Saturday, November 27, 2010

Flying Shoes

Moving back to 'your' country could be.. well, very often anticlimatic.

Life is no more nice or not so nice packets of little surprises. There is no need to decode the mood swings of route 21 drivers while figuring out the maze of a new travel system...while talking to a benign old man your jaw doesn't drop thinking how can any one have eyelashes which are kind of can no longer swear at aliens for having telephone booths with no human at the counter to help...the non descript patch of grass on the way no longer bursts into a  flame of flowers in some sudden spring frenzy.

Life sits idly by the doorstep, taking one more drag of mundanity. Nothing moves that fast, swings that wild. Dreams don't get that mad, thoughts don't go that placid. No more can you take a small detour from your grocery shopping and discover unknown landscapes.

But then, there are transparent blue bangles to be bought for ten swans which will turn into liquid by the end of a DTC bus ride...old friends who can talk irony to your gibberish...long walks on the look out for a gurudwara which serves langar at 6pm....

The same old journey drenched in melodrama, deep fried love and fish pickles. The connecting flight decides to land two hours late. The run in the rain, the good natured flight steward giving out sun beams of optimism, shortness of breath at the counter and a belt which is never on good terms with the jeans.

Suddenly an almost missed flight relents, tickets get punched and people swear at the queue jumping. From the rain drenched window of a rag tag airline, everything suddenly becomes better. Phone calls, sighs of relief on making it despite luggage being stuck like a fish bone some where in the air traffic system.

Suddenly no more a head clerk, no more the chronicler of endless senseless lists, no more the author of countless emails which smell like spam

Just the wannabe owner of a pair of flying shoes which will go wherever dream spins its compass at.

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