>Dirt Tracks April 18, 2011

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As the waving figures of her mom and dad faded away in the distance, she realised they seemed even more blurred because of the tears in her eyes. She turned around and looked straight ahead at the back of the driver’s head, quickly wiping her eyes and gently blowing into a tissue.

“Madam, nere airport alle?”, he asked in rapid Malayalam.

“Athe“

It seemed to take longer than the usual 45 mins to reach the airport, although traffic was slim and it was a Friday night. She wished she could get some more time in the rented taxi backseat, her last ride in her home country before God knows how long.

The driver effortlessly moved her two large suitcases on to the trolley and hovered around, holding one end of the lungi in his left hand. She took out the crumbled 100 rupee note that her dad had hurriedly pressed into her hand when he realised she wasn’t carrying any money on her. It felt damp and cold. As she passed on the note to the driver, she saw his eyes light up briefly and a smile play at his lips as he did a slight bowing gesture to thank her. Its probably going straight into the cash drawer of some toddy shop.

He did another quick bow, let go of the end of his lungi, and climbed back in. She took the cold handle of the luggage trolley and started towards the automatic doors. Before going in, she turned and looked at the retreating back of the old Ambassador car, wishing she hadn’t so vehemently opposed her parents’ wish to come see her off.

Her vision became blurry. Again. 

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