Tales told Twice

10 Jan 2022.

Morning flight from Hyderabad to Mangalore. The 2nd leg of a trip during Covid. Amongst a bobbing mass of mask covered faces, a mop-head darted out and startled me. Curly unkempt hair, thick glasses, a hoodie two sizes big for him. I put him in his late twenties. Air pods, a travel-worn back pack on his skinny shoulder, impatient.

I put down the Michael Ondaatje I picked up from the airport book shop. I was one among the few who could find a seat near the gate where every alternate chair had a haphazardly stuck red tape warning travelers to keep away. The mop-head stood aside and looked eagerly at the seated passengers, obviously looking for someone. He rushed past me to another side of the waiting lounge. I think I caught a whiff of stale Creed Aventus.

20 minutes later, I was inside the aircraft with my colleague who got busy with a pack of “Nut case”, a flat tin holding roasted cashews. Mr. mop-head was standing far ahead, cramped under the luggage rack, still looking for someone. Who could that be? A co-worker? Family?

We both found the answer soon enough. A short girl holding a travel pillow entered the air craft looking as frantic as the boy. Mop-head snatched his mask away and his face broke into a smile. She ran into his arms and the hug was long and tight. I looked away. The flight steward looked on with a smile, I noticed.

But not everything went according to the plan of the couple who just met. Their seats were apart. Throughout the journey, mop-head (I don’t have another name for him) would occasionally pop up from his seat to look back and smile at the girl who sat further behind the air craft. Why wouldn't the crew notice their predicament and swapped a seat so that they could sit together? It was obvious that they wanted to.

The sun rose on my side of the plane and semi-blinded me. Cotton clouds on woolly legs stood up to spy on what went on inside the steel bird. I started munching on a few borrowed cashews from the “Nut case”. Mop-head got up, walked towards the end of the aircraft and found the girl at her seat.

Why am I watching them?

The short flight ended sooner than I thought. As the crowd spilled out to board the shuttle bus, the young couple walked together, holding hands and talking loudly. My colleague smiled and pointed at them with his chin. May be he saw a younger self in them.

Since we were a group of four, it took us a while to gather our luggage. As we headed out, the couple was standing outside. They were still holding hands but very silent.

It seemed like they had to go different ways. The girl was picked up by her family (I think) while the guy continued to wait for some one. The car with the girl inside rolled out and his eyes followed the vehicle until it disappeared beyond the bend on the road. He adjusted the weight of his back pack and did a little spin on his toes. He looked tired and his hair was in his eyes.

On certain journeys, the beginning and the end are inconsequential. They are the fixed part of the itinerary. The part that offers no surprise or adventure. In between, lies the undiscovered and the unforgettable: distances, last minute runs, reunions, laughter and good byes. If it isn't for that middle part, the journey would be ho-hum.

In the end, you may take a bus together or hop on different trains. On another day, you may return to the same port of origin. Or not.

In the event of that happening or not, we wait in our heads.

Our destinations are within us.