The airport is this place where everyone gets together, different destinations in mind, different routes to get there, different people to reach, but a common urge to go somewhere. It’s almost a gathering of dreamers, clutching tickets they believe might be that ‘change’ in their life.
Clutching tickets to go explore a new place, maybe to seek a new purpose. Clutching tickets to go meet a new person, maybe test the waters. United in clutching tickets at this one point in space and time, diverging into openness, perhaps never meeting again.
But everyone at the airport seeks something beyond. They urge to go somewhere and do something. To break out of the monotony of life, if only for a day. To experience, to make memories, how many ever they can.
The airport can be the the dawn of beginnings and the drawing of ends. Someone out there is praying during take off, wondering what a new life looks like. Someone else on the same flight is reminiscing and regretting. Someone else maybe, is unsure about their future. While someone else knows what is to come and what’s expected of them. There’s a lot happening.
In life, every point is a point we meet new people- who want to go to different places and do different things. You may meet them again, you may cling to them, you may forget their faces. But they still exist. They’re still battling problems, figuring out logistics, worrying, wondering, wandering, hoping they can find their way even after getting lost in the dark.
Life is feats, feasts, and fleeting. Filled with a shot of morning expresso and juice, War and peace. Life is trust and betrayal, Young and ancient, Surprising. Life is annoying alarms at 6am, blurred photographs, wet newspapers, broken dreams, Smuggled in with comfort and curiosity. Life is fascinating, forgetful, feared. Ringing with songs in the shower, crunching of autumn leaves, beautiful harmonies, Piece by piece, Fitting into a bigger puzzle. Life is tears, pain, and recovery. Hurt, guilt, and uncertainty. Sometimes overshadowed by belief, colour, and clarity. Sometimes not.
Dreams rush down the waterfall And stroke the pebbles on their way They gush and grumble, gawp and gossip, Growing with each day.
They start off as mere droplets of water But are soon vast oceans of honey One can lick sprays, sprinkles, specks But cannot swallow a sea.
Dreams finally reach the awaited estuary To meet a million more of their kind Mingling, murmuring, maneuvering Their fates, will their stars align?
And so we go to scoop up our dreams Carrying fish nets instead of a bucket Letting our aspirations escape the lines of reality Wondering why our dreams don’t fit.
We wonder why we can’t be fairies anymore Or be super-heroes, with Iron Man’s designs We look around at a rigid world We’re being taught to paint inside the lines.
We wonder why we can’t be magicians anymore Why we can’t dance under the waterfall of dreams Wandering, waltzing, waking To realize that life isn’t what it seems.
Bombay thumps to a constant beat In rhythm with the blood that rushes through her Lanes and veins its way through the Narrower alleyways and streets.
She pumps energy but groans when the sun Shines its presence onto her humble organ; She is happier when it thunders.
Never failing, always feeling. Living her way into the orange streetlights at Queen’s Necklace and the Crowded vada-pav and pav-bhaji stalls and the Snoozing drivers in rickshaws and the Bustling coloured flower markets and the Merry-go-rounds by the salty sea- Pumping her blood to every nook and cranny she can find She shouldn’t leave anyone out.
Bombay throbs with the noise and the pain With the heartbreaks and the tears Offering to stitch the wounds To perform the surgery most dreaded, and still Be alright.
She laughs once the stars are up Pounding for them, living for them when they aren’t clouded. For the city is but a star, Radiating emotions, emitting life, Out into space.
It was tough to wedge the window open. It kept on resisting and Jane could see why. Maybe it was a sign. If it was, she ignored it. This had to happen.
She persisted and it finally gave in. A gush of wind hit her and she could hear her heart pounding loud. Was she thinking straight? In a way, she was just thinking of straight out of the window- but could she do that?
Jane climbed out on the ledge, shivering. She remembered her mother saying she should be brave. Her dad would call her darling, say she was a tiger true to heart. If she was brave then, she could be brave now. All it would take was a jump. And she’d be free.
Sweaty palms. Running thoughts. Blurry worlds. Nauseating and writhing and chafing. Slip and fall and plummet to-
Her phone rang. Her last phone call, she thought.
“Hello?”
“Hi honey, where are you?”
Jane thought this was her breaking point, but instead she laughed sharply. “I’m on the ledge, you know. Maybe this time I’ll fly.”
She shook her head, the tears were always going to come.
“Jane, no. No. You’re not doing this.”
There was silence and sobbing on the other end of the line.
“Jane, listen to me. You still there? Can you go back inside your office? Just a few steps. Come on, you can do this.”
