And I am thirsty again, the orange juice served by the grumpy airhostess having been long drained. I dare not ask her again. The second time I did she had seemed to scowl at me. Once more and she just might pounce on me. And I am sitting right near the exit -- no, I won't risk it, not in mid-air. So I shake the ice in the glass. Funda is, as the ice pieces rattle, they rub and produce water quicker than normal (that's the genius in me, you see) and then I can quench my thirst. As I am rattling -- the ice, I mean -- I observe this young couple in front. The man had exchanged places with me to be near his girl. He is busy pounding on his laptop while the girl pens away at what I presume is her office work. Every now and then, they turn towards each other and express their love. Then comes the 'reassurances round', where they kiss lengthily -- at least, long enough to make me realise that I am ogling. Then they return to their chores, only to start all over again. Boy, oh boy, these people are crazy. I am feeling a void inside me. That's what you feel, they say, when you lack romance in life. I look around, scanning the seats for some reassurance. Somewhere, someplace, a fairy is waiting for me... I believe in miracles! There's an old lady sitting besides me. Any thought of reassurances from her terrifies me. She doesn't notice my expression. I am glad. She's leafing through Jude Deveraux's Counterfeit Lady. I take a sip. The title Counterfeit Lady piques me. And I start rattling. I am thinking about the time when my life wasn't so blank. To say that I have never experienced romance would be an understatement. But to say that I have, would be an overstatement too. I did pass through a phase of romance and anxieties, and concomitant pains and fantasies. Only, it was all self-inflicted. I was a lone soul in this phase, and it took a little longer for me to realise that. As I look out of the window, that oh-so-common emptiness engulfs me once again. A vacuum, a chill, it moves quickly up my spine, makes me shudder. I see that face out in the dark clouds, for a moment, before intense lightning strikes it out and jolts me back into the present. I look down the aisle. The airhostess passes by without offering me coffee. Excuse me ma'am, I've paid for the ticket too... No, I won't get into arguments. Little to gain. And I am still sitting besides the exit. The couple in front of me realises again that they cannot do without each other, that they are born for time unbound, periodic kissing in planes, tonight, right in front of me. Their cycle starts again. I look outside. The old lady sneezes on Counterfeit Lady. Bless you. I relax, take another sip. And I start rattling -- the ice, I mean -- again. Pratik Shah is still searching for his dream lady. Tell us what you think of this diary
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