in the company of some old friends.

My eyes light up as I enter the softy lit enclosure ..

I can’t help but feel a rush of excitement as I walk in. I immediately get comfortable ..  my body seems to relax and I can no longer feel the weight of my backpack. I start walking slowly, gliding almost, as I cast my eyes around, drinking in the soothing sights and sounds of that quaint little corner of the airport.

I take a whiff of the air and that familiar heady mix overwhelms me .. I could feel myself smiling involuntarily, as if an invisible force were pulling at my cheeks.  My eyes dance around taking in as much as possible as I stand there for a moment or two .. and the world seems suddenly muted and slow.  The people become blurry shapes, outlines, and all the sounds one is accustomed to – the general chatter of people mixed with the whirring and grunting of machines – are barely audible now. blissful.

I feel invigorated. I wander around a little, feeling peaceful .. and time begins to fly.  Now I’m here, curiously flipping through the latest autobiographies and other non-fiction books .. and barely have I managed to glance at a couple of them before I give in to the irresistible lure of the Classics. Several  minutes spent  bewitched by the masters of the art is followed by surreptitiously finishing off the new Asterix in the store itself, before dearly hoping  for a yet-to-be-read Christie. Then there’s science fiction, fiction, fantasy, comics, science, romance, history ..

Every section has its own charm and familiar sights, smells and sounds.  There’s the sizeable group crowded around the Bestseller section, poring over the latest Jeffrey Archer or ‘The Secret’.  There’s the tall, adventurer-foreigner looking at the coffee-table books about India and its wildlife while flashing a smile at anyone who passes by; the regular self-help readers helping themselves at the self-help section ; the young guy looking a little awkward and self-conscious while having a look at the assorted books in ‘Business’; the group of forty-something fashionably dressed women, with gaudy make-up, discussing Arundhati Roy and the paucity of good recent Indian writing while not really trying to keep their voices down and  the young men trying to steal a read/look of the adult reading shelf – while trying their most not to appear to be doing so. There’s the chic/trendy teen crowd splashing the place with color and shrill voices, and the voracious reader in a hurry – who you see entering and leaving within no time with a whole bundle of books.

The hushed sounds coming from all the people, the gentle soft music, the low irregular whirring of the printer making receipts at the cash counter .. combine to provide a serene yet constantly-changing layer in the background as I happily flip through the innumerable books in front of me. The musty smell of paper transports me back to my childhood, reading Enid Blyton wide-eyed in the night with a flashlight under my bedsheets. Some books smell old .. their pages seem to be steeped in time and you can’t help but handle them as if their precious pages might crumble anytime. There are others that smell new and fresh and constantly snatch at your attention. There are books that smell like coffee and some smell like the beach. There are  books I haven’t heard of that are making a sudden entrance into my life .. filled with new ideas and themes. Books I’ve always wanted to read arouse my interest once again, making me resolve to soon set the situation right. Then there’s the books I’ve read and loved .. taking me back to times and places hidden away in memory, teasing me to read them again to see how I have changed.

I grimaced when I saw my watch – it was time for my flight.  After giving a few final backward glances at some sections, I smile at the assistant at the cash counter and leave. As I step out, I feel a chilly wave pass through me – and  I’m back outside to where everything looks grey and uninspiring, where the people look either dour or positively unpleasant. The blanket in my mind that had softened and tempered all the sounds around me was suddenly lifted – and a tumultuous rush of sounds and smells greeted my senses as I made my way through the people to an empty seat. My mind seems to be descending from some elevated plane of bliss to settle down in routine details and considerations of myself and the people around me. The cold-everyday world glares at me, and I stare back dispassionately.

I board the flight and take my seat by the window. I take ‘Guns, Germs and Steel’ carefully out from my bag – and I feel a shiver of anticipation as I can’t wait to immerse myself in the next chapter – about the history of writing.

And everything else vanished.

Edit : not just old friends .. true friends.