On my way to the airport, with frayed nerves, a scrambled mind, and a steadily growing feeling of unease, I stared out into the black distance from my cab window. Even the gorgeous night couldn’t wipe clean the glazed expression, churning thoughts, iron out the furrowed brow, and numb that dull ache. Eagerness and optimism thwarted by wistfulness and regret. And chains, rabbit-holes, faces, expressions, words, the faintest, guarded whiff of emotion. All mixed up. All over again.
Was witness to a small car accident en route. At a traffic light about five minutes away from the airport, at an intersection, a car in front brakes suddenly to avoid running a red light, and the one behind, caught unawares, slams right into it. Car #2 pays the price, the front end scrunched like a crumpled sheet of paper. Out steps Driver #2, a dishevelled looking middle-aged man with straggly, shoulder length hair steps out and hollers incoherently. And then does the strangest thing. If I’d known better, I would’ve said he was headbanging! A straggly-haired man, doubling over and yelling, over and over again. He didn’t appear to be injured; he walked around a bit, hollered, waved his arms in the air, and… er… ‘headbanged’. Over and over again. Yet, it isn’t the most likely thing in the world that music appreciation was what was on his mind, out there in the middle a busy road, in the cold, with a scrunchy car to contend with. I can only imagine that he was either a) drunk, b) distraught, c) furious, d) stoned, e) losing his mind. Admittedly, no stranger to the morbid fascination that fills bystanders at the scene of a ‘crime’, I was tempted to hover around and watch the drama that would most likely ensue. However, there were planes to catch and duties to follow. I sighed, shook my head with just the appropriate amount of commiseration, and left. Cursed the soulless life that didn’t give me the time to stop and smell the roses. And participate in noble activities like gawking at streetside headbangers.
-----Was witness to a small car accident en route. At a traffic light about five minutes away from the airport, at an intersection, a car in front brakes suddenly to avoid running a red light, and the one behind, caught unawares, slams right into it. Car #2 pays the price, the front end scrunched like a crumpled sheet of paper. Out steps Driver #2, a dishevelled looking middle-aged man with straggly, shoulder length hair steps out and hollers incoherently. And then does the strangest thing. If I’d known better, I would’ve said he was headbanging! A straggly-haired man, doubling over and yelling, over and over again. He didn’t appear to be injured; he walked around a bit, hollered, waved his arms in the air, and… er… ‘headbanged’. Over and over again. Yet, it isn’t the most likely thing in the world that music appreciation was what was on his mind, out there in the middle a busy road, in the cold, with a scrunchy car to contend with. I can only imagine that he was either a) drunk, b) distraught, c) furious, d) stoned, e) losing his mind. Admittedly, no stranger to the morbid fascination that fills bystanders at the scene of a ‘crime’, I was tempted to hover around and watch the drama that would most likely ensue. However, there were planes to catch and duties to follow. I sighed, shook my head with just the appropriate amount of commiseration, and left. Cursed the soulless life that didn’t give me the time to stop and smell the roses. And participate in noble activities like gawking at streetside headbangers.
Balikpapan, Indonesia appears to be almost exactly like any medium-sized Indian town, if the ride from the airport to the hotel is anything to go by. Even that tangible balminess in the air feels so familiar! Little grocery and convenience stores sprinkled all around, all devoid of neon signs, the numerous two-wheelers, tiny tea-stalls decked with potato-chip-packet-streamers, brash election posters smeared in the ugliest manner possible, dust, and honking cars. If only I could read Bahasa Indonesia, I’d say I was home.
2 comments:
Ive heard somewhere that the Bahasa Indonesian uses the latin script. Tough luck:)
Yep, Latin it is. Can read all the letters... just haven't a clue what they spell out! :)
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