Something I wrote to pass my time in transit
|Itâ€™s a wedge-shaped hall with a clock hanging from the centre of the ceiling. The clock is disproportionately small compared to the hall dimensions. It has a meshed metal ceiling interspersed with futuristic looking metal circles with holes (air vents?). The seats are wide but unpretentious; comfortable but not luxurious. Large glass panes run throughout the length of one side of the hall. It affords a view of the tarmac, of the aircrafts taxiing in, flying out, landing. The maximum rush is at the toilets, on the side directly opposite the glass-paned one. 8 hours of sitting in a flight from Mumbai to Frankfurt does that. The time available at the transit lounge is awkward. Its about an hour which is too short for planning a siesta and too long to have to sit and fidget.
A newly wed couple fights, a fight which has crossed continents in 8 hours. The wife is unhappy with her mother-in-law. The husband defends vigorously. The wife quietens down; waiting for a gap, the next opportunity to strike.
A child of 2 or 3 wears a large cap over his head. His eyes are widely spaced, his head is abnormally large. Thankfully, he walks around, points to his mother where he wants to be taken, listens to what she says and calls her 'mama'. Another woman walks past. She smiles contentedly, smugly. She has a child sleeping on her shoulder. He is healthy.
The noise level in the hall is muted when compared to the number of people packed in. The awkwardness of the time available prevents conversations from taking off. Small children exploring a new space contribute most to the noise.
Announcements over the PA system are made both in English and German. The English spoken by the ground staff has a quaint, lilting German accent. The German spoken is unintelligible but pleasing to the ear. The people in the hall look uncertain, suspicious.