THE OTHER HALF

I bounce my left leg nervously, my eyes flitting from left to right. I lock and unlock my phone innumerable times, but time seems to move slower than on a lazy summer afternoon. Letting out an impatient sigh, I look up at the Arrivals Board, scanning it quickly to see if there is any update on the Indigo Flight arriving from Hyderabad. Disappointed to see, ‘Delayed’ for a fifth time, I get up to get a cup of coffee. Perhaps that will calm my nerves. The Airport Authorities have built quite the Waiting Area, and I wonder if it is for the benefit of friends and family who arrive hours before the flight is due to land, much like I did today. The coffee cup warms my hands that were starting to freeze in the December cold. I chide myself for not wearing an extra layer of woollens, as I sit back down and take my first sip. I feel the warmth of the milk, and the magic of caffeine spread throughout my body, making me smile.

This takes me back to when Anam and I used to go to the same Day-Care Centre and were coerced into having a hot drink every evening. I insisted on having coffee, but she settled for Bournvita. The steam always fogged my glasses, and we couldn’t stop laughing at how my eyes disappeared behind the mist. At eight, even these little things are funny. Winter has always been special, for the two of us. I tap the side pocket of my jacket to check if the Cadbury Silk was still with me, intact. Not that anybody would steal it. In January 2012, we had decided that we would eat Silk the same way the actors ate, in the TV Advertisements. We would open it, and it would be all gooey on the inside. Our fingers and faces would get covered in chocolate, and it would be simply perfect. At that time, we did not realise that in January, no bar of chocolate, no matter how much you will it to melt, would be liquified. I giggle, as I remember how we blew on it and prayed that it melts. It did not. We were rather sad that evening.

As I sip on the now warm drink, folding my legs up on the chair, I think about the times when our friendship was affected by our stubbornness. I shake my head, scoffing at how silly we were to argue over the smallest of things. If we fight now, it will break me. I am grateful for our maturity. We were not always this mature. I laugh, as I recall the time when I went to her house, just because she asked me to, without informing anyone in my family. Boy, was everyone worried and angry when they tracked me down to her house. I think I have never been spanked that badly. I will probably do it again, if I have the chance. We enjoyed a lot that day, completely oblivious to what our parents had planned for us.

Anam. Thinking about her name, saying her name, it has always had such a calming effect on me. A great part of what I have done or achieved, has been because of her and if taken together, we are a bundle of warm, cosy and happy memories, two halves of the same heart, drawing strength from each other’s presence. I cannot draw, not for the life of me, but I can narrate every single feature of her face to an artist, without a single mistake. You have to memorise how your best friend looks, when she lives miles away from you. Two, four, six years just go by, without us seeing each other. I check the time, counting down to the seconds when I receive a text from her, saying, ‘Landed.’ She is coming back from a Work Trip today, and has decided to take a detour to my hometown. Six years apart is a long time, and I think at some level, both of us are nervous and excited about the reunion. I hope other people at the airport are comfortable with PDA (that is Public Display of Affection for you.)

Rotating the empty cup in my hand, I wonder if I should buy two glasses of Cold Coffee, just for old times’ sake. Neither of us have ever liked fizzy drinks, and coffee was our go-to refuge at all parties. She might not appreciate the idea of having something cold when it was two degrees outside, but she’d love the thought. I know it. I know her. Gleeful to have found a way to surprise her, I skip to the Coffee Stall and ask the vendor for two Cold Coffees. He stares at me, with conviction that I have lost it, and then turns to make it. Business is business, after all. I thank him, in a rather high-pitched voice, and turn around just as my phone goes bloop. A huge grin spreads across my face. I quickly set down the cups, and open it to see, ‘I’ve landed. As usual, the rest of the passengers are freaking out, running over one another to jump out of the plane.’ I laugh, and text back, ‘People never change. By the way, welcome home.’

Immediately, I get a reply, ‘Hehe. Home is where you are. Can’t wait to see you.’ I feel warmth in my cheeks and slide my phone back into the jeans pocket. My feet tapping is getting more impatient than ever. I keep my eyes peeled for the area where all passengers exit from. Ten minutes pass. Twenty minutes pass. Thirty minutes pass. I start to feel anxious and am about to take my phone out, when I see a brunette, with curls falling all over her shoulders, brown eyes blinking out the tiredness of a long flight, dragging a trolley stacked with a suitcase, a laptop bag and three books.

I stand up, with my arms crossed against my chest, waiting for her to notice me. It takes her about a minute. She stops in her tracks. For about five seconds, there is no movement. Total silence. Then, we scream. The man sitting next to the spot where I am standing jumps. I open my arms and she runs into them, wrapping her legs around my waist, still screaming. When we finally release each other, she looks straight into my eyes, and I see the same sparkle that I sense in my own. Gasping, I say, ‘Cold coffee?’

‘Cold… Cold coffee? Only you, Manya. I love you.’