Saturday, May 27, 2006
Asymptotic Curve of Patience
I was sitting in the passenger seat of the car, looking at the passing trees out of the closed glass window. The watch was showing 6:45 AM. Lokesh and Rajat were seated in the backseat. The car sped eagerly on the gray road towards the predetermined destination - Changi Airport Terminal 2. The speedometer was hovering around 100 kmph. I looked out of the front screen - towards the overhead signboard – Changi Airport, written in white on a green background. Just below the note were three down arrows - side by side, telling the drivers where to drive. The driver knew exactly where we wanted to reach. The trees around the way were lush, green and typical rain forest type. The wind was making a hush sound against the car. I was lost in thoughts. She was finally, really coming.
It seemed like an era had passed since I had last seen her at the Mumbai airport. She was leaning against Shweta, waving her hand slowly in the air, looking towards me. The look reminded me of a little kid looking towards its mother – waiting to get into her arms. My memory was taking me through the journey I had made in the last five months after coming to Singapore – one by one through all the moments when I missed her the most, all those moments when I had wished her to be by my side – to give me strength, all those places where I had seen her standing and looking at me.
Her trip had been planned and cancelled and re-planned – for reasons varying from her transfer to Hyderabad, a client interview and the date of joining in Singapore conflicting with the planned dates. Kanbay was not responding to the transfer request she had put. “The CV is with the client”, Ashish Kanungo, the manager, would always reply. We had made our decision – she would come and stay with me in Singapore once we get married – with or without a job. Sometimes, nature has a peculiar way of testing one’s patience. And after we had given up all our hopes – things had fallen in place at a moment’s notice – something like a murder mystery novel where the last ten percent of text is more happening than all the rest of ninety put together.
The sudden stop of the car brought me back to the present. We had reached the destination – ‘Terminal 2’. The driver announced the bill “Tain dolla thitty cent”. I reached for my wallet and pulled out a ten-dollar plastic, and Lokesh paid the rest. I looked at my watch – 7:04 AM. The flight had landed at 6:40 AM, and we had assumed a gap of half an hour for her to come out and do the necessary immigration formalities. I was glad to be on time. We got inside the huge building and looked around. This was the departure area. The arrivals were on Level 1. We took the stairs and went downstairs. We needed the belt number 23.
We reached downstairs and we could see the belt number 39. I looked for the pattern. I started walking towards the side where the number was 38. I was imagining the way I would see her first, maybe coming out of one of the doors towards the left with 23 written besides it. Maybe she was already out and I would see her sitting on the red sofa in the front waiting area. The meeting would definitely be a moment of remembrance.
I passed 37, 36, 35 and more until I reached 31. I turned around, Lokesh and Rajat were following me. We had reached an end. “No more numbers?” I cried. There was a wary look on Lokesh’s face and Rajat looked anxious. All of us had slept at 2:30 AM last night and were up by 6 in the morning. I was not sure what to do. Lokesh suggested we look towards the other side. We started back towards belt 39, only this time we passed ahead of it. The other side had some fast food stalls and restrooms – no belts. I turned.
The walk had become faster and faster with each passing step. The faint drops of perspiration appearing on the forehead. “Oh Lord! Please get us to belt 23” I prayed silently and desperately. We decided to part ways and look in all possible directions. Lokesh towards right, Rajat left and I would go and ask someone – someone who was capable enough of telling us the way.
I turned and looked towards the exit gate. There was a lady in formal attire across the counter at the travel helpdesk near the exit. I walked to her, wiping the drops on the forehead with my sleeves. I looked at my watch – it was 7:15.
“Which terminal is belt 23?” I asked her.
“Terminal 1”, she said – without looking at me.
“Terminal 1?” I wanted be absolutely sure. I looked at her with anticipation – she might just say its Terminal 2 and we would be saved of the long walk in unknown areas.
“Yes, Belt number 23 is at Terminal 1” she pronounced our punishment for the carelessness with a stern look on her face.
The watch was still showing 7:15 when I looked at it again.
“She must have come out of the immigration area towards the receiver’s zone by now” I told Lokesh.
“How could we miss it?” Rajat exclaimed.
“Leave that now, lets run to Terminal 1”.
