Sure, lots have been written about airports – meeting place, gates of farewell, a final kiss, landscapes between, world´s end, and the beginning of a new adventure, apocalyptic melting spots… I am at Delhi airport, one of the big three. I just wanna have a sleep. 12 bucks per hour in a so called sleeping pod is not worth a night. 18 hours transfer stay. Stay, eat and wait. With not even one shop to distract me with entertaining consumption. With not one bar to get drunken cause i don’t like to be boozed. Sober and awake in or out of this world, in almost the biggest waiting hall, sucks. It´s 9 p.m., only 16 hours more to wait and i am getting close to my sleeping hours. But waking up at 6 as usual at an airport sucks, what a world if there is no change, no night or day, no rest and work, no rest… Oh yes, these little tiny romantic poetic changes, if you just look close, watch attentional… Fuck them, I am too tired and exhausted from the last weeks. And pissed off, by India, they didn’t let me bring in the transfer zone my fired cambodian bullet, which I was wearing attached to my necklace, without an explanation. My explanation, that they, the authority in charge, save it as a souvenir, was not acceptable. And their visa regulations almost brought me in this situation… had to change my flight schedule etc. I could have inform myself more about in advance, ok, but even then… India, we still are not friends. And at the international transfer gates you need to login for wifi. To login you need to register, to register and to receive the password, you need an indian phone number, at an international… ah whatever. How is this survivable? But I am fucking good in waiting, I will beat you, Delhi airport!
Challenge accepted.
Three chinese to my right, drinking Kingfisher and talking to their voice print software on their mobile devices, waiting for the plate of meat. To my left a southamerican, not sure from where exactly, my racism needs to be upgraded. Meditating about the food, in a set of an eyebrow drama, mumbling, complaining, “This food is not like it should taste, not like real indian chicken curry.” Now he is praying, sort of he doesn´t deserve a dish like this and the chicken didn´t deserve to die for. Making notes in very tiny letters, accurate, the pen couldn´t be sharpened enough. “I feel so sad inside, we are living in such a spoilt world.” Eyebrow drama again, he asks for the bill, “No, I am not finished, I just want to pay.” – Two guys, indians I suppose, having a seat on my table, “Hello, where are you from?” How I despise this question, especially without any introduction or efforts of sympathy. It emerges they are working as ground staff and finished their stint, spotted me and decided to get a picture of me with them, hanging out at a charmless bar at Delhi airport. At least one had to order, a beer, to be allowed to enter the bar. Kind of sweet their curiosity or paparazzi attitude, but only kind of. Silly. Annoying. On the toilet the cleaning service always were waiting for me, finished with cleaning my hands, responding to the wetness with a pulled and prepared tissue, like to a priest after he executed his blessings.
I feel very normal at Delhi airport. It must be the end of this world. Just 14 more hours to go…
