TOUCHDOWN

My eyes flutter open and I stare at the screen in front of me, the words, ‘Touch Me’ displayed across. It takes me a minute to realize I am on an airplane, and I had fallen asleep waiting for time to pass. The sun has risen, but I am not sure where we are or what time it is. I check the route map and see that we are flying over the English channel. Even in my groggy state, I feel excited. I glance over to see the couple sitting next to me watching a movie together. After not being able to decipher which movie, I give up and continue to stare at the clouds. White clouds splattered across a blue sky look beautiful, but from the window seat of an airplane, they appear majestic. I snap pictures, making a mental note to send them to my family once I land. 

The pilot announces that we will beginning our descent towards London, and I sense anticipation build up inside. I have travelled alone several times, but I have never reached the destination with no one to receive me. This time, I have to do everything myself. It is a little daunting, and I am worried I will make mistakes. I am distracted by the fuzzy sensation in my stomach, as the plane drops in altitude, the clouds clearing away to reveal civilization. I don’t know London well enough to recognize any landmark, but I can see a blue line (Thames, I presume) snake through the city, making its way to the sea. As I am about to film the landing, I am patted on my shoulder. I turn around to see the wife (not my wife, I don’t have one) holding out her phone to me, with a smile plastered on her face. Not being able to refuse, I take it from her, and film the buildings and roads get closer and bigger, until the wheels of the plane touchdown on the runway, making the aircraft shudder. Telling myself there is nothing special about filming one’s arrival in a country they have never visited, I hand back the phone, smiling through the pain.

As always, the Indian passengers jump up from their seats, with the stewards asking them to sit down and wait for the plane to reach the airport building. I don’t think we understand patience very well. I stifle a laugh and try to see if there is any data on my phone. I have a UK SIM card, curtsy of the embassy, and activating it, I text my mum, ‘Landed.’

When deplaning begins, the sound of overhead cabins opening, and the clutter of suitcases being rolled off fill the aircraft. I wait. I prefer getting off at the end because I hate moving in a crowd. When almost everyone has left, I get up, taking out my duffle and laptop bags before I begin to walk down the aisle.

The journey to immigration is long. The corridors are never ending, and the bags are heavy. My legs are sore from sitting in one position for nine hours and I am running low on food and water. I try to calm myself down by thinking of the coffee and pastries I will devour once I am done with the formalities. As I approach the area where passports are stamped, I wonder if I will be interviewed, asked why I want to enter the UK. Should I say trading? Give them a taste of their medicine? I shake my head, knowing that would only increase suspicion (not that I am already under suspicion, I think). My mum has replied with a ‘Welcome to the UK’ and it is when I read her message that I remember to inform my best friend of my arrival. I send her a selca (selfie), with the caption, ‘I’ll call you in ten minutes, once I am through the gates.’

She replies immediately, the purple hearts giving me strength. I drag my duffel bag to the main area and stop in my tracks. The immigration counters haven’t been opened, yet. The queue is a labyrinth, filled hundreds of tired travelers, whiney children and men with no sense of personal space. I am pushed to the back of the line and handed a can of water. As I open it to take a sip, a couple hundred more passengers form a second queue, for the same set of counters. I choke on the water, sputtering it out and trying to breathe, afraid of what will follow. I am regaining my wits when a man standing in front of me says, ‘Hello! I am Adarsh. What’s your name?’