Tears Aren't Bad Afterall
I am a vividly happy guy – everybody perhaps knows that; but what only few of them know is that I’m a bigtime crier too. Tears are familiar to me just like the smile of mine. They’re infectious. Tears are my best immune and sometimes survivals. They’re mostly hidden, literally behind walls – in safe custody of bathroom sometimes. But they’re precious. They bring life out of me everytime. They make me more humane everytime. And this time I cried seemingly for no reason.
I was in Airport. I was on duty. Some big hot-shot bureaucrats were in city to attend a massive seminar hosted by the most powerful person in country, and when it was over they were returning their places of working – to different states. My job was to facilitate their departure procedure – a mundane boring job – mostly receiving calls from someone from hotel or drivers and then passing the same to Protocol Division inside airport. I preferred to seat outside - beside a café-stall and under a decorative shed, rather than going inside and indulge in office-small-talk and subsequently be more bored. I paid seven times more just for a cup of coffee and a tiny bottle of water and waited for calls.
I brought a book too. Betty Mahmoody was describing how she endured unimaginable torture in her prison like state in Iran and how she escaped with her daughter to the land of freedom.
The weather outside airport was quite hot and humid. Beads of perspiration were already on my forehead. Anytime they could take shapes of pearls and flew down. I looked hopeless – I looked bored. What I was doing here? The hot-shot officers in expensive suits were getting down from vehicles and were escorted by designated sub-ordinates in their sharp white uniforms immediately. They literally ran towards the gate, as if they couldn’t waste a single moment outside – being idle. What was exactly my role here? I had already ruined my Sunday and I was seated like a fool on a wooden bench with a non-stop ringing phone in my hand. And then I saw them.
The weather outside airport was quite hot and humid. Beads of perspiration were already on my forehead. Anytime they could take shapes of pearls and flew down. I looked hopeless – I looked bored. What I was doing here? The hot-shot officers in expensive suits were getting down from vehicles and were escorted by designated sub-ordinates in their sharp white uniforms immediately. They literally ran towards the gate, as if they couldn’t waste a single moment outside – being idle. What was exactly my role here? I had already ruined my Sunday and I was seated like a fool on a wooden bench with a non-stop ringing phone in my hand. And then I saw them.
A family of four was standing in front of me – little farther – near the entry gate. My first guess was the guy in his mid-twenties was going abroad for study. But then I noticed his newly-wed wife – shorter than him but bubblier.
The guy was speaking to his father – an aged man of no-less-than sixty in his white kurta-pajama. His mother in her light green saree stood aside. I noticed the guy bent down and touched the feet of his father and then, mother. And then slowly the young couple vanished behind the gate – beyond which only selective people could go.
The aged couple stood by - like a monolith statue – watching their son walking away from them on the other side of glass. And then when they couldn’t see him anymore, I saw the mother broke down in tears. Her body quivered, while she hid her face on shoulders of her aged husband. Maybe she controlled this far – and now she couldn’t.
It was so sudden and unexpected and shocking to me that I sat straight and kept looking at them. The aged man was trying to pacify his wife – he had to be strong. He cuddled her and slowly they started moving. There was no point of waiting. And when they crossed the café-stall, they paused a little. I noticed the aged man was crying too – only he was wiping away his tears silently with a piece of cloth. It broke my heart. I thought of my parents. I cried.
The guy was speaking to his father – an aged man of no-less-than sixty in his white kurta-pajama. His mother in her light green saree stood aside. I noticed the guy bent down and touched the feet of his father and then, mother. And then slowly the young couple vanished behind the gate – beyond which only selective people could go.
The aged couple stood by - like a monolith statue – watching their son walking away from them on the other side of glass. And then when they couldn’t see him anymore, I saw the mother broke down in tears. Her body quivered, while she hid her face on shoulders of her aged husband. Maybe she controlled this far – and now she couldn’t.
It was so sudden and unexpected and shocking to me that I sat straight and kept looking at them. The aged man was trying to pacify his wife – he had to be strong. He cuddled her and slowly they started moving. There was no point of waiting. And when they crossed the café-stall, they paused a little. I noticed the aged man was crying too – only he was wiping away his tears silently with a piece of cloth. It broke my heart. I thought of my parents. I cried.
The time flew slowly.
The humidity increased with flock of humanity. A young couple was standing for long time holding the railing beside entry gate. They were chatting – holding hands – faces closer. The boy was carrying luggage – a trolley full and a back-pack. They were laughing, as if they weren’t being apart –they just met and couldn’t get each other’s enough.