It was a long walk back to the departure area. We climbed stairs where we could have just stood and the escalator would have done the job automatically, sometimes even skipping a step or two to save those seconds. We were almost running and panting. The board at the corner glowed and gave us the next clue – take the sky-train to Terminal 1. We started running towards it. The train boarding area was a carpeted neat room with a square door in the front. The train was missing.
When the train arrived, it was already 7:23 and I was sure she would be furious. We boarded the train and waited. The train took a serpentine route – going left and right and left again and stopped after 5 minutes. A voice announced “Terminal 1, Please mind the gap”. The doors opened and we started running out. The people around us were looking at us – who on earth are these guys.
The long corridor in the front led us to another staircase going down. We followed directions, not taking any chances. A final descent of stairs opened into a large hall. Belt number 23 was right in the front. I gave a sigh of relief. We went to it and looked at the board. Three flights had already been serviced at this belt since the flight she was coming in. The information about Jet Airways 9W12 flight was obsolete.
We decided to split up again. Lokesh stayed there, Rajat went to look at the other belts and I went towards the taxi stand.
“Rajat Calling…” was the display on my cell when I reached the stand. I picked up the phone. “Come to the place where I went to look for her, she is here” he said. I called Lokesh and told him to stay where he is and started running towards the place where Rajat had gone. I turned and all of a sudden Rajat and Poonam had appeared. By the time I could make out what was happening, Rajat was pushing the trolley and there she was - with me...
It seemed like an era had passed since I had last seen her at the Mumbai airport. She was leaning against Shweta, waving her hand slowly in the air, looking towards me. The look reminded me of a little kid looking towards its mother – waiting to get into her arms. My memory was taking me through the journey I had made in the last five months after coming to Singapore – one by one through all the moments when I missed her the most, all those moments when I had wished her to be by my side – to give me strength, all those places where I had seen her standing and looking at me.
Her trip had been planned and cancelled and re-planned – for reasons varying from her transfer to Hyderabad, a client interview and the date of joining in Singapore conflicting with the planned dates. Kanbay was not responding to the transfer request she had put. “The CV is with the client”, Ashish Kanungo, the manager, would always reply. We had made our decision – she would come and stay with me in Singapore once we get married – with or without a job. Sometimes, nature has a peculiar way of testing one’s patience. And after we had given up all our hopes – things had fallen in place at a moment’s notice – something like a murder mystery novel where the last ten percent of text is more happening than all the rest of ninety put together.
The sudden stop of the car brought me back to the present. We had reached the destination – ‘Terminal 2’. The driver announced the bill “Tain dolla thitty cent”. I reached for my wallet and pulled out a ten-dollar plastic, and Lokesh paid the rest. I looked at my watch – 7:04 AM. The flight had landed at 6:40 AM, and we had assumed a gap of half an hour for her to come out and do the necessary immigration formalities. I was glad to be on time. We got inside the huge building and looked around. This was the departure area. The arrivals were on Level 1. We took the stairs and went downstairs. We needed the belt number 23.
We reached downstairs and we could see the belt number 39. I looked for the pattern. I started walking towards the side where the number was 38. I was imagining the way I would see her first, maybe coming out of one of the doors towards the left with 23 written besides it. Maybe she was already out and I would see her sitting on the red sofa in the front waiting area. The meeting would definitely be a moment of remembrance.
I passed 37, 36, 35 and more until I reached 31. I turned around, Lokesh and Rajat were following me. We had reached an end. “No more numbers?” I cried. There was a wary look on Lokesh’s face and Rajat looked anxious. All of us had slept at 2:30 AM last night and were up by 6 in the morning. I was not sure what to do. Lokesh suggested we look towards the other side. We started back towards belt 39, only this time we passed ahead of it. The other side had some fast food stalls and restrooms – no belts. I turned.
The walk had become faster and faster with each passing step. The faint drops of perspiration appearing on the forehead. “Oh Lord! Please get us to belt 23” I prayed silently and desperately. We decided to part ways and look in all possible directions. Lokesh towards right, Rajat left and I would go and ask someone – someone who was capable enough of telling us the way.
I turned and looked towards the exit gate. There was a lady in formal attire across the counter at the travel helpdesk near the exit. I walked to her, wiping the drops on the forehead with my sleeves. I looked at my watch – it was 7:15.
“Which terminal is belt 23?” I asked her.
“Terminal 1”, she said – without looking at me.
