Finding Arun (8 page)

It took a further forty minutes for Aaron to pass
through security. By the time he had done so the plane had reached
its final call for boarding, forcing him to pull his clothes and
shoes back on whilst simultaneously hurrying across the concourse
towards the gate. Despite sleeping during the previous flight, the
whole process of changing planes was so bothersome that Aaron
dropped exhaustedly into his seat and instantly dozed off again. A
little over two hours later, the same diminutive attendant that had
managed his chaotic transit in Mumbai roused him from his sleep and
in a thick Indian accent politely requested that he return his seat
to the upright position. Sleepily he did as instructed and when he
lifted the blind beside his seat, he was at once struck by the
beauty of what lay beyond the window.

Delicate porcelain clouds, scattered in an otherwise
uninterrupted sky, quickly gave way to a verdant carpet of dense
forest that stretched beyond the horizon. The lush greenery became
interspersed with narrow winding rivers and murky brown lakes,
until thin dry spines clawed their way into the landscape turning
it into a sea of dusty terracotta coloured plots. High-rises and
highways drifted into view as they swooped down over the city,
superseded by smaller settlements of minute blue-roofed houses. Two
sprawling bus depots claimed a vast expanse of land, their vehicles
akin to multicoloured children’s toys embroiled in a traffic jam,
and they were eclipsed only by waterlogged paddies when the black
tarmac of the runway rose abruptly from the ground to meet the
wheels of the plane.

The plane touched down softly and, as it taxied
along the runway to its stand, a series of announcements, first in
Hindi and then in an unintelligible English, came over the tannoy.
Aaron could not understand either broadcast, but before the plane
had come to a complete standstill, the other passengers were rising
from their seats, retrieving their belongings and excitedly
chattering amongst themselves while they prepared to leave the
plane. He drew in a deep breath to settle the butterflies that had
returned to his stomach and reached down to retrieve his rucksack
from beneath the seat in front of him. Learning from his earlier
experience, he jostled his way into the line of passengers waiting
to exit the plane, gripping the straps of his bag tightly as the
excitement and anticipation rapidly built in his chest.

Though it was only a few minutes, it felt like hours
before the line finally began to advance and, bracing himself for
the unknown, Aaron marched defiantly towards the door of the
aircraft. Nearing the exit he felt the temperature dramatically
escalate, his T-shirt and tracksuit bottoms both beginning to stick
uncomfortably against his skin. Small beads of sweat collected
along his brow and when he stepped over the threshold onto the
airstairs, an impenetrable wall of heat greeted him. The bright
sunshine beat down on his face, blinding his vision and making him
sweat more and more profusely. The air tasted thick with moisture
and a strong, spicy, musty odour invaded his nostrils without
warning. It was an attack on the senses of the greatest magnitude
and the whirring hubbub of his fellow passengers seemed to fade
into the background whilst his mind and body struggled to adjust.
He paused briefly, attempting to take it all in, but the sensory
overload was too great and as he disembarked from the plane, the
parting words of the diminutive flight attendant were very nearly
lost on him.

‘Welcome to India, sir.’

DESPITE his experience of changing planes in Mumbai,
nothing could have prepared Aaron for the pandemonium that ensued
when he tried to escape the clutches of Biju Patnaik Airport. The
queues were long and disorderly, the crowds hot and bothered in
equal measure, and the staff slow and inefficient. To make matters
worse the terminal building appeared to be undergoing significant
expansion works, which only served to add to the noise and dirt
already being whipped around the concourse by the powerful ceiling
fans. Aaron was agitated and fatigued by the whole ordeal and
having already been subjected to extensive security checks in
Mumbai, he simply couldn’t fathom what remained for officials to
inspect.