She sniffled and hesitated.
After ten minutes, she’d reached her window again.
“Sit down somewhere, close your eyes, Jane. Take ten deep breaths for me. I’m doing it too.”
Jane blinked away her tears and fought her urge to go back to the ledge. But she did what Mike told her. Ten deep breaths. She could do this.
“You’re doing amazing, Jane, you know? Okay now, open your eyes and look around. What can you see, or smell, or feel?”
“There’s a lot of buildings here, many other offices. I think there’s someone walking their dog in the compound… Pity there’s no one dancing right now.
I can smell waffles from breakfast and also snow. I can feel some of the sun. And it’s pretty breezy. I’m crying too.”
Jane blinked for a couple more moments, before Mike spoke again.
“Now tell me what the sky looks like.”
“Well there are a few clouds, but the rest is a nice blue…”
“Oh yeah? That’s nice. Send me some of that sunshine, it’s been raining here.”
Jane smiled, “Of course.” There was a pause.
“You see the world out there, Jane?” She softened, he went on. “The smell of the wind and the feel of the sun and the breeze on your face. There’s a whole big world out there, and it changes everyday.
Sometimes life is heavy, honey, but there’s so many beautiful things out there. Like waffles and cream for breakfast or walking your dog.”
Jane chuckled and nodded as Mike kept speaking.
“Life is more than your job sometimes. It’s the smell of snow and the feel of the sun and the sight of someone dancing with no care in the world. And if you ever feel overwhelmed, just look up at that sky and see if it’s changing. Because what you’re feeling will change as surely as that sky has.
I promise you.”
Two people, miles apart, connected by a phone line, took a deep breath.
“Thank you, Mike.” There was a lot she wanted to say, but her tears gulped that down.
“Anytime, sweetie. Love you, and I’m always here.”
It gets scary sometimes, when you try to repeat something again and again. You say a word twenty times and it sounds like gibberish. You walk the same road often and you forget you’re walking. You read the same sentences, hear the same phrases, feel the same feeling, so many times, and you forget why it’s special.
It’s scary to realize that if one gets too happy- they forget what happiness truly is. And it aches to realize that maybe if you watch the sunset too often, the sky won’t be as colourful as before. If you try so hard to make these ‘moments’ in life, they won’t be ‘moments’ anymore.
Unless we keep the darker moments, the struggles, in our mind, we won’t be able to appreciate what’s happening. Unless we remember what sadness and tears were like and hold that image in our minds, we won’t be able to realize joy and euphoria- when in front of us.
It’s like being on an airplane, or climbing a mountain. We don’t realize how high up we are till we look down and feel our hearts pounding against the wind. It’s only in realizing our downsides do we enjoy the ups, and it’s only in remembering are we able to move on to newer experiences.
The water whispers in the dead of the night Snippets of an ancient tongue Gurgling, hissing, burbling, brimming with stories long forgotten And tales long faded.
The water listens, but Seeks a listener. It waves to the sweltering rocks, crunching pebbles, buds fighting for space, Passing unnoticed. Unheard.
The water meets the worlds. Sprinting, running away from An invisible monster. In pursuit of a dream, lingering behind the Horizon.
The water reaches out Tentative, nervous, gentle, cooing and hoping The monster may be tamed. In vain. The shadows are coming. The darkness comes-
The water shrinks away, Frosting, crackling, moaning, mumbling Phrases drifting into oblivion. Inching away from fire, shivering, Only in search of a listener To pour itself into.
We all label some events and memories in our lives as the ‘good things’. Once we pass them, we tell ourselves that the good things ‘never last’. That they were meant to go, we were meant to find new ‘better things’, till the whole process repeats itself.
But don’t the good things last?
If you know how to keep them, these things last long. If you can accept that you’ll be sad, and that bad things can happen- the good things will always be by your side. Maybe they’ll be eclipsed by burdens that feel like the weight of the world, or maybe they’ll be buried underneath tears and work, but you’ll be able to find them. They are never lost.
And sometimes, you won’t have to dig deep to find them. Sometimes, they will resurface and greet you warmly- as you fall into the envelope of joy again. We always venture out of that envelope, maybe put it in the back of our pockets; sometimes forgetting about it. But if we look around, think, remember, we’ll be able to dig out that envelope and peek inside.
This envelope won’t give birth to unicorns and glitter, and our lives won’t be full of sparkles and magic. But if we find the strength in ourselves to clutch the envelope of hopes and these ‘good things’ in our fists, we’ll be able to get through.
