Airports are strange territories,

sad and distanced –

robbing you of belongings that were never yours.

Srinagar security check-in: She says,

“yeh nahi jayega” besides,

these river pebbles from Pahalgam

do not belong to you; in your fist,

they have only one use – as weapons.

After all, she adds, you are not a river;

for I do not see you as something that gurgles,

becalming streaming down dancing with the flow.

To demonstrate, she takes perfect aim

air-lifting pebbles into the bin.

At Chennai, she admonishes: Are you unaware

of these restricted items? (Licking away

the little flame left in me.)

This light should be carried within you,

candles are for alters, not for the skies;

you cannot hold them against it! You should’ve known!

At Jolly Grant, Dehradun, the woman just would not budge –

lest I smuggle it in – the trusting thing –

an empty coconut sanctified by

the priest of my inner temple.

“Okay, then. Eat it or return it to its origins”;

I let it go.

Airports continue to be unreal –

illusions of timelessness: when as its boarding time;

it’s a complete waste of time, even when we need to reach

someplace in a hurry!

You are stripped, unbuckled of everything,

yet they make you sprint – transporting you somewhere else

in motionless space – inevitably back to yourself.

And the less I consider Delhi airport, the better.

It’s a warzone, mostly for humans;

for no bird nor leaf will fly this way.

Here, you will be forever lost, that’s a promise,

or left behind; no one looking out for you –

it’ll matter little if the flight takes off without you . . .

Airports remind you, you are nothing;

then, if you’re one of those lucky frequent fliers,

elevate you to nothingness – going nowhere;

it’s like love – that flight is all.

Landings are far far easier. You ground. Baggage intact.

At IGI, T3, she asks, “Oh, barish ho raha hai bahar, kya?”

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