He was severely dehydrated and desperately needed a
drink, but a quick glance around the concourse revealed no trace of
a water fountain. His face dripped with sweat as the bodies packed
tightly around him further compounded the heat already trapped by
the thick tracksuit bottoms that he had stupidly worn for comfort.
He was certain that his body was beginning to emit an unpleasant
odour, but it was nothing compared to the pungent fragrances
emanating from those closest to him, the smell a telltale sign of
the lack of antiperspirant use. The queue inched forward and Aaron
shuffled along hopefully, but after only a few paces things had
ground to a halt again. He sighed loudly with exasperation, causing
a few passengers to cast disapproving looks in his direction, but
Aaron no longer cared. He had been travelling for almost
twenty-four hours and all he could think about was getting out into
the city, not least because he still faced a train journey before
he would finally arrive in Puri.

When he eventually stepped out into the morning heat
of Bhubaneswar a few hours later, there was barely time to take in
the surroundings before taxi and rickshaw drivers trapped him in a
tight, impenetrable circle. The men shouted over each other,
gesticulating wildly as they vied for his attention and his
business, all equally desperate to secure his custom in their
questionable-looking vehicles. They called out ridiculous-sounding
fares to unfamiliar places, trying to second-guess where Aaron was
headed, and though their rivalry seemed amicable enough, it was
difficult to gauge whom to trust. In their holey shirts and faded
slacks, brown skin blistering in the early morning heat, it was
evident that each driver’s enthusiasm was merely the start of a
long day of hustling unsuspecting arrivals in order to make ends
meet. One overzealous driver even tried to wrestle the backpack
directly from Aaron’s shoulders and, though it unnerved him at
first, ultimately he had to laugh at the chaos apparently inherent
in every Indian activity.

After a little bartering and pitting the men against
one another, Aaron was able to agree a reasonable fare with a
stumpy, honest-looking driver, who quickly relieved him of his bags
and shuffled off towards the car before Aaron could change his
mind. Aaron had to move fast to avoid losing sight of the small man
in the crowds and, grateful to escape the mayhem, he began to push
his way past the throng of now disinterested drivers. By the time
he reached the battered silver saloon car, the driver had already
thrown his bags into the rear compartment and started up the
engine. Aaron slipped deftly into the back and, despite almost
burning his forearms on the scorching leather seats, the cooling
blasts from the air-conditioning came as a welcome relief.

‘First time coming in India?’ asked the driver
brightly, expertly guiding the taxi through the crowd to join the
long line of cars waiting to exit the airport compound.

‘Yes, yes it is.’

‘Where coming from you?’

‘From London, England.’

‘Ho, ho, London,’ exclaimed the driver, slapping the
steering wheel enthusiastically. ‘When I see you first, I think so
you are coming from India! Then after only I am seeing your bags
and I think you are coming from outside.’

His intonation and broken English reminded Aaron of
Kalpana’s letters.

‘I do come from India, my mother lives in Puri,’ he
responded, a little more defensively than he had intended to.

At that moment it dawned on him that technically it
was not his first time in India at all and he wondered distractedly
whether the first time counted if he himself couldn’t recall
it.

‘You are speaking Oriya?’

‘Speaking what?’

‘Oriya. It is our language, isn’t it?’

‘Oh, I see. No, not speaking Oriya,’ answered Aaron,
suddenly feeling slightly ashamed.

‘Speaking Hindi only?’

‘No, not speaking Hindi either.’

‘You are taking a train for reaching in Puri?’

‘Yes, I’m taking the train to Puri.’

‘Is a long way going in Puri. How much it is costing
you the ticket?’

‘I don’t know,’ Aaron replied brusquely, exhausted
by the incessant questioning.

He couldn’t understand the driver’s apparent
fascination with his life; taxi drivers in London were rarely
interested in anything that he had to say. The small driver either
failed to notice or chose to ignore the irritation in Aaron’s
voice, and continued on with his inquisition undeterred. Aaron did
his best to respond succinctly, yet politely, until the disturbing
antics beyond his window completely drew his attention away.