“Terminal 1?” I wanted be absolutely sure. I looked at her with anticipation – she might just say its Terminal 2 and we would be saved of the long walk in unknown areas.
“Yes, Belt number 23 is at Terminal 1” she pronounced our punishment for the carelessness with a stern look on her face.
The watch was still showing 7:15 when I looked at it again.
“She must have come out of the immigration area towards the receiver’s zone by now” I told Lokesh.
“How could we miss it?” Rajat exclaimed.
“Leave that now, lets run to Terminal 1”.
It was a long walk back to the departure area. We climbed stairs where we could have just stood and the escalator would have done the job automatically, sometimes even skipping a step or two to save those seconds. We were almost running and panting. The board at the corner glowed and gave us the next clue – take the sky-train to Terminal 1. We started running towards it. The train boarding area was a carpeted neat room with a square door in the front. The train was missing.
When the train arrived, it was already 7:23 and I was sure she would be furious. We boarded the train and waited. The train took a serpentine route – going left and right and left again and stopped after 5 minutes. A voice announced “Terminal 1, Please mind the gap”. The doors opened and we started running out. The people around us were looking at us – who on earth are these guys.
The long corridor in the front led us to another staircase going down. We followed directions, not taking any chances. A final descent of stairs opened into a large hall. Belt number 23 was right in the front. I gave a sigh of relief. We went to it and looked at the board. Three flights had already been serviced at this belt since the flight she was coming in. The information about Jet Airways 9W12 flight was obsolete.
We decided to split up again. Lokesh stayed there, Rajat went to look at the other belts and I went towards the taxi stand.
“Rajat Calling…” was the display on my cell when I reached the stand. I picked up the phone. “Come to the place where I went to look for her, she is here” he said. I called Lokesh and told him to stay where he is and started running towards the place where Rajat had gone. I turned and all of a sudden Rajat and Poonam had appeared. By the time I could make out what was happening, Rajat was pushing the trolley and there she was - with me...
Just Another Moment
It is a wonderful day, I thought. My hands were engaged in tying the shoelace with a practiced perfection, my face looking up - in the full size mirror fitted in the wall. I was gathering and memorizing which part of my hair was not looking as good and needed attention once more finally before leaving. I tied up the laces and combed my hair, whistling a tune from one of the popular songs. The movie last night was hilarious to say the least and I had a good sleep also for a change. The unshaven face was two days old and needed some more time. I didn’t have time.
I picked up my bag and rushed out, leaving the door to shut by its own. I went a few steps ahead and turned. I had to rush to save the door from banging hard into the frame. The wind was strong and I was able to stop it just a moment before it crashed, waking up the inhabitants, all of who were fast asleep and some of them may be snoring. I looked at the watch – 8:27. “Nordic Production Adhoc Job on 25/04/06 Batch – MUST READ!” was the title of the mail my manager Wei Chi Sou had sent yesterday at 12:15 pm. It was a long mail in the Tahoma font, size 10, with multiple colors – black for the general text, bold blue for the important numbers and a flashy signature at the bottom mentioning the name of the sender along with all the possible contact details modern technology can provide. Point number three had caught my attention – “Please come to office on time at 8:30am or latest 9am on Wed. If you are late please inform the support team”. The mail was also copied to one of the senior managers so that all the team members comply.
No way was I going to reach the office on time. I took the stairs down and reached the twelfth floor. The elevator in our block does not go to all the floors. I pushed the round button besides the door, which lighted a red colored LED. The wait was ON. The lift went right down to the first floor from the ninth and then came back to the twelfth – boring work this lift does – I thought. Boring enough to compare it with the work I did in the office these days – attending meetings and filling excel sheets with irrelevant data and dates. Finally, the LED went OFF telling me that it was about time. The journey towards another long day is going to begin.
I was whistling a tune in the lift, when I felt my legs go heavy. The lift was stopping. The display on the top of the lift door was stuck on nine. The lift finally came to a halt and the door slid from right to left, revealing an old woman. The woman might be in her late sixties, I gathered. The skin on her face was like a stretched nylon put on a bony structure. The nylon was slit at two places just besides the nose – the place commonly known to house human eyes. The lady looked at me. I looked at her.
