thoughts on air.

Something about the airport always fascinates me. So many different personalities waiting to be cramped in a few foot squares of an airbus all heading towards dreams, away from dreams. Heavy hearts & sullen thoughts, joyous lives & hopeful souls sharing modified oxygen for a dozen-packed minutes. There is that guy in the Darth Vader t-shirt who likes his pizza cheesy and his memes Star Wars. Who swears on falling for any girl who’d be a Star War couple with him cue Big Bang Theory. Who is intent on making his opinions on the sci-fi plot in social media. There’s the girl with a MANGO satchel and a handy laptop bag all over her phone, scared to waste a second offline. Who’d be complaining to her friends about  “these people” who are so hurried to get in line to board the plane. She tweets and stories her life, wishing she lived more off-screen. There’s that ‘almost thirty-feeling twenty’ dude in a polo t-shirt and summer shorts who is so sure his opinions are the best in Quora. And there’s the thirteen something girl fascinated about every experience she comes across – the view from the plane, the passenger in front of her she felt compulsed to question and gathered the courage to ask “Which country are you from?” To which she got the reply, Northeast India, left with a baffled expression wondering how’d that face pop up from her country. And there’s me being all observant and cynical and wordy, making the passengers next to me curious as to whether I am a writer or another heartbroken girl trying to document pieces of her life. A curious middle-aged aunty tries to catch some words off the paper but it doesn’t seem to make sense. An hours curiosity entertains nonetheless. Who is she, who am I?

 

 

a cola tale.

colass

You meet on a sunny day in June, drink a cola on the sidewalk and click your footsteps in unison. A fairytale day or a movie set? The wind blows just perfect, the sun shines just enough. Walking next to you with a cola in hand is a smile that’s the warmth of a thousand winter fires in one, that envelops you with glee from the ice cold outsides. How’d you get so lucky?

Maybe your time had come ~ maybe the universe decided that this moment is it, what every step you’d taken from the day you took the first was meant to lead you to. This is where Marshall meets the mother. Your life is finally on the brink of the good stuff after 9 seasons of horrendous, crazy mishaps.

And when the first second rolls into hours and months pass by, to your great horror, you realize your souls meet perfectly. Wait, is that even possible? Your every thought aligns and conjuncts and preposits in perfect disharmony. A word uttered leads to a day’s conversation, to the nights hours passed in a wink.

But when months add to months, somewhere is a defect in your being for an antediluvian decision gone awry. And sometime around there, you’re not it anymore. You were never it. You were just an illusion painted on a sunny day in June with Cola drinks adding the perfect flavor and your footsteps clicking in unison to a sound of music that could only be heard, not composed.

And that is when you realize, you were just an illusion, a perfect cola memory created before you came to be.