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The Awaited Air Trip

by Bhavini
(India)

Whirl!! it went over my head. I lurched to look at the sky. And there it was, the tiny white bird. Had it not been for the noise, the white something would not have got my attention.

I used to love air planes. They made me smile. Every evening on a Sunday, daddy used to take me to the narrow by lanes near the church where the old airport stood. The street was narrow and there wasn’t enough space along the road to park Daddy’s bicycle. And there were cars wheezing around. So, he used to drag the bicycle with me sitting on the front seat to the small shop at the corner of the bylane. The shop was closed and the roof of the verandah was completely broken.

With the bicycle parked in the abandoned verandah he would help me get down from the bicycle. Then we would park ourselves on the broken porch readying for the beautiful display of airplane show. We used to see all sorts of air planes- big and small ferry in and out. They seemed to be flying out of a box nearby. Daddy told me it is their home nearby. That is where they come to after a tiring flying day. We used to spend the entire evening gazing at the sky.

As the sky darkened we would see the planes flying with blinking lights. It looked majestic - the twinkling somethings wheezing around in the sky. They

seemed determined to go where they wanted. I used to ask Daddy when could we fly with them. And he used to answer ‘very soon’.

As the street started immersing in darkness, Daddy would take out the small torch he carried. There were no street lights on the road. Then he would tie the torch on the handle of the bicycle with the sturdy rubber band, which maa used to tie her hair. He had told me that Maa had gone very far away. I used to wonder where she had gone. She had been so sick that day. And suddenly one day when I came back from school, she was gone. Daddy used to say she went to stay with my granny since she was getting old.

With his nearly perished chappals Daddy would pedal me home. The evenings would end with eating roasted peanuts from the small guy standing near the corner of our house.

‘Mumma, when shall we reach home?’ I was jolted back to my world. My two year old son was nudging my skirt. I looked around. The warmth of my daddy’s eyes was nowhere to be seen. I craved for the peace and refuge.

My yearning was met with the cold white walls of the airport. I looked down at the urn tied with red cloth at its mouth sitting on my lap.

‘We are finally making that trip Daddy’, I said as uninhibited tears poured out from my eyes.

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