When he landed at the Bombay International Airport, he felt like a destitute. He didn’t belong here. He was from another world.
And his luggage was lost. The airlines told him they lost track of it at the Gatwick airport on his transit flight from Houston. Not that he cared. There was nothing to lose anyway. If there was anything, it was to be found.
He had quite a bit of cash in his wallet, but it just looked like paper. He’d forgotten how much was a rupee. Not that he knew what a dollar was worth. Or for that matter, how to value anything.
He got into a taxi, wanting to go somewhere, anywhere. It just felt better to keep moving than standing still.
When his taxi stopped at a traffic light near Juhu, he saw a teenage girl smiling at him from the sidewalk. She beckoned him with her forefinger. She was a prostitute.
Ha. Someone called him. How many times did he call anyone to come near, he thought while he pulling up his long hair as the light changed green.
Entries (RSS)
That was really touching. His loneliness palpable
Hi Rans
I have no idea why I had to write that post about a stranger!
You see his loneliness? Hmm… all I felt was how I miss my long hair… way three inches below shoulder at one time!