My relationship with airports is something of an emotional weathervane. And it has now swung around from intensely stormy farewells and sunshiny returns to a cool, almost frigid, ‘departure’ and ‘arrival.’ (Just using those words makes the whole process sound so horribly business-like.) I’m just unsure whether this particular climate change is for the better or worse. True, my family found my earlier behaviour inexplicable (especially since the airport only meant that I was off on a fantastic holiday with my fantastic grandparents) and often embarrassing. You could almost have set your watch by the time that I would commence sniffling on the approach road to Sahar. Dad would produce a pristine handkerchief and hand it over resignedly. The sniffling would graduate into a sedate sobbing and by the time the car drew up at the airport, it would be a full-blown howling, much to the discomfort of my undemonstrative father, who was always acutely aware of the curious stares that my heartbroken wailing was attracting. After many last hugs and waves, I would walk morosely in line to the check-in counter and by the time the boarding pass was issued, the last of the tears would have been wiped away and I would begin taking a cheerful interest in my surroundings and the upcoming trip, albeit with a splitting headache, courtesy of all the crying of the past hour.

But that’s all changed now. I don’t cry at all anymore. However, that doesn’t mean I particularly enjoy my farewells either. I think I preferred the earlier weepy ones. In fact, I think I almost used to revel in them. It was the crying that made the event momentous. It was a proper send-off. It gave me a sense of occasion. And the corresponding returns were equally volatile, but in a joyous, exuberant way. Now I actually find myself dragging my steps at a return, because it inevitably means that a wonderful holiday is over and routine beckons. I know it’s a bit heartless of me, but more than that, it’s perplexing that someone who used to behave practically as if she was going into exile should be so reluctant to come back.

I much prefer dropping and receiving others now. Seeing someone else off still manages to jerk the old tear glands into action a tiny bit. And the picking up brings all the excitement and warmth that my own returning never seems to be able to ignite. I’ve already made two trips to different airports in different cities over the last ten days (and will make one more in Feb) and I’m thankful that I’ve still managed to retain all my childlike enthusiasm. (Also, you can’t help laughing at the hilarity of the Bombay airport which has named the bit of ground around the arrivals gate the ‘Meeters and Greeters’ area!!)

In any case, this year should have one big farewell coming up and I’m fairly certain that it’ll satisfy all my lachrymal cravings.