I was awakened by a bird quite unlike what I had ever heard before. I was used to the cawing of crows, the chirping of sparrows or the joyous screeches of the parakeets. But this was a sound so beautiful that I was out of the covers drawn to the intriguing sound. I opened the window and was met by a gentle breeze which blew the lacy white curtains over my head. It was still dark outside but the bird seemed to have full faith that the sun would rise and continued with its gleeful song. Suddenly a realization came upon me, that I was not in my room. It took a while to dawn on me that for the past few weeks I had been in another city, and this was the hotel room I was staying in. The bird song started again.  The orange sun was making its appearance at the horizon and against its beautiful light I could see a stunning long tailed bird on the branch of the tree across my window singing blissfully. It was only later that I was to find out that what I had seen was a White-rumped shama, a bird native to that part of the country and sometimes spotted on the outskirts of the city.

It was my last day in that city, and I had been so busy with work that I had not stepped out to experience the place. That morning I had planned to enjoy a breakfast at a highly recommended local joint. This was a hole in the wall but was popular for serving the best ‘benne’ dosa. The benne served here is a fresh churned white butter which is generously added to the preparation giving it its unique and unforgettable flavor. I could already see a long queue waiting to be served and I joined right in. It was over 45 minutes before it was my turn. As I waited, I talked to my fellow companions who were also on this food journey. Amongst them were some school mates who were now in their seventies who met there on the first Sunday of the month, then there were some regulars who said Sunday was not the same without the dosa, there were kids who wanted a bite before they headed out to a game of cricket. And there were some like me who had been drawn to the place hearing of the ‘not to be missed’ benne dosa. Being in this queue reminded me of another queue I had been in, in another city a few months ago. I had been waiting to immerse myself in the hot sweet crisp jalebis, savory gathia and mouth-watering raw papaya relish. Standing in line made me realise that food is one of the best subjects on which to have a delightful conversation, especially since we are all on the same side. And if you are lucky you may meet a stranger who turns into your life-long friend.

I was taking a flight back home that afternoon. It is no secret that I love flying. A thrill fills me each time the airplane takes off and we go up and up and everything below looks smaller and smaller and eventually  disappears under the world of clouds. I love it when the plane takes a tilt and I can see the curved horizon and comprehend that the earth is round.

Every time I take a flight I never cease to be amazed at how man, was able to build a machine that would take us in the air and cover over 980 kilometres in less than 2 hours. I have come to believe that one of man’s greatest gift is his imagination and his subsequent ability to work towards realising those images. How else could man have made it to the moon but for his capacity to hold on to his dreams and keep on trying even in the bleakest of circumstances.

It was a long drive to the airport and I had to pass through several small villages to get there. It was a beautiful drive. Life in a village is so much different from the city. After a while I was dozing off to the monotonous lull of the car’s sound and the light rocking motion. In the corner of my eye through the sea of green, I could see a bright colour. A mother was walking her little Krishna to school for a celebration. I hurriedly took a picture on my phone and managed to catch them in the corner of the frame.

I adore being at airports, they are a city within themselves, quite like railway stations in India. And this one too was brimming with activity. I had about half an hour to pass before the boarding for my flight began. I decided to read a digital version of a book but that was soon forgotten when a young girl came and sat next to me. What interested me was that she was carrying a ukulele. Now for someone who is struggling to get her guitar chords rights, the ukulele is the next best thing. Our mutual love for the stringed instruments got us talking and soon enough this young girl was playing music and singing in her angelic voice. Shortly after she was attracting little fans who were fascinated by the music. The parents smiled with relief as kids who had been madly running around just a few moments ago were settling down to listen to some magical live music.

I was glad to have a window seat on the flight. Much as I appreciate the world from down here, from up in the air, it is truly a wonderful world. I do not need to be reminded of it by Louis Armstrong, I can see it and I can feel it. Sitting next to me was a lady who looked to be over eighty years of age. Let me call her ‘ma’. She wore a bright red cardigan and she gave me the sweetest toothless smile. When the flight picked speed on the runway she held on to my hand and asked me, “Where are we going?”. “Home, we are going home,” was all I could say. And I was gifted with another of her beautiful smiles. Holding her frail palm in mine reminded me of what it had felt like to hold my mother’s palm. Such power in that simple touch.  

When the flight attendant asked if she would like a snack, ‘ma’ seemed very keen on having a muffin but she could not find her dentures. She asked her son who was sitting on her other side and he started looking in the seat pockets and then their backpack. Finally, after some search he told her he could not find it and asked her to have a juice instead. I could see the worry on his face and very soon he was back to the searching. The bags were scanned again, he knelt down and looked under the seats. Soon a flight attendant joined in and so did some of the passengers. However, the dentures which they had last seen a short while before they boarded the flight had vanished. When the flight landed, we were the last to be off-boarded as we were awaiting a wheelchair for ‘ma’. The attendant put ‘ma’ in the wheelchair and started wheeling her out. As I was collecting my baggage from the overhead storage space, I glanced upon something familiar peeking out of the narrow space between the seat cushion and the backrest. I nudged it and managed to pull it out. And in my hand, I held ma’s dentures. She had been sitting on them all along.

The taxi ride back, in the other city was through dense concrete, quite unlike the green I had for company in the afternoon. In this city, I saw man’s ingenuity in building a bridge through the sea. A bridge I never fail to marvel at every time I cross it. This island city has many stories of glory which relate to the sea whom she is fortunate to have for a neighbor. The sea brings in cool winds, beautiful sunsets and the rains. A city of multiple million dreams and yet here you can find the solitude to pursue your own.

The two cities could not be more different, the culture, the language, the way of life, the very sight when you looked at the cities, were unalike. And yet there was something similar. This common thread is the people. They all have dreams, a vision for a better tomorrow for themselves and the world. And they all want is to laugh and love. We are all like volumes of one book; more similar that we are different.