I was on the road to the Metro, thinking about what had just happened. The lady had looked at me. She was not deaf and dumb. She had a made a gesture with her hands – which signaled to me that she wanted to go to the fifth or the first floor – somewhere downstairs. I put my index finger on one of the buttons – to stop the door from closing and help the old lady get inside the elevator comfortably. Then suddenly she stepped back and made another hand signal – NO. I was not able to understand what had happened suddenly. “Do you want to go down?” I asked out of courtesy. I was already getting late, and here the old lady was not ready to come inside the lift to go downstairs. I asked again “I am going down. Do you want to come?” She turned away from the lift and looked towards the other side. The moment was embarrassing for me. I didn’t understand the old lady’s logic for not joining me in the lift.
She had refused to come with in the lift. I had faced and felt it before in the buses and Metros where the natives avoided any kind of neighborhood – with me at least. I had become used to it, and had never cared about it. But I had least expected such a thing to happen in a lift – that too from an old lady. I looked up to avoid myself from bumping into a wall, turned right and started again. I saw another lift. The lift was getting crowded and I saw that at least seven people had gone inside in a lift, which could hardly support four. The scene was like a moment when your mother rubs an antiseptic on your cut or bruise. There was a notice board on the left of the lift, which had taken seven people upstairs. The board had a large picture of a mosquito and the words were written on it – “Singaporeans: Beware of the dirt around you”.
I picked up my bag and rushed out, leaving the door to shut by its own. I went a few steps ahead and turned. I had to rush to save the door from banging hard into the frame. The wind was strong and I was able to stop it just a moment before it crashed, waking up the inhabitants, all of who were fast asleep and some of them may be snoring. I looked at the watch – 8:27. “Nordic Production Adhoc Job on 25/04/06 Batch – MUST READ!” was the title of the mail my manager Wei Chi Sou had sent yesterday at 12:15 pm. It was a long mail in the Tahoma font, size 10, with multiple colors – black for the general text, bold blue for the important numbers and a flashy signature at the bottom mentioning the name of the sender along with all the possible contact details modern technology can provide. Point number three had caught my attention – “Please come to office on time at 8:30am or latest 9am on Wed. If you are late please inform the support team”. The mail was also copied to one of the senior managers so that all the team members comply.
No way was I going to reach the office on time. I took the stairs down and reached the twelfth floor. The elevator in our block does not go to all the floors. I pushed the round button besides the door, which lighted a red colored LED. The wait was ON. The lift went right down to the first floor from the ninth and then came back to the twelfth – boring work this lift does – I thought. Boring enough to compare it with the work I did in the office these days – attending meetings and filling excel sheets with irrelevant data and dates. Finally, the LED went OFF telling me that it was about time. The journey towards another long day is going to begin.
I was whistling a tune in the lift, when I felt my legs go heavy. The lift was stopping. The display on the top of the lift door was stuck on nine. The lift finally came to a halt and the door slid from right to left, revealing an old woman. The woman might be in her late sixties, I gathered. The skin on her face was like a stretched nylon put on a bony structure. The nylon was slit at two places just besides the nose – the place commonly known to house human eyes. The lady looked at me. I looked at her.
I was on the road to the Metro, thinking about what had just happened. The lady had looked at me. She was not deaf and dumb. She had a made a gesture with her hands – which signaled to me that she wanted to go to the fifth or the first floor – somewhere downstairs. I put my index finger on one of the buttons – to stop the door from closing and help the old lady get inside the elevator comfortably. Then suddenly she stepped back and made another hand signal – NO. I was not able to understand what had happened suddenly. “Do you want to go down?” I asked out of courtesy. I was already getting late, and here the old lady was not ready to come inside the lift to go downstairs. I asked again “I am going down. Do you want to come?” She turned away from the lift and looked towards the other side. The moment was embarrassing for me. I didn’t understand the old lady’s logic for not joining me in the lift.
She had refused to come with in the lift. I had faced and felt it before in the buses and Metros where the natives avoided any kind of neighborhood – with me at least. I had become used to it, and had never cared about it. But I had least expected such a thing to happen in a lift – that too from an old lady. I looked up to avoid myself from bumping into a wall, turned right and started again. I saw another lift. The lift was getting crowded and I saw that at least seven people had gone inside in a lift, which could hardly support four. The scene was like a moment when your mother rubs an antiseptic on your cut or bruise. There was a notice board on the left of the lift, which had taken seven people upstairs. The board had a large picture of a mosquito and the words were written on it – “Singaporeans: Beware of the dirt around you”.
