Travel Diaries (Part-1)

As I made myself comfortable in the aisle seat, an inadvertent 'ouch' escaped my mouth. The toes on my left foot had begun to cramp up. Withdrawing the foot from the sandal I let it rest across my right leg and pulled my toes rigorously in order to help release the pain. For the benefit of the woman seated next to me, watching the act with frank curiosity, I decided to shed light on my sudden in-flight plight.  "Cramp," I told her, shrugging my shoulders in a helpless matter-of-fact way, while trying to smile through the discomfort. To my surprise, very naturally she reached out and held my sweaty well-traveled foot in her hand and started to massage the toes. A firm determination emanated from the strong strokes which attacked the tensed spasmic muscles. The elderly man by the window seat, who, as I learnt later, was her father, joined in, mainly instructing her in Gujarati. Typically, he sounded like a pro. I guess one's age and life experience tend to endow people with a certain confidence even in matters which do not fall within the periphery of their expertise. He was definitely amongst those fortunate ones: jack of all...

The father and daughter duo were Gujarati Bombayites on their way to attend the funeral of the departed ma-in-law/grandma (Nani). Junali, as the woman was called, and her father  ran a Gujarati sweets-and-snacks shop and enjoyed a loyal clientele. Her mother (his wife) had passed away of a heart attack a year and a half earlier. "Rashmi was inconsolable. She was very close to her Nani,"Junali confided, referring to her daughter who had just gotten married to her colleague and boyfriend of two years. The young couple had decided to move to Boston, America. "They will have a good life there...maybe one day, I too would go and visit them", Junali was already dreaming. 

I spoke to her about my maiden visit to her ancestral state of Gujarat twenty seven some years ago and how fantastic the food and people were. Strangely, at that time, we did not associate a state with the political party that was in power, nor with its chief minister. The place represented a people, a gastronomic experience, a language not so familiar to the ears and, architecturally, a certain range of dominant colors. 

I was tempted to ask her what did she think of Shinde and his shenanigans or of the current state of politics in general. But, I refrained. To have our political beliefs interfere with or even worse, weaken the connection we had formed would equate to annulling the very humanity of our world. The spontaneity with which she had extended herself in an effort to ease my pain had my heart brimming with gratitude. Why would I want to play detective now, groping awkwardly around in an effort to uncover her political affiliation? And, more importantly, what good would it bring to any of us? From being two travellers  whose paths had crossed on a plane to somewhere, we would be confining ourselves to being mere electorates with all the clichéd connotations it entailed. Suddenly I felt petty and saw myself reducing others to just that: an electorate, a voter, a set of political ideas. Surely, I consoled myself, the human spirit is so much greater and illumined than all that- it would eventually win against myriad adversities to recapture its own light and freedom.

We hugged each other as we parted, the way long-lost sisters do. We didn't exchange our WhatsApp numbers or anything to keep us connected in future. The connection was already made, or may be it had already existed at a subliminal level without us knowing. And, if that was the case, it would always remain so.

For now we each had a story to tell.