THE PLANE TO MARSEILLE

Aniruddha stared into the glass
The mirror translucent from the steam he’d just bathed in
Impatient gaze of his eyes
Burning with many colors
Flicked the comb through his hair
In bathroom mirrors
Of his condominium in downtown Paris

Almost an hour had lapsed since the devastating call
A year after she’d last spoken to him, Reva had called that morning
She had told him, placidly but decisively,
As though camouflaging her enormous sadness
That she was (finally) marrying Andrew next Sunday
And that it would be in a chapel in Marseille
Where he had bought a two storey brownstone
That she was leaving by the four p.m. flight
And that they’d love if he came
Of course he’d said no
That he was going to Zurich on an assignment
He’d hoped that his voice conveyed nothing but nonchalance
So that it would seem as if he too was moving on
And it was he who had disconnected the call
As abruptly as she had moved out of the condo


……..
Reva started into the glass
From the Air France flight number one eight four
The window that looked out into the past
The past that she would shortly be leaving behind
It was during times like these
That she most missed Aniruddha


Then she thought about Andrew
He had always been very nice and considerate
In the tumultuous months after her break up
Always being besides her, holding her hand
Some moments, she would hold onto him
Refusing to let him go
At other moments, she would be continents away
And then there were moments
She cried inconsolable tears
But it seemed to her that Andrew understood her pain
And had reconciled himself to the fact that she would always be
Singularly incapable of loving
Anyone other than Aniruddha


………..
The anger that had followed the call
And during which he’d broken a china tea cup
Toppled the cane chair at the French window
And smashed the wall clock on the mantelpiece;
That anger, that furious, mind-numbing anger,
Was giving way to something else;
A feeling of loss- complete, utter and total
But above all, the overwhelming realization
That he still loved her


Once that became clear to him
It had taken him precisely five minutes to make up his mind
From his red bedroom phone, he’d called the airport
He dressed, hurriedly but carefully,
As he replayed his stratagem in his mind
He would meet her there and he would say….


…………………
She wished he were there
But he wasn’t
That’s when she decided to leave
She had left the stewardesses in bewilderment
And her expensive attaché in the luggage cart
And Andrew who had called her, just five minutes ago,
As she was on her way to the once familiar condo;
She had told her she was in a taxicab and still in Paris
He’d said, “Baby, you’re gonna miss that plane”
And she’d said, “I know”
Hoping that he’d understand her,
This time too


…………………
He reached the airport to find that the plane was about to take off
Unfortunately, he discovered that unlike in the movies,
Airport authorities do not allow anyone to meet the passengers
There are no last minute songs, connived unions and happy endings
So, on an impulse, he bought a ticket
And half walked, half ran, towards the plane to Marseille,
Sure of meeting her inside…..