Day #16

This is a part of a mini-series of independent posts, starting here

Grainy. White noise. The radio cackled and spat in sequence as they tried to get any reception. It was a lonely day at sea, not much to write home about. Of course, that phrase had become a mere fossil, its meaning lost with the first trigger pulled.

Life for the men in the boat had never been the same, but it seldom ever is. But what holds true for an individual, gets lost in the aggregate. As history ruled supreme, the victims struck back with whatever they had. And it fell just short of what was required. The scraps that got left over were just enough to be gorged upon by those few humans who should have died, if humanity were to live.

And so it was that in a remote corner of the globe, after what felt like centuries after The End, the men in question gathered around a radio, listening intently. Nothing, but static.

To be continued.

A Saturday night in Barcelona (‘s airport)

(Based on true events. Hour 00:00 represents the Start of the ordeal, not the actual time)

Hour 00:00

Arrive at airport to leave for Mumbai. Spent past few hours vasooling some really fast prepaid 3G data pack with rihana videos, sound engineering tutorials and whatsapp calls. Battery ~9%, but shan’t be a problem. Have a priority-pass-obeying-lounge coming. Free wifi, free food, free electricity dischargers. Life’s good.

Hour 00:30 –

Realized that check-in with luggage won’t be possible till 3 hours before flight. Have to wait for ~7 hours outside. And no lounge till check-in… Try the information centre regarding the good-life facilities, but it is fruitless.

Hour 00:45 –

Thought strikes that we can check-in with all bags classified as handbags. Sadly, doesn’t work out due to *cough* liquid contents. The solution for the objective function is not pretty. We weigh the risk-rewards. Decision taken. We stay the outsiders’ course.

Hour 01:15 –

Battery at 5% A search for charging points doesn’t yield much results. We are advised by locals to scan the bottom of all the airport walls to find them. 20 creepy minutes follow, no results yielded. Barcelona airport officially has less charging points in its huge departures lobby than it has terminals as a whole. The search leads to a fourth and final (albeit futile) attempt at the informació centre to extract some help, where the cute girl behind the counter surely suspects by now flirtatious intentions on our side. We move on to other places being decent people, looking for far off lands with modern-day electric dischargers.

Hour 02:00 –

Time is not flying. Nor are we. After another 20 minutes (in the arrivals lobby this time) my phone is trying its best to break-even. Still no clues, still no help; still no power. We keep going around in circles, having lost our compass, as the creatures on the airport sense our presence. Eyes dart towards us time and again, scanning the two brown guys walking with suspicious looking wires in our hands. Meanwhile, we have found our solution.

Hour 02:15 –

The toilet. More charging points in one tiny room than the number of f**ks the airport’s designers gave about them. Anywho, the undignified place has become a mini-inn (funny how that sounds like minion) for the moment as my battery inches upwards and I type away furiously lest I forget the tidbits and taint history with the curse of hindsight. The smell isn’t something to take back home as a souvenir, but it will have to do for now.

Hour 02:30 –

We have encamped ourselves outside this place. Arnav (my companion) lounges leisurely on the hard cold floor whiling away time as much as possible. Being a little more paranoid, I stand inside, as a permanent piece of furniture in the (lavish) washroom, as I notice people come, stare and go. Fun.

As I venture out for some fresh air, I realize something I had overlooked. Arnav, in his leisure, by mere accident or calculated brilliance, has found a vantage point. I look into the array of mirrors from outside, a relatively respectable distance as compared to a few moments ago, and after a few trials-and-error, find myself staring at my pale-colored lifeline. And Now, His Watch Begins.

Hour 03:00 –

Have spent the last half hour trying to not look suspicious as I stare into a mirror in the male washroom from far off. Not an easy task, mind you. Parked squarely outside the general washroom area for all genders, it’s quite a balancing act between not looking like a creep and not looking homeless.

Deciding that trying to tiptoe around, maintaining a clear line-of-sight can’t work for too long. Need to switch things up a bit, need to decrease my paranoia. With that in mind, I start profiling the male crowd entering to better gauge whether I should keep an eye. Male, age 45-55 (yeah, first time profiling, not too good with differentiating among that age group), in a hurry, ring on finger. He’s good. Male, unknown descent, age 16-18, messy sports jacket, tattoo on neck, a Messi hairdo. All systems on high alert.

Yes, this could work.

Hour 03:15 –

Battery in green finally. Phone has finally achieved terminal velocity.

Hour 05:00 –

Long, fun, insightful chat with travel companion. Great many thoughts laid bare. Meanwhile, we got lucky. A couple unplugged their charger a few shops away and my ears shot up. They were quickly replaced and the resulting space well utilized. Status update on the battery – 92%

Tummies partially full, bodies aching from all the travails, semi sleepy, we sit at a table in another sleepy 24×7 airport café with another apple pie and sandwich consumed.

Signing off for now. It’s been a long day.

Friendship

Friends are your horcruxes. They are your vessels which carry memories and experiences that you have shared and lived with them, things that you have told them, secrets that you have fessed up to them; they are the ones peering into the canisters of your dreams and aspirations that you have eagerly opened up for them, the ones staring into the dark with you to find the rays of hope that you desperately seek, the ones who will lift your spirits from crests and troughs alike; they will be the ear lent in your agony, they will be the lip that comes forth in your solitude, they will be your partners in anxiety and your associates in joviality. They are your vessels, your time capsules, your diaries, your journals, your recorders, your audience; they are the pages that tell about you in a history book, they are the ones with the illustrations and the trivia at your wedding, they are the ones who will show you off to your grandkids, they are ones who will be there by your bed. They are the little embodiments of moral support, of help, of love that you pray to have by your side, each night before you close your eyes.

And you, in turn, are theirs…

Dedicated to a friend more special than a fancy groupon-ed Sunday breakfast 🙂

The verbose night

The skies clear
To let the moon
Be your guide
Through your journey
Wavy as the tide

The sun’s down
As clarity dawns
Clear as the crystals
Only the ones that shine

The path clears
‘Midst the mist of time
As you emerge
Scarred and scathed

“Follow the path”
Says the night
“Follow till you can’t anymore.
Follow till you reach that light”

“There shan’t ever be any
Reason to cry.
And no reason
To question why you smile”

“Follow the path child, for it is bright.
But Not as bright
As the soul you shall be
Near the light.”

“Leave the worries
Cast away the fright.
Follow the light, child
For it’s the darkest night”