Footprints

O liver   “Attention; Air India Flight 479 to London will begin boarding shortly. Passengers are advised to have your boarding pass and identification ready. The inconvenience is deeply regretted.”  Oliver gritted his teeth. That was the fourth time the exact same announcement was being made at the F2 boarding gate within the last hour. His patience was wearing thin. He’d never been late for a flight before, but this morning was different – he’d been feeling weird. His alarm didn’t go off, his coffee pot broke, his watch stopped working and his 4K Nike running shoes split from its quarter to the vamp! He wasn’t one of those who believed in the signs, but it was certainly too much of a coincidence – and he knew better than to ignore it.  His phone rang and he picked up immediately, “Ma?”  “ Beta ?” his mother’s voice was calming. “ Kahan pohunche ?” (transl.: “Son, where have you reached” in Hindi)  “Reached the airport over an hour ago Ma,” he said,...

  He was smiling awkwardly.  His light blue shirt was now clinging to his slightly overweight torso but his black slender trousers looked comfortably snug.  He had a black bag that seemed heavy but looked light with the way he had it casually over his left shoulder. “Thanks!” she said to the man slightly taller than her.  He made a ‘swipe-left’ with his hand, “You don’t have to.”  “I don’t have to what?” she looked at him.  He looked away, “Pretend to have to talk to me just because of what happened back there.”  Confused, she blinked for a second, “I just wanted to know what made you do something; compared to the rest of the people on this train.”  He looked over at her and looked away again smiling, “My father says we should treat everyone like someone’s son or daughter.”  “Huh.” She raised her eyebrows, “So you’re saying that treating someone’s son involves stomping them on their feet?”  “Oh yes! Especially if you can...

 Running down the stairs – trying not to jump two at a time, she almost cursed under her breath. She was running late by half an hour.  “I’ll be here before 6pm Ma,” she’d said that morning while leaving for college.  “ Ji , aajana, warna tumhe saree pehenke Metro se aana padega!” (transl.: ‘you’d better, else you’ll have to ride the Metro wearing a saree’ in Hindi), her mother had told her and she’d been horrified. The Delhi Metro in the evening was not the best mode of transport to attend a family friend’s wedding reception.  At the queue, she checked her wrist-watch again – 6:35pm. The previous metro had been headed to Central Secretariat; and so was the next one. ‘Doesn’t matter,’ she thought, ‘I’ll just change in between.’ She breezed through the security check and entry gates and took the flight of stairs down to the platform. She made it just in time before the doors closed and she let out a gratified sigh. The pianist began playing his tune and she pi...

 x-x-x  You don’t look her in the eye. Sitting at a table for two, you both are enjoying each other’s company. ‘For the last time?’ you ask yourself. You can’t see through her, you can’t seem to break through that wall she puts around herself anymore. It’s been this way ever since that disinterested-in-this-relationship talk you both had.  “You don’t have to be insecure about it,” you had said.  “But I do, I don’t appreciate the fact that you take out time for things, and then have absolutely none for me when you come back home,” she had nearly shouted at you.  “She needed me today,” you’d tried to say.  “And I don’t?” she’d cut you off.  “As a friend Jay, as a friend,” your voice had cracked.  “Fine, whatever,” she had left the dinner table; her meal untouched.  The pleasant aroma of the sweet cakes, warm coffee and just-out-of-the-oven croissants meant nothing to the either of you now. The Bread World, five minutes from your house had alway...