KOCHI: Flying from Istanbul to Houston — a 13-hour long flight — a gentle 20-something presses against my knees to claim the window seat. She wears a mask, so I can’t see her face. I smile at the neat braid of jet-black hair resting on her rose-pink jacketed shoulder. I hear an American accent and guess out her age from her tender slimness.
Small talk leaks into the small gap between our seats but soon starts flowing into a river of connection. A bond? Between complete strangers with nothing in common? Age, nationality, experiences, preferences are different — and yet, there it is.
A tiny teddy bear of affection, already cuddly and well-formed, sitting in that tiny gap between our squashed seats. She tells me about her Taiwanese ancestry and her American education. I feel her longing as she shows me photos of meals with her grandparents. I can smell the lanes of Taipei and the freshness of the mountains.
I sense her pride and empathise with her nostalgia. Then, I feel renewed pride as she tells me how grateful she is to her new country for the opportunities in education and profession. She works with climate change, and as she shares her worldview, a wave of relaxation washes over me. In her passion, I see hope. And I fall asleep happily, knowing that if my sleeping head falls on her shoulder, it will be in a safe place.
Many hours later, when I am reunited with my warm host in the Lone Star State, in his comfortable apartment, I mention my new friend.
Elena, who couldn’t eat airline food, munched only on my Methi Matris. Gleefully, she told me that she loves Indian spices. I gave her the whole pack.
Do I wonder and hope for renewed contact? No, it wouldn’t surprise me if it happens, but the affectionate connection has lined my heart with warmth. Life brings battles big and small every day, and they tug at that precious lining in the heart, don’t they? So often it is tattered and threadbare, like an old neglected Persian carpet.
But the messengers of god hover around. The maid who came in to cook for you even when you told her you had Covid and shouldn’t come, that peacock who did the full dance for you that rainy day in the park even though he is a shy guy, the shop assistant who signed you a discount you feel you weren’t fully entitled to, the cup of tea that is pressed into your hands by strangers with no agenda, and that dog who greets you with so much love in his caramel eyes, even though he is not yours and you have neither food nor thought for him. Love is all we have, love is all we need, and love is all we are.
Anupamaa Dayal
This fashion designer is about happy clothes and happy homes for happy women
(The writer’s views are personal)