There is a miracle that lies in that airport security gate. When you pass through that security gate, your entire personality changes. Inside the terminal, everyone, from dreaded gangsters to abusive husbands, becomes gentlest and calmest to exhibit the best airport terminal-approved behavior (ATAB):). Jeffry Archer, Durjoy Dutt, Lean in, MacBook, and iPad are the approved terminal accessories that your hands must be ornamented with.
Oh, poor me! I have none of them!
Actually, I wanted to pull out my five years old Dell Vostro, but that bulky last remaining remnant of the Neanderthal era seemed completely out of fashion for this “ATAB” setup.
Well, if I have my phone with me, I won’t be bugged as much, but it’s in the charging station. So basically, I have about 100 minutes to waste and a lot of pretentious faces to stare at.
Has anyone mentioned faces?
Got it!
How could I have forgotten the simplest and most inexpensive way to pass the time? Face reading! I’m actually pretty good at it; as a social outcast, it’s the only thing that keeps me sane at work. The best part about face reading is that you don’t have to be correct about the outcome. You have the liberty to imagine anything, any plot to frame stories.
So I’ve let my imagination run wild in order to discover as many stories as possible.
Hey, young man!
When I turned around, I noticed an octogenarian staring at me. Are you speaking to me? With some surprise, I inquired once more!
“Yes, it appears that we are the only idlers left among these busy souls.” He explained.
“Yes, obviously he is right.” “We both seem to be the only living inhabitants in this valley of silence,” I murmured.
What could have prompted our fellow octogenarian to break the “ATAB”? From previous experience, I’ve learned that if your co-passenger approaches you for conversation, there must be a monetary reason. So, why is this fellow octogenarian approaching for conversation? Will he pitch his “The novel that no one read” or try to sell me some subscription service?
Meanwhile, the octogenarian sat down next to me and said,
“I have so many fond memories of Assam, having spent 10 years of my solider life there,”
He sighed!
I was hesitant to inquire further about his experience because of the intense stress he displayed while concluding his speech.
“So you might have been to Pathar?”
“Pathar,” as the name of the place? “I guessed. He might be trying to figure out the name of the place from his vivid memory. “There must be some specific name before the word “Pathar,” I reasoned,
Yes, you got me, he said, nodding his head. That location had a name, but my failing memory can’t think of it right now.
I felt bad for making him feel sorry for himself. “
I laughed. “Even our generation can’t spell the names of a few places.”
“Bihu, Kaziranga, rhino, hills, so beautiful.” It seems he is probably doing his best to dust off his fragile memories that were dumped decades ago
“Poran! You just look like Poran,” he exclaimed.
He appears to be attempting to rekindle memories of a deceased loved one. Is he mourning his late son?
He continued. “You know, old men start wars and revolutions, but young people pay the price, Poran paid the price! I murdered him..”
His wrinkled eyes were filled with silvery tears….
“Mr. Deepankar, flight number 5098!”
Oops!
I regained consciousness when I heard the voice of the air hostess.
Your flight is about to take off, sir. Please hurry!
Oh, sh*t!
I looked around. I’d fallen into that dreadful “void” yet again. I hurriedly pull the charging plug and dashed to the check counter….