Today, each one of us here resumed to our daily routine, including me. We light a candle, march a kilometre, pray for a minute and maintain silence for few seconds then switch back to our daily routine. It hurts from inside like their lives don’t matter anymore. I’m sipping my favourite coffee and watching Mumbai, recovering its loss and stitching its pieces together. One thing, is certain and common, every soul walking here confidently, has some amount of fear pounding inside them. Humans have a great gift of forgetting things and move on with life like nothing has happened. Though, fear never exits the human consciousness so easily.
Passengers in hordes spilled out from the terminals stood in a long sober queue. ‘Even caffeine is having no effect on me.’ I mutter and crouch forward; cover my face with my small hands, and stay put. Trying hard to pass the time. Eyes tuned at this stranger whom I’m stalking for a while now. He has an attractive personality though he had a weird outfit, might be in his thirties, flat chest covered with army printed green t-shirt. Bold and brown, tall and slightly hefty body, face almost covered with a hanging beard down the chin in a long panama black suit, yelling at the cabin crew so loud grabbing everyone’s attention around in this dark gloomy room. He is wearing an old-fashioned navel blue hat which is boldly weird.
‘Try and understand my situation, I’m already late because of the flight delay,’ scratching his head and gesturing his problems ‘Finish your verification as quickly as possible and allow me to leave.’ Pretty much annoyed with the staff.
Eventually calms down and agrees to wait, occupying the seat next to me. His face is sweaty, tapping his feet impatiently against the floor in a constant rhythm. There is something bothering him and troubling my mind to ask about it. To my surprise. He gave me a firm look,
‘Are you waiting for verification as well?’ he inquired, arching his brows a bit higher.
‘Yes, I’m finishing my breakfast, meanwhile its done. So, I’m good.’ I said gulping the food down my throat.
‘I have to rush somewhere important?’ placing his briefcase aside, ‘Don’t know, how much time they’ll take?’ staring at watch and cabin crew and again his watch, as if clock will start moving faster.
I understand his frustration. Even, I’m irritated with the long wait. But who can blame the difficult times? We have to adjust. They are doing their job twice already, just to make sure everything is good and everyone is safe.
‘Same here,’ I lied. With a lightest smile on my face, ‘Eventually it is for our own safety end of the day, right?’ I added.
‘Yeah, but if I don’t hurry now, I may never get to meet her again.’ his voice toned down
‘Her?’ I checked.
‘My ex-wife, I’m here to meet her.’
‘Where you from?’
‘I’m from Runisia, Myself Rahim Razak.’ forwards a handshake.
Muslim. I thought. Extending my hand ‘This is Meghana Saxena.’ that was a firm and rough handshake
I’ve never heard about this country before and that isn’t important now. I need to know, what is bothering him first. Story has been my priority always. I love reading stories about anonymous people, where they genuinely confess the truth, even if it’s ugly. Same with strangers whom you meet while travelling on trains, buses and flights and interesting conversations happen.
‘Why are you in a hurry, though?’
‘She is one of the victims at the Opera House blast and currently admitted to a hospital nearby’
‘Sorry to hear that.’ I was one of the witness at the incident.
‘I need to search each and every hospital nearby that area, because I don’t have her contact and information.’
‘It is hard to track a person, in city like Mumbai.’
We exchanged a formal smile. Gradually he rested himself on the chair ‘You are from Mumbai?’ coughing a bit, rolling his sleeves near elbow, gaping the time in between and continued to tap his feet in beat.
‘I just deplaned from Delhi from an exhaustive interview. I’m writing a news article about it.’ I answered his question and it didn’t end with it.
‘Interesting. What is that, you are writing about?’ he is seeker to information. Shall I tell him or just pass the question.
‘If it’s confidential, then that’s fine.’ He retorts by dumb look on my face.
‘It is about the after effects of the recent blasts that took place at various places. My article majorly focuses on finding the motive behind the incident. Why would someone commit such cruel act? What situations force them to join the terror group?’
‘That’s deep and intellectual, would be a fine piece to read.’
‘To be honest, I think nobody has time for such boring subjects. They are many other interesting reads like Bollywood gossip articles, romance novels and their erotic editions.’ I replied annoyingly
He inched forward ‘I partially agree. I’m certain that generally public don’t emphasize on these articles because its factual and disturbing. People intentionally will not choose to feel pain.’ Then his face changed. A hint of anguish crept in.
‘Isn’t it the pain, that people should be aware of?’ I said,
Pain is the emotion which makes or breaks you from inside. Be it heartbreak from relationship, family or friends. It mends your thoughts and also changes you as a person.
‘Everything in the world is a product of pain and love and my life is reformed, because of these two feelings.’
Passing a brief silence. Rubbing his eyes back and forth, slips a tiny smile and continues to share his story,
‘Our moments together were the sweetest memories I cherish. Nobody can fill her place.’
I was quiet as a kid, I didn’t want to interrupt, he is in good flow anyways. I love real romantic moments; love stories in real life are nothing like they show in movies these days. Romance in movies is pure garbage. I just want to listen and
