The flight lands ahead of its schedule, only to be leaving in less than six hours. So be it. Though am late to reach the airport, I am just as gleeful as a child because it's me picking you up and not some of your uniforms.
There is the cheerful welcome, with my mind already sensing the farewell which lingers so closer by in time. And then there are the white lies about how we look just the same having not changed a bit since we saw each other. I cannot find another person with whom I would exchange such lies and be so happy and unguilty about it.
Neither is there a person to whom I can say "No, I dont like the tee you are wearing". Then, strange as it may sound, we talk about all the tshirts & kurtas each other wore whenever we met, during the past. The closet sentimentalists we both are, it is no surprise that we remember the details. The surprise lies in realising that I miss you more than I knew. Suddenly, the few thousand miles between us seem longer than they usually are.
We take a ride home, the route rickety and still unfamiliar to me. I miss a turn or two, but I really dont mind - I just get to ride a little longer with you. I'm sure my bike would not complain, you being the only person who remembers to ask about it every now and then.
The visit is unplanned and so I have no time to prepare for cooking lunch at home. Am upset about being not able to stuff you with home-food, but at the same time, unabashedly glad that just the two of us can have an elaborate lunch elsewhere. I am mighty pleased that you like the restaurant I chose.
We eat and eat, updating each other about life, all its nitty-gritties, and about our worries. Laughing over so many things even as we brood over the times we had missed to spend together. Ah... those movies I wanted to watch with you but never got to; I still hope that we will catch them on DVD someday.
There are moments I fall silent thinking of numerous tiny things we've shared and enjoyed, all those shayaris over the innumerable cups of tea and all the times I was teased about my dryfruit diet and my being a sleepyhead. Too bad that we never get to exchange a shayari today. I think of all the moments when I had to send you off at many airports and many railway stations. My mind is clouded with thoughts of Kashmir, of rains, of long conversations, of babies, of Psalms, of summers, of sonnets, of swims, of prayers, of flamingoes. But when you ask, I answer vaguely, that am out of my mind.
Three hours pass off, across the table for two, and its time for getting back to the airport, but not before we drown ourselves in black coffee. I get to laugh out loud about this and that, all through the ride to the airport, at the parking lot and at the cloak room and upto the departure terminal.
Then you disappear quickly after the briefest of goodbye-hugs, leaving me to start waiting again, not knowing when I would meet you again. I start waiting again, just as I waited for you to board the train, years ago, even before we had met.
Half of what I say is meaningless; but I say it so that the other half may reach you...
