Getting up at four in the morning for a day trip to another country is brutal. Airports are really busy places on Monday mornings. The sky is gray and brooding. I land in the busy airport early, in time for breakfast. My driver is waiting and he is not smiling today. We drive out silently and every two minutes emails start buzzing. It is raining but strangely, there is no traffic.
it is strange to look out into nothingness; you can really focus on thoughts. It is not that there is nothing, just that there is really nothing to look at. I am glad to arrive at my destination and to get absorbed in work. Outside, the manicured green lawn is wet. Unlike where I live, there is no view from the windows here. Outside, there are many shapeless buildings and workers are digging in preparation of another construction.
I think I will write a private blog today, a story to myself. Going through Frankfurt on way back, I send SMS messages to friends I have not spoken to in a while. I am the last one to enter the bus. So I think. Then a woman comes running; she was held up at security.
The private blog of another world. Another time. A time when Dheerendra Brahmachary was teaching yoga on Sunday mornings from a black and white TV. A time when Emergency was declared and everyone went about their business with fear in their hearts.
A private blog for apologies. For thank-you messages. For waving at old FAMILIAR faces.
I am tired and I fall asleep as soon as sit down. I wake up twenty minutes before landing. I read the Newsweek and there is an op-ed piece by Farid Zakaria on Musharaf.
Somewhere across the world, a little boy is wondering how the inside of a plane feels like. Would he know how to work the intricacies of the eat belt? What would it be like to sit and stare at the sights outside when the plane takes off?
Somewhere across the world, in another time, a little boy is waking up. He thinks he will grow up someday and travel the world. He opens the Atlas and finds countries with interesting names. He has a stamp collection. He has stamps bearing the queen's likeness in 7 colors. He drinks a cup of coffee and opens his books. He can hear breakfast being cooked in the kitchen. Somewhere far away, he can faintly hear morning noises from the TV. He cannot wait to grow up.
Random thoughts. I land in my airport and look for familiar things. The bar downstairs, the coffee shop and office buildings in the back. Familiar faces approaching me with smiles. It is cold outside. And for a change, I actually remember where I parked.
