So a very late post in this year, could not really find time for blogging.
So this piece is interesting, because it involves contribution from a friend. We tried out a style of writing, which can be colloquially called yin yang, opposite streams of thought, with me being the quintessential pessimist(to all obviousness) and my friend the optimist.
Leaves are strewn across everywhere. I smell the fumes of acrid plastic burning., or maybe it's human flesh. I just don't know. I am confused. I am totally lost. I am unable to see or hear anything. I try looking around. My eyes finally decide to let me see.
What do I see?
I see that I am no longer in a chair strapped in the aeroplane. I don't see the elderly lady with her golden frame spectacles. She was annoyingly chatty in the journey. I was glad that she dosed off. I knew I had to bear her noisy chatter for 11 long hours. I knew I had to be nice to her, because that's what I usually do. Moreover, she's probably scared to death, of flying like I am.
So every time I board a flight, I remember airplanes getting hijacked or crashing into runways. I realised very early that I had a phobia, a phobia to travel by air. I get anxious, I fidget a lot. Sometimes I just play with the foldable footrest or sometimes I just take my pen out and pointedly stare at its tip, with an intensity that ought to have burned it. And then sometimes I try looking out through the tiny window. I do it like a ritual, cos everytime I book a flight, I make sure I get the one under the aisle. It makes me feel assured.
One of these days, I was reading a blog on social media, which talked about runways that shouldn't exist. Runways that open up into the sea, or maybe exist around cliffs or mountains. I just sit back assured that my flight is going to land at Bangalore. It's one of the safest airports. So I can sit back and stop hyperventilating. I don't know when I drifted off. I don't know when the flight stopped.
I don't know why I am no longer in the flight. Nor do I understand why I smell flesh and blood. I hear screams. I am in a pool of blood slowly losing whatever energy I mustered.
I couldn't even look down to see how badly I was hurt because of the shrapnel lodged in my collar bone. The last thing I remember is clutching my GLBT (Galactic Low Beam Transponder). The old lady had kept trying to take it from me. Obviously hers wasn't working and i guess she was having trouble finalizing her destination. I had made my selection before i boarded because of how anxious i get on flight and focusing on anything becomes difficult.
The sharp noise in my head was receding but the screams around were getting louder. What were they saying? Either something was wrong with my hearing or the voices around were speaking a completely foreign language. The word 'miles' was mentioned repeatedly. Given the surroundings, I was clearly miles from where i had intended to be.
I finally managed to get the shrapnel near my neck. Thankfully, I didn't bleed to death. A piece of cloth tied around like a scarf seemed to hold fine. I gingerly got up on my feet and got my first full view of my surrounding. This was not Bangalore or was it?
I had read that one of the possible origins of the name Bangalore is Vengaluru meaning military hold or township. Possibly barracks from over a thousand years ago. That's what it looked like. The strewn leaves, that burning smell which i just figured was boiling lead that was being poured to make cannon balls.
It dawned on me then. The old lady, the chatty old lady .. She kept trying to tell me something and wouldn't let me focus on my pen or the footrest. I found my GLBT lying near my back pocket. As I picked it up, a dread came over. I knew what the old lady had been trying to mumble through her toothless mouth. I had selected Bangalore alright but the arrival time was wrongly typed. It said 3 PM, 14 Feb, 1016. I had landed in Vengaluru, in the middle of the forest clearing that in a thousand years would become MG Road.
P.S. Thanks Rajesh, for your contributions, and making this piece lively :D
So this piece is interesting, because it involves contribution from a friend. We tried out a style of writing, which can be colloquially called yin yang, opposite streams of thought, with me being the quintessential pessimist(to all obviousness) and my friend the optimist.
Leaves are strewn across everywhere. I smell the fumes of acrid plastic burning., or maybe it's human flesh. I just don't know. I am confused. I am totally lost. I am unable to see or hear anything. I try looking around. My eyes finally decide to let me see.
What do I see?
I see that I am no longer in a chair strapped in the aeroplane. I don't see the elderly lady with her golden frame spectacles. She was annoyingly chatty in the journey. I was glad that she dosed off. I knew I had to bear her noisy chatter for 11 long hours. I knew I had to be nice to her, because that's what I usually do. Moreover, she's probably scared to death, of flying like I am.
So every time I board a flight, I remember airplanes getting hijacked or crashing into runways. I realised very early that I had a phobia, a phobia to travel by air. I get anxious, I fidget a lot. Sometimes I just play with the foldable footrest or sometimes I just take my pen out and pointedly stare at its tip, with an intensity that ought to have burned it. And then sometimes I try looking out through the tiny window. I do it like a ritual, cos everytime I book a flight, I make sure I get the one under the aisle. It makes me feel assured.
One of these days, I was reading a blog on social media, which talked about runways that shouldn't exist. Runways that open up into the sea, or maybe exist around cliffs or mountains. I just sit back assured that my flight is going to land at Bangalore. It's one of the safest airports. So I can sit back and stop hyperventilating. I don't know when I drifted off. I don't know when the flight stopped.
I don't know why I am no longer in the flight. Nor do I understand why I smell flesh and blood. I hear screams. I am in a pool of blood slowly losing whatever energy I mustered.
I couldn't even look down to see how badly I was hurt because of the shrapnel lodged in my collar bone. The last thing I remember is clutching my GLBT (Galactic Low Beam Transponder). The old lady had kept trying to take it from me. Obviously hers wasn't working and i guess she was having trouble finalizing her destination. I had made my selection before i boarded because of how anxious i get on flight and focusing on anything becomes difficult.
The sharp noise in my head was receding but the screams around were getting louder. What were they saying? Either something was wrong with my hearing or the voices around were speaking a completely foreign language. The word 'miles' was mentioned repeatedly. Given the surroundings, I was clearly miles from where i had intended to be.
I finally managed to get the shrapnel near my neck. Thankfully, I didn't bleed to death. A piece of cloth tied around like a scarf seemed to hold fine. I gingerly got up on my feet and got my first full view of my surrounding. This was not Bangalore or was it?
I had read that one of the possible origins of the name Bangalore is Vengaluru meaning military hold or township. Possibly barracks from over a thousand years ago. That's what it looked like. The strewn leaves, that burning smell which i just figured was boiling lead that was being poured to make cannon balls.
It dawned on me then. The old lady, the chatty old lady .. She kept trying to tell me something and wouldn't let me focus on my pen or the footrest. I found my GLBT lying near my back pocket. As I picked it up, a dread came over. I knew what the old lady had been trying to mumble through her toothless mouth. I had selected Bangalore alright but the arrival time was wrongly typed. It said 3 PM, 14 Feb, 1016. I had landed in Vengaluru, in the middle of the forest clearing that in a thousand years would become MG Road.
P.S. Thanks Rajesh, for your contributions, and making this piece lively :D
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