The plane sped on the runway, about to take off. Buckled in and sitting at a window seat, I realized my mind kept wandering back to everything that had happened in the last month. Crazy was the only word to describe it. I shook my head, hoping that the action would disrupt the thoughts and maybe I could finally catch some sleep. I closed my eyes, and of course, a baby started crying in the plane as soon as the wheels left the ground and we rose up into the air. Mental note: try not to travel via air when my kid is still an infant, if I ever become a mother. There was no way I was going to get any sleep. I suppose thinking about all the madness might actually be a good thing. Once again, I shut my eyes and tried to produce a chronological collection of memories.
The insanity began when I made my way to my hometown, Nagzabad, after an absence of nearly 3 years. The year was 2010 then, a month ago in December.
My journey's first step was flying into Delhi, and I had kept a week aside for exploring the city. There is a certain charm that Delhi has held for me, always, ever since I can remember. Old Delhi, mind you. Oh, and Qutub Minar. Somehow that one monument has become a symbol of the things that matter a lot to me but I seldom mention. The structure looms in the time-tarnished corners of my mind, but it is very much there, and it emerges subconsciously in dreams whenever I let go of the control that rules my waking hours.
The Qutub should have been the ideal place for a day out with old friends. Instead it turned into the stage for a bizarre sequence of events.
Barely audible notifications sounded just then, for wearing the seatbelt was no longer necessary. I was forced to open my eyes with the bustle of people moving about. Dinner to be served soon, the attendant announced. The story would have to wait until I finish eating. Creativity of this sort, I have realized, has the potential to build up a huge appetite.