The taxi had lurched forward into the heavy morning
traffic and was now stopping and starting abruptly, forced to allow
other vehicles to merge onto the road from all directions.
Impatient drivers sounded long horn blasts and leant out of their
windows, perilously close to the passing traffic, in a bid to gain
right of way. Battered old cars mingled with shiny new ones, and
whole families swept by on motorcycles, blissfully indifferent to
the chaos that Aaron was so acutely aware of. The driver weaved in
and out of the traffic as though on autopilot, focused more on his
line of questioning than on the road itself, and Aaron felt a
growing sense of unease, convinced that the man’s prolonged glances
at him through the rear-view mirror would eventually result in a
collision. He scrambled around in search of a seat belt, but there
was none to be found and, helpless, he settled for wedging himself
between the back of the driver’s seat and his own, tightly gripping
the inside of the door for added security.

When they reached the railway station, Aaron let out
a grateful sigh of relief and quickly clambered out of the car,
thankful to have arrived unscathed. His heart had been thumping
furiously throughout the entire crazy ride and having counted no
less than seven near-collisions in the space of only ten minutes,
he had eventually resorted to closing his eyes in order to make it
through the journey. While the tiny driver ceremoniously removed
his bags from the rear compartment, Aaron stood on the kerb,
struggling to breathe in the thick, musty air as the sun beat down
on him fiercely from above. He was certain that the temperature had
climbed several degrees since he had exited the airport and his
lips tasted salty from the rivers of sweat that had dripped down
his face.

The driver closed the rear compartment and looked up
at Aaron expectantly, shielding his eyes from the brightness of the
sun with his hand. Aaron dealt out the one hundred rupees that they
had agreed upon, but the driver’s palm remained outstretched as he
smiled conspiratorially, cocking his head to one side.

‘Sir?’

‘Yes?’

‘You are having something small for me please,
sir?’

Aaron stared down at the driver blankly.

‘I just paid you. One hundred rupees, like we
agreed.’

‘Yes sir, but you are having some tip maybe for
me?’

Aaron wanted to laugh in the driver’s face, but
despite his cheekiness, Aaron had to admire the boldness of his
approach. He placed a few small denomination notes into the
driver’s hand and after thanking and blessing him, the small man
hopped back into the car and drove away, leaving Aaron alone
again.

Bhubaneswar railway station was small and bustling,
its yellow façade shining in the sunlight when Aaron passed through
the arches into the ticket foyer. All about him was a whirlwind of
activity, but when he queued to enquire about the next train to
Puri, he felt the pace around him begin to slow, all eyes fixing
curiously upon him. The strangers openly stared, unashamedly
drinking him in and loudly discussing their observances in a
dialect that was completely alien to him. Younger women sat in
tight clusters, whispering and giggling while they stole shy
glances in his direction, and the men appeared to be sizing him up,
unsure whether or not he posed a threat to them.

Aaron found himself staring straight back, equally
enthralled by their unfamiliar choice of clothing and suddenly
aware of his distinctly western dress. The women wore beautiful,
deeply coloured, richly patterned cloths, draped gracefully over
their lithe bodies, and their necks and arms were adorned with
sparkling jewellery that clinked together, creating a sweet
jingling sound, when they moved. A few men wore loose-fitting
shirts and jeans, but most wore lightweight tunics, trousers, and
even the odd skirt, in pale colours far better suited to the heat
than Aaron’s own heavy clothing. In his fatigue and haste to escape
the airport, he had not truly looked at the people of Orissa. He
had deliberately avoided eye contact so as not to have to engage in
unnecessary conversations, but now he was transfixed. The people
were unlike any that he had previously encountered and strangely he
found himself able to imagine his mother with more clarity than he
had ever been able to achieve before.

‘Hello, thank you, where going?’ bellowed the
cashier, waking him from his trance.

Aaron returned to the present and, relieved to
discover that the cashier spoke English, began to negotiate his
ticket purchase. Compared to the transportation escapades that he
had experienced so far, Aaron was able to procure a ticket on the
next train to Puri with relative ease and surprisingly little
expenditure. Thanking the cashier for making the transaction so
painless, he proceeded quickly to platform two as instructed, where
the Dhauli Express, the train that would carry him to his
birthplace, was already approaching the platform.