Aaron's Watch

Carry-on Luggage

March 10, 2010 at 6:09 am (Uncategorized)

Its 15 minutes to boarding time. A subtle sense of claustrophobia overcomes me as I am engulfed by the magnitude of fellow passengers, completely alien to me. Having surveyed the environment in front of me, I follow a path that leads me to relative tranquillity – the seats at the north end of the lounge. For some reason, many passengers prefer to lay down their anchors as close as possible to the departure point. Perhaps, this could be of a direct consequence of public transport services in South Asia, where buses tend to take off before you’ve managed to get both feet on the footboard. I finally settle in. A wondering eye takes in the activity around me, as I subconsciously consider the many assigned tasks to be fulfilled in the week ahead. A click later & I find the clock being turned back a couple of weeks to many unsavoury events that preceded my intended departure. The familiar shooting pains which closely accompany those thoughts strangely & rather inexplicably wither away as I find myself being transcended to a new realm of apprehension. Has the brutal combination of sleeping less & working longer finally caught up with me?

A largely accepted norm is that one’s family forms the foundation on which he or she progresses both personally, as well as professionally. May I re-iterate that this is considered to be just the norm. However, rather ironically, the greater the attachment & closeness of this bond, the more excruciating the pain is when one of your kin fails to live up to the billing. Perhaps this could transpire by way of a derogatory statement? An act that proved insensitive to your feelings? Or more so when one feels the lack of support during times of peril. But yet, the most bitter of all pills to have to swallow remains a lie – a simple lie. It was a cocktail of the aforementioned that suffocated my mind of any pleasantry that looked to creep in during the last few months. Every good deed done out of which I was the beneficiary appeared to have a hidden agenda. Commendation of any sort carried with it a stench of sarcasm. Those attempting to encroach on my minds patch of fondness were playing hopscotch on a minefield – certain to be blown to smithereens. There was a massive vacuum, a gaping hole I looked to have filled by so-called friends, though acquaintances resulting largely from sharing common leisurely interests & water holes would be the better assessment. Meeting up for drinks served as the perfect sedative that temporarily numbed the infested wounds of emptiness. But was it this newly acquired lofty association, or the bumper doses of alcohol that distorted reality? I could not tell.

My mind goes back many a year, to the time we travelled to most parts of the island. More often than not they were spur-of-the-moment trips where the suggestion would be made the night before. We were one of those families – ‘Irregular’ in most facets that often brought about many surprises. Some of the nice kind, & well, some of the not-so-nice type. Staying fixed on the former, there was such joy in the simple things such as shivering under a ‘Peella’ shower in Nuwara Eliya, or building sand castles on the wonderful beaches down south. So many wonderful memories etched away. There was an ever-present sense of security that encircled you in whatever you aspired to do. Fear was never a factor. You would fling your bag to the darkest corner of your bedroom soon after returning from school. The order of the day – slip into a pair of shorts, swallow the rice & curry that was served up to you (spicy as hell as always), & then fly out to the dusty streets with bat & ball. Funny, the heat & humidity were never a problem then. Nor was it a calamity when you ended up with grazed knees & elbows having fallen time & time again on the tarred road. My brother & I would bravely take on the neighbourhood ‘aiyas’ in cricket or any other sport that seemed appealing at the time. Though we’d more often than not end up on the losing side, & some by large margins, it was never ever due to the want of trying. So aggressive was our approach to anything competitive some of the neighbours forbade their kids from mingling with us. Such ‘softies’ we used to think. We’d come home & get severely reprimanded – hold on..that’s way too complicated a word for 12 year olds – simply put, the scolding of our lives with the trimmings of a ’kane’ each for the double offence committed. That being – a. Staying out beyond the set curfew, & b. (the more serious offence of) dirtying the house with our filthy feet. We’d keep a low profile for the rest of the evening, with the next & only public appearance being at the dinner table. There was not much time for talk, how could there be amidst the spread of delicacies that burgher mothers have a happy knack for turning out. So, that is how it was, till you grow up one day.

So much water has passed under the bridge since then, with your life inculcated by experiences & challenges of varying kinds & degrees. Schoolmates you were inseparable from at a time have dispersed to all parts, seldom to be herd, now effectively a distant memory replaced by fresh faces. Some have walked into your life, swept you off your feet, & then let you go freefalling headfirst on the concrete floor. Others have tip-toed in without much-ado & grown in significance leaving a lasting imprint………..”Good morning…”  the flashing images clear out having been interrupted by the greeting &  announcement that the flight is now ready for boarding. As I gather my thoughts I tuck away my passport into my side pocket, pick up the carry-on & head for the gate.  As I show my boarding pass to the stewardess & head down the gangway, I look back one last time to where I sat…..where I left behind what could not be carried any longer….