Recently at the airport, I ran out of space. I don’t need a lot of it, but I prefer the hair on my arm float freely, not get entangled with those on another person’s arms. Or my hands stay with me and not emerge out of someone else’s torso. It that too much to ask for?
It all began in the security check queue. A woman in a bright yellow salwar-suit suddenly bloomed out of nowhere and planted herself behind me, eliminating all gaps. Terribly uncomfortable, I tried to shuffle a bit ahead, maybe, just an inch or so. But, she immediately sealed the space. This chase continued for a bit. I would move ahead, using the tiniest space the woman in front permitted and Sunflower would follow me, prodding me with whatever body parts she could summon, making us one airtight entity. Like I were some kind of pickle and any exposure to air would spoil me. Her ample chest region planted firmly on my arm was the last straw. I could take it no more. I growled, ‘If you keep a few inches distance between us, I can assure you that the flight will not take off without you’.
I decided to let her go ahead of me to save me any more torture. But, my joy was short-lived. Sunflower was replaced by Trumpet creeper. This one was a busy jet-setting executive, who had multiple gadgets and bags. She poked her head from under the crook of my arm and reached out for trays. I think she had extra sets of limbs which materialised to pluck trays from the stack before I could pick one for myself. She plonked her trays close to my solitary one on the conveyer. Her trays violated my tray so badly that I fear a mini tray might well be on its way.
Once through security, I took a deep breath and sat down, hoping Sunflower and Trumpet would not be on the same flight as me. I glanced around. The usual suspects were seated: woman feeding kid a banana, man on laptop, woman on wheelchair with bored attendant and the toddler watching videos on a phone. No sign of my space violators, I noted, thankfully.
Yet again, my celebration was premature. As soon as boarding was announced and travellers lined up, I was trailed by a man who kept nudging my calves with his trolley. I would try to creep just a little bit ahead, but the trolley would come and nuzzle my calves promptly. Like it would miss the flight if it did not pluck enough DNA off me! It was so annoying!
Why do we define queues as opportunities to merge into one glob of humanity? Aakhir Queue? Even in school, I remember, we were taught to measure an arm’s distance and maintain that. I agree we are a densely populated country and an arm’s distance would mean that 30 per cent of our population spill over to neighbouring countries or tip into the ocean. So, how about two inches? Can we give that to each other?
How much time can you save by saving two inches? It’s the same amount of time that you can save by writing k instead of ok.
Okay?
(Bestselling author Rachna Singh is a sit-down comedienne)
