ArOuND the OceAn in ... Ummm .... 24 hOUrs....

tDaYs SonG: DiRe StraiTs: BroThers iN ArMs

'Please present you left eye into the scanner', drawled the official at the airport in that typical half bored half dead manner, which really could also be interpreted as the accent that these guys have. It was more than 24 hours since I actually had a wink of sleep and as I completed formalities and let the escalator carry me down and outside the airport to my waiting parents... the blur of the last 24 hours came back to me...

Zero Minus 17 hours- around about 5 in the evening:

Climbing down the stairs... it was impossible to keep the grin off my face. I havent cheated on a test so much, since, err... forever. I'm clearing this one for sure. Or am I? My theory is fate kicks you in the balls when you least expect it. Its true. The results are a less than a worry as I run back, while takin in on the nicotine. I have to shift, take a shower, pack, leave, and get some rest in the bus... its a long journey. I reach hostel and my phone rings, as if on cue:

'Ajwad?'

'Dad?'

'Your ticket isnt confirmed on the PNR you gave me. The airlines say its done for the day after...' his voice trailed off.

'What the fuck... call me back in a while.'

My turn to get hysterical. I use this a lot. I scream my lungs out at the person on the other end of the phone, and most of the time... they cough up the goods. It works with customer service anyways. I call. I scream. Big relief. My PNR is different. A PNR, is supposed to be this tag, with details on where and when I'm supposed to be travelling, and other random details, such as my last name. Like I even need to know that. One problem solved. Im happy again. I see a book lying somewhere in the corner of the room. Murphy's Law. There is a problem to every solution: touche.

Zero Minus 14 hours- somewhere between 7 and 8:

Im still hogging the nicotine. I'm not counting the number of cigarettes I'm smoking: Mua going home baby... Im having a bath, and am on the phone simultaneously. Can't find the soap. It dont matter. Somehow, I scramble into the shit I'm wearing for the flight ( Im doing the whole sleeveless bit complete with the cargoes that are 3 sizes too big... ). So finally... as the clock finally makes its way to the eighth hour, Im off to the city.

Zero Minus 12 hours- Duh around 10:

Someone suddenly reminds me that I'm supposed to keep a copy of my visa. I run to the internet Cafe's that I'm sure will have a printer on them. My luck: Theres no electricity in the whole building. Its as if something/someone is stopping me from going. I shout out to anyone who cares to listen: "Fuck yourself... Im gOIn... Nuddin you Cn Do Bout it". I run to this shady place and it takes me another half an hour tryin to explain how my flight is in another uhh 2 hours ( Ok so I lied... big shit), and if his printer doesnt work... Ima kick his ass so hard, he'd suspect ass rape. Somehow, I get this done, have a quick dinner (Samosa Pau, works every time...) and rush into the bus. The Sarah Mcdonald keeps me entertained till the lights go off. Its like saying goodnight, but being rude about it. Bastards.


Zero minus 5 hours - Around 9:30 in the morning:

I wake up. Its 9.30. I was supposed to be at the airport three hours back. Im supressing a scream, and as soon as the bus stops, I have my fill of the good morning Navy Cut( Yeah I opened the pack I bought for dad). I talk to the guy, and somehow using a combination of sign language and broken hindi, with a good measure of desperate looking expressions, urge him to drive faster. We cross a milestone: Chennai - 36 kms.

Zero minus 2 hours - Around 11:30.... FUCKKKK:

I run into the airport, like theres a bomb scare, and I'm the last action hero. My eyes are wandering towards flight information. I freeze. My heart starts pounding. Here I am, freaked that I almost certainly missed my flight. I half drop my bag in disgust. IC967: Delayed by 2 hours. I'm so not relieved. Im jumping over my own ass to reach this place before noon, and the one thing called luck screws me over. Again. I check in... and wait. Bastards. Dont know who... Just: Bastards.


Zero plus 5 hours - Around 5:30... DxB time:

Im still in the flight, feeling like the next economy class syndrome victim. My legs are numb. So is my tongue, with the third lunch that they gave me. Let me explain how this flight works. The pilots are so jobless, they stop over at three cities, before finally landing in Sharjah. I, being the luckiest person on earth, choose to be on the first leg of the journey, enduring random people all the way to my homeland (Made in UAE babY....). These guys are so explicitly shameless. The sexy air hostessess are in the Business Class area. I get the fat aunties, who are part of the Indian Airlines staff since independence. No respect for raging hormones. Bastards.

Zero plus... fuck it:

'Please present you left eye into the scanner', drawled the official at the airport in that typical half bored half dead manner, which really could also be interpreted as the accent that these guys have. It was more than 24 hours since I actually had a wink of sleep and as I completed formalities and let the escalator carry me down and outside the airport to my waiting parents... the blur of the last 24 hours came back to me...