by me and mine (part 2/?)

The sun rises and hits my face. I switch on the camera on my phone and start recording myself, maybe it's an act. I used to be an actor afterall. My girlfriend, the love of my life, is coming today I tell the director, the cameraman, the editor - all of me. Even the audience who's going to watch it. I hoot and sign off. Watching the next two episodes of Under the Banner of Heaven before I rest my eyes and leave from home. My Nani makes me tea and a chutney sandwich. She grills it to perfection. So when I see her I'll kiss her? Maybe we should hold each other a minute. And if it permits, I'll kiss her. i.e. the surroundings, the environment, or the government even. Who knows if they're watching us? We could be on a hitlist considering how outspoken we are about them and how many people I've sent the banned documentary to watch by now. 

The lonely gunslinger appears again, he's so dreamy. Unreal. But so vivid in my mind. He sits on my right shoulder and aims the gun for my head. This is the time you should've been feeling anxious. You should be pacing around the room, thinking about what you will be doing. He tells me. But I feel nothing. Then something hurts, I need to poop. On the loo, I go over the shots I want to take with her for the film we'll be making. The artist Val has always been a pre-occupied one. No wonder there's no open slots available to the gunslinger. He's shaken off like dust and the artist takes over. I think shot list. The number of wide shots, her walking maybe, hmm.. could we get a shot of us kissing? Smooch smooch. Mhm. What else? Maybe she'll let me kiss her from the back. Well, that's not very artist Val. The man occupying my shoulder tells me. You should be thinking about cowboy shots and close-ups. Not these horny thoughts, they don't need to be thunk. Get busy living or get busy to be eviscerated. My temples begin to hurt. The cowboy shots reminds me of the gunslinger. Backed into his corner. He raises his glass at me smiling, he saw the crack in the glass of my thoughts. Scattering between his own pursuit of making me feel and the artist who wants me to be productive. They don't switch places though. The artist maintains his spot. He gets me back on track.

I take the metro to Andheri Metro Station. There's Gujarati families chattering and people in love sharing greasy earphones and it strikes me wistfully I'm about to meet her. There will be no kilometres in between us. Just inches. Maybe I'll get to be inches inside. The thought evokes a different thought. It's all very real. I think about the Gujaratis in front of me. They're talking about Pathaan. And why it's a terrible film but they watched it anyway. It reminds me of my first conversation with her. Why I liked her so much. The curly hair. The dimples. My dream girl. I'm about to see my dream girl. 

I walk from Airport Road Metro Station. I remember the directions I'd taken from Akash but still to be doubly sure, I put the Google Maps on. To be triple sure, I still ask people for directions. It's not just asking for the sake of asking. I know the directions. I'm warming up my social battery because I'm aware I'm going to need it. I calculate about five conversations with different strangers will ensure that I'm upbeat for the day. First, I ask directions for the airport from a guy under the metro station. He tells me to go straight and cross the street. It'll be a kilometre from there. I verify his words using my Google Map. He's right. I also refresh my memory because I memorized this map before I'd left from home. Second, I ask the guard at the Leela in broken Marathi, where's the airport? Yes, T2? He waves his hand vaguely in the forward direction and tells me it's half a kilometre from here. I give him my biggest smile and walk ahead. There's three boys in my way. They're taking photographs I think of asking them whether I could take a photograph of them. It was not that I wanted to, but as my warmup it'd make it enough for me to be able to talk to at least two out of three of them. I decline my own proposal and I think I can do better than talk to three random guys. I'll just continue asking for directions. There's about 30 minutes before she lands. I know I'll be there in time. I cross the bus stop. There's a family of two men and their wives and one of either couples' daughter there. There's also a burly man who looks like he's been waiting there longer than I've been travelling today. He seems pissed.

I cross them and reach within 300 metres away from the airport. This is where I make my first mistake. I realise that you can't walk near the airport. From here to the airport must be in a vehicle. Fuck. I go back to the bus stop and ask the uncle who's been there all day (in my thoughts at least;) which bus goes to the airport, he tells me he doesn't know. Might as well have told me to mind my own business. 3 conversations. Then I go to the two families, they're talking in Marathi but immediately switch to Hindi when I ask them. The husbands shake their heads but one of the wives tells me 315 goes to the airport. She looks at the other wife to confirm and she confirms. Yes, 315 goes to the airport. Now I wait. 15 minutes for her to land, I look at the clock. I breathe and the gunslinger reappears in a flash reminiscent of Tyler Durden's flashes from ***** **** (1999). Now, I don't need to charge my social battery much more. I'm done with the five well-treaded conversations but I talk to the bus conductor for good luck. And he tells me the T2 bus stop is just a stop away. I pay him 5 rupees for an overpriced ticket. 

