if only….

The excitement surged. Finally, he would soon be flying abroad, for work. The peer pressure that had slowly been finding its way into his nerves will bother him no more. His parents can be proud to declare that their son is headed abroad.

The feverish pace at which the preparations were getting done got the anticipation high.

The D-day brought the entire family to the airport, to see him off. The heady thought of being an NRI in just a few hours ensured that the tiny tear that threatened to fall out of his mother’s eye and the and the concerned look that shadowed his father’s proud face went unnoticed. This wasnt the time for semtiments, his inner voice called out. He did not belong to the past. He had his future waiting at the other end of the flight..

As the plane taxied to the main runway, he noticed a silouette of a small hillock against the setting sun. Although a familiar location, this was the first time he saw this angle. It was his childhood spot from where he would watch the planes fly away into the distant horizon, vowing to be in it some day.

The glow that the pride of achieving the goal was washed over by a tiny bit of nostalgia. The hillock was his family s picnic spot, where his mother would feed him amongst the trees.

The jolt of the nose wheel lifting off the tarmac brought him back to reality. He knew he had made his choice. A choice between the comforts of the familiar and the promised glories of the unknown.

However, he wished for that particular moment to freeze forever in time, keeping his excitement intact while having his roots at touching distance.

If only…..


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s