hurt, deeply wounded. Such a mistake was unexpected from her. She went in to the smoking zone at Doha and pulled out her Benson and Hedges Lights.
The hours in between were like the cigarette smoke, trapped in its own flight. Here in Doha, she felt more at home smoking than she did in Kolkata. She asked for a light from one of the many smokers. As she scrolled down Facebook, she was struck to find Ramesh put up a post on his collection of knives. His collection. Which she had carefully built. She was angry at herself for being so effected by his public showoff. She stubbed her cigarette and after thirty seconds took out another. She lost all her poise somewhere in between.
An hour later she regained control and went back to being Nishi Burman. And in between all the guards she had to live one life, she died a thousand deaths of the untamed. Unnoticed. In-between.
No comments:
Post a Comment