I kept looking – because something wasn’t right about them – something was bothering me. I remembered Taniya. She used to laugh and smile when we were about to say good-bye, as if nothing was serious. But I knew the pain. I faced that. It was icy hard.
And when the boy looked his watch and it was the time, something melancholy happened. The girl hugged the boy and remained there – still – for long. The boy held her tight and he kept his hand on her back and I could feel the shivering of the girl – the whimpering of loss – the unimaginable pain.
They’d never know that somebody else – an unfortunate guy on his day of dull duty did cry for them too - on the day when they went apart.
The humidity increased with flock of humanity. A young couple was standing for long time holding the railing beside entry gate. They were chatting – holding hands – faces closer. The boy was carrying luggage – a trolley full and a back-pack. They were laughing, as if they weren’t being apart –they just met and couldn’t get each other’s enough.
I kept looking – because something wasn’t right about them – something was bothering me. I remembered Taniya. She used to laugh and smile when we were about to say good-bye, as if nothing was serious. But I knew the pain. I faced that. It was icy hard.
And when the boy looked his watch and it was the time, something melancholy happened. The girl hugged the boy and remained there – still – for long. The boy held her tight and he kept his hand on her back and I could feel the shivering of the girl – the whimpering of loss – the unimaginable pain.
They’d never know that somebody else – an unfortunate guy on his day of dull duty did cry for them too - on the day when they went apart.
The evening leapt in. The bright lights were on. There were occasional announcements in hand held mikes by police to clear the waiting vehicles – just drop and go. About my job for the day, only few officers left now – most of whom were busy shopping in malls or swanky shops.
I sat on the wooden bench with another cup of exorbitant coffee with a phone, whose charge was about to finish. Thank god. The phone needed rest. My ears too. I heard a scream. I turned around.
A large Punjabi group was standing nearby and chatting loudly – the scream came from there and then I noticed a gleaming girl in early twenties was sprinting from the group towards a guy and jumped on him.
The guy was stout, nearly six feet and had a trendy beard. He caught the girl and balanced. She was literally hanging from his neck hiding her face on his chest and he held her affectionately.
When they came near to the group, I heard them. The girl was going to Canada for study and her flight was near – but she declined to board the flight without seeing her brother, who was late somehow.
They took group selfies – sub-group selfies – individual photos, and then when time came, the whole group proceeded towards the entry gate – like a procession. The girl hugged everyone, but she cried loud when she hugged tight her brother – they must grew up close, and then she showed her ticket and passport to the security and then entered.
The group stood there for more minutes – until they saw their little child vanished over the glass on other side and then, they slowly moved back. The smiles were gone and their faces looked dejected.
I looked at the brother – despite his stoutness and six-feet tall physique, his eyes were moistened and he was being comforted by his mother – a rotund middle-aged woman.
I sat on the wooden bench with another cup of exorbitant coffee with a phone, whose charge was about to finish. Thank god. The phone needed rest. My ears too. I heard a scream. I turned around.
A large Punjabi group was standing nearby and chatting loudly – the scream came from there and then I noticed a gleaming girl in early twenties was sprinting from the group towards a guy and jumped on him.
The guy was stout, nearly six feet and had a trendy beard. He caught the girl and balanced. She was literally hanging from his neck hiding her face on his chest and he held her affectionately.
When they came near to the group, I heard them. The girl was going to Canada for study and her flight was near – but she declined to board the flight without seeing her brother, who was late somehow.
They took group selfies – sub-group selfies – individual photos, and then when time came, the whole group proceeded towards the entry gate – like a procession. The girl hugged everyone, but she cried loud when she hugged tight her brother – they must grew up close, and then she showed her ticket and passport to the security and then entered.
The group stood there for more minutes – until they saw their little child vanished over the glass on other side and then, they slowly moved back. The smiles were gone and their faces looked dejected.
I looked at the brother – despite his stoutness and six-feet tall physique, his eyes were moistened and he was being comforted by his mother – a rotund middle-aged woman.
The last officer left by nine and then I was free. I kept walking towards the metro. I parked my vehicle at station.
I received more than I bargained for, I thought. My tears survived me today from an utterly boring day, and somehow converted it into a memorabilia. I saw enough love – I felt the same and I remembered that I was too loved by so many good people. I felt warm. Tears aren’t bad afterall.
I received more than I bargained for, I thought. My tears survived me today from an utterly boring day, and somehow converted it into a memorabilia. I saw enough love – I felt the same and I remembered that I was too loved by so many good people. I felt warm. Tears aren’t bad afterall.
(The image is representative)
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