For reference, I pay 5 rupees for a BEST ticket which gets me from my home to Poisar. It's next Kandivali station. That's almost 10 kilometres and I paid it for a 300-metre trip.

I walk through the airport parking lot. It's less than 10 minutes for her to land. I think she'll land as soon as I reach arrivals. I reach P6 and go to Arrivals from the Departure gates. I smile at thinking she'll come out walking and I'll get to hug her and kiss her amongst so many people. I evaluate the crowd. I don't think they'd mind us kissing. I decide I'll rub noses first before kissing her. What a cinematic moment I think. If there were any cameras they'd start crying at the emotional value from mere recording and validating the existence of that scene. If that were true, I'd have to check which gate she comes out at since there's two. She'd sent me a boarding pass/ticket in the morning. It's vague, it doesn't even say what airline she flew with. Wait. Is this the right place? There's no incoming flights from Delhi. There are but none of them match the flight numbers as hers. Is this the right airport? I text her. She responds. SHE'S LANDED. I feel heavy. I don't recognise this emotion. This is,, anxiety. The first time I'm feeling it. Over the next few seconds of texting she tells me, it's not that I'm at the wrong airport but rather at the wrong terminal. She landed in T1. Which remains 5 kilometres away from where I am. For a second I think about the distance. This is the closest I've been to her. Five kilometres. It quickly washes away when I run down the escalators and ask around for taxis. Someone said, there's pre-paid taxis. I said bohot time lagega, is there any other way? Can you see that bus, it goes directly to T1. I ask the bus guys, one of them tells me it's only a bus for connecting service. People with luggage take this bus who've come from long flights to go to T1. It's included in their ticket prices. It's not for stupid Artist boys who don't remember that their girlfriend's landing on the other terminal after she's landed. I'm pissed. The guy tells me there's another bus. A BEST bus that goes to T1. I jump around and race myself to it. The artist wins. I gather a seat and ask multiple questions, "Does this bus go to T1?" "How much? 60. Oh okay." "How many stops does it take to get there? One stop only." "When will this bus leave?" There was another bus sitting there next to us. "Is that bus going to leave first? No, that bus goes to Kharghar. That doesn't come in my way." The bus driver gets in and Tanushi's mad that the bus from one terminal to another isn't free of cost. Welcome to Mumbai, I say. I quickly try to deescalate her mood and not annoy her too much because she's already been waiting for about 15 minutes. That becomes 30 minutes. With the driver starting and stopping the vehicle. I'm annoyed. She calms me down first then joins me in being annoyed. She suggests me taking a taxi. Then tells me she's coming to me. I don't know what to say honestly, I'm sort of tired. Maybe I'll have a round of drinks with the gunslinger. He seems to enjoy watching me rage. I snap at him and he tells me at least this way I'm showing some true emotion. No filters on, ain't it? No filters ever.

The bus starts moving and we get on a highway. I tell her I'm on my way. The annoyance has left me. I just want to get there so we can get this day started. There's 3 minutes it says on the Google Map I've opened out of exhaustion and it hasn't struck me yet. But it will soon. I promise.

I reach there. Ask the conductor at the bus station where is Arrivals. Run across a parking lot, holding my little sling bag over my head. I give her a call to ask where she is. She's inside. I don't think too much but I get too Arrivals. I hope that I'm at the right gate. And I ask her if she can see me. She says no and asks me to come inside. I can't, I tell her it's just a gate for people to leave the airport. She says oh and hangs up. I look for her in the crowd. I don't see her so I look around me. No, we can't kiss her. When I look back up, there's a girl. She's in a pretty dress. I like her shoes. She's looking at me. I don't know what comes over me. My heart swells up. I feel it do so. If I spoke right then, no words would come out only a sharp wheeze because I couldn't breathe. She comes out. Puts her trolley aside and hugs me. This is real. She's real and she's holding me. She looks up at me with her black pearls of eyes. Their dark allure dissecting all the layers of me. The artist the first to fall. I forget all the shots I had to take. Her eyes make me forget things, I realize first. She's tiny and she's beautiful. It hits me a second later than I thought. I tell her this. Then it finally hits me, as I promised. I realised I love her. So much. And suddenly I'm hungry. I want to kiss her but I tell her we can't. I love her so much. The lone gunslinger tips his hat at me. He knows me better than I know myself. She's the love of my life. There's no two ways about it.