Airports

By Shikha Kakkat

They say that the airport witnesses a lot more emotion than one expects. Heartfelt goodbyes. Unfinished stories. But I have found myself pretty strong at airports. I usually joke about goodbyes. Of how people should miss me. Of how I will not be around to make a mess. I usually feel very positive about where I am going to. Probably a new semester. A refreshing start after a well spent and a well-fed vacation. I like to finish all my formalities and wait peacefully. Watch a few flights take off or land. A cup of coffee. Some window shopping. Reflect upon how I spent the past month. Smile to myself because I would have mainly spent it eating and sleeping or binge-watching Gossip Girl or Suits or Friends(could that show BE any better?). I like to board early. Stash away my cabin baggage in the overhead lockers. Sit down and immediately put on my seatbelt. Listen to the safety presentation. And then stare out the window.

 I usually leave at night after a vacation. You know, when you are taking off and the speed increases gradually, and the runway lights start to become a blur? When you reach a certain height where the whole city is outlined by just the streetlights? And you move farther away from that collection of lights?  That’s when I break. That’s when it finally sinks. Because there’s no turning back for a last wave of goodbye. There’s no running back for a last hug. You have officially left behind your loved ones. And even if you did practically nothing for a month, you know you are in for a horrible bout of homesickness once you land.

And even though you are going to see them, maybe in a year, you keep replaying the laughs at some jokes, the bedtime chats, your dad giving you the last bit of chocolate with a wink even as your mum whines about how much weight you have gained. Your mum defending your cooking skills, which were more like dangerous experiments. Your brother pulling away the blanket in the morning just to wake you up. And since I am a very “filmy” person myself, a sad song or two even play in my head.

Goodbyes are hard. But harder than that is the aftermath. Because the hangover of happy times is the hardest to get over. And even if I’m getting back to a life of biriyanis and masala dosas, I’m sure going to miss the hot cup of chai and biscuits I got as soon as I woke up at home.

By Shikha Kakkat