The Terminal

There is something splendidly uplifting about spending a night at the airport.
The city roads are silent with only the occasional goons decorating the roads and the occasional cop keeping them company.
But the moment u cross the threshold of the airport, a whole new world opens up.
It is an amalgamation of culture, a melting point of mankind, especially at night wen travelers wait for their next flight.
Diamond clad fingers lie
Iimp at the sides as the fat lady tries to take an uncomfortable nap on the chair.
The coffee machine brewing relentlessly, infusing caffeine into the reprocessed, recycled air of the departure lounge.
Snippets of conversations in all languages provide a subtle entertainment if u can be discreet enough to eavesdrop.
People walk around with trolley. Mother feeding her little one while she herself tries to keep tiredness at bay. Some kids swim in their dreams while lying on the airport floor while others drown themselves in the flashy screens of their tablets. Most seem without purpose and yet all have a destination.
The airline crew and airport staff work as if they have no concern with the path of the sun.
Actually at times I feel the only place where the march of the Sun across the sky doesn’t matter is the airport.
In a life where running towards our own destination means everything, a break at the airport gives you a sort of perspective about the canvas of your life.
You realise you are just a tiny character that GOD, the painter painted.
There is something splendidly uplifting about a night spent at the airport.

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