Saturday, January 31, 2026
Morning Hustle
He was huffing and puffing as he fought to keep up. The moment he had been waiting for a full year. He had wrestled his eyelids against the stubborn pull of his bed. And now he was in a race.
Flower ladies were busy stacking their baskets of paneer roses, filling the air with their heavenly fragrance. Lotus buds were being prepared for display, awaiting the first rays of the Sun to unfurl themselves. Dense garlands of Tulasi were already in brisk demand.
The clash of cymbals reverberated through the air, accompanied by melodious singing. He could even hear the words. Looked like he could still get to the procession in time.
He continued to jog — or rather, walk as fast as his knees would permit — strategically avoiding the elephant dung that announced itself to the nose before the eyes. Carts lined the street, and his eyes were drawn to the bullocks chewing on discolored and torn banana leaves.
A whiff of ghee hit him. And a noticeable trail of ants to the warm jaggery solidifying on the leaf could mean only one thing. The sign he had been waiting for.
He picked up pace as he hit the temple street. Fresh flowers were strewn around, the large rangolis outside each home disfigured by wheel marks and footsteps.
The procession was just ahead, having turned the corner. The long tail was still following. More people with banana leaves in their hands.
Panting, he scanned his surroundings, seeing bystanders gobbling up Puliyodharai — easy to identify with its distinctive individual morsels of rice in a deep yellow color from mixing with a tamarind and turmeric sauce.
Interesting, but not particularly surprising.
He continued to walk, turning around the corner to catch up with the chariot that seated the Lord on his morning jog. He paid his obeisance and accepted a sip of the holy water and sprinkled some on his head.
And for the second time this morning, a whiff of ghee caught his attention. He turned around to see a lady battling to keep a semi-solid prasadam from flowing off her plate.
Behind her, a small pillar of steam curled into the air, catching the gold of the rising Sun.
His eyes were now wide open, and he regained strength in his knees. He was no longer panting.
A wide grin spread across his face as the warm aroma from a large pot of golden brown Chakkara Pongal washed over him.
Labels: Short Stories
Schrödinger’s Train
“Thud!”
The small gray carry-on suitcase, packed plump, had its front wheels turned inwards. Unable to balance the weight of the backpack and the attached neck pillow, gravity claimed victory.
A young man, flustered, but unsurprised, picked it up and entered the train hurriedly as the speakers repeatedly warned people to back off as the doors were closing.
The noise of the diving suitcase traveled the length of the nearly empty compartment. But there were enough people to cause some injury to his pride, registered by him staring around at people’s faces.
The terminal transit train picked up speed. With his right hand firmly on his suitcase and loosely holding a boarding pass, he started furiously typing a number on his cell phone.
A pair of headphones adorned his neck with a long AUX cable hanging. As the phone started to ring, he put the headphones over his ears.
“Thud!”
Resignedly lifting up his suitcase, he started to speak on the phone
“Hello? Hello…. Yeah, I am supposed to be boarding EL4306 right now. My incoming flight was delayed. I’m on the train to the terminal and wanted to be sure they wouldn’t close the gates before I got there”
“Sure, yes, my booking confirmation is 76BA4N”
One is never surprised at what the “process” entails at Airline companies in the 21st century but needing to know his booking confirmation just to tell him he was very late for his flight seemed to be an interesting requirement.
He soldiered on.
“But the actual departure time is not until an hour from now!! I am already on my way to the terminal — I just called hoping you could let them know I am on my way.”
“Hello? Helllooo? HELLO?”
The train had unhelpfully descended into tunnels below the runways and network reception was understandably poor.
I had avoided eye contact from my seat at the end of the train wanting to spare him the embarrassment. But having been in several airport snafus myself in the past, I felt that some mild reassurance was called for in this moment.
“They did not offer you much assistance, eh?”
He was surprised at the engagement but welcomed it.
“No they did not. Should have never called them. I may just have given them license to bump me off the flight and sell my seat to someone from the waitlist.”
Basking in the warmth of my own kindness, I said, “I do not think they will do that. You said the flight doesn’t depart until an hour from now. You’ll be fine. What terminal are you getting to?”
“Terminal 3. Oh, and it looks like network is back up. Let me call them again and warn them against bumping me off”
“Hello? Yeah, I got disconnected because I am on the terminal train. Like I was saying before, I am about to get to Terminal 3 in a couple minutes.”
I suddenly felt the warmth leaving me.
Me, and the train, were approaching Terminal 6. Terminal 3 was 6 stops and at least 20 minutes away.
He was either doing an excellent job of buying himself time with the airline.
Or he was going the wrong direction.
I waited for him to get off the phone, wrestling with the task ahead of me.
As the train started to slow down, I mustered the courage to ask him, “You know that this train is going through 7,8,1,2 before it reaches Terminal 3, correct? The train in the opposite direction might be a shorter route”
As the train came to a halt, I got up to leave.
It slowly dawned upon him and his eyes grew wide. The blood drained from his face.
Overcome with disbelief, his hands flew to his head.
“Thud!”
Labels: Short Stories
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