The Flight of Life
Chapter 31 of “Hold On”: JFK Airport 2016
(N.B. I’m writing a novel, a chapter a week, here on Medium. Find out why I write here, start from Chapter 1 here, and always feel free to give me feedback in the comments. I write here for the community.)
As Ahmad took his first steps into the bustling JFK Airport NYC, a wave of contrasting emotions washed over him. This city of towering skyscrapers and endless possibilities had fast become a second home for him. It had taught him a great deal, nurtured his talents, and prepared him for the next big step in his career in Silicon Valley. But parting from this vibrant city that held countless opportunities and memories was not without a tinge of sadness. At the same time, he was excited to reunite with his parents and love with new hopes for his career and achievements afterwards.
After passing through a series of security checks, long queues of passengers busily unbuckling their belts, and the incessant rustle of documents during passport screenings, he let out a sigh of relief and walked towards a nearby restaurant.
Finding a quiet corner in the restaurant at the airport, he ordered his meal, sat back, and reminisced about the myriad experiences he’d had with U.S. immigration. Each entry in the US meant going through a series of questions and occasional interviews, the cost of being a young Pakistani man in America. Ironically, his departure had been smooth, almost unnoticed.
Mulling over this disparity, he suddenly remembered his recent shopping trip to Zara. While passing by the storefront, he had thought for a moment and then had gone inside to pick out a gift for Hira. The shirt he had selected had long collars and a soft fabric that he thought would suit her. It was a piercing blue, reminding him of the Peshawar sky. As he had been picking out the shirt, doubts crept into his mind — would Hira like it, would she wear it?
A recent picture she had sent him came to mind. She was in her office, wearing a short, light purple kurti paired with her favorite black jeans, a surprising choice given her traditional upbringing in Peshawar. His mind wandered back to the store where he had encountered Kathy, a helpful customer representative. Her warm smile and useful suggestions about body care products had made the shopping experience enjoyable.
Suddenly, his thoughts were interrupted by an overhead announcement. The boarding for the Dubai-bound Emirates flight had begun. He quickly gathered his belongings, his handbag holding a copy of ‘Strong Medicine,’ a novel he intended to read during the flight. The book was a recent purchase made during a trip to the bookstore where he had also bought a biography of Einstein by Walter Isaacson, intended as a gift for Hira to inspire her to aim even higher. As he began his walk to the gate, he allowed his imagination to wander, visualizing the scenario that would unfold in the next 24 hours. He could almost see the Peshawar airport come into view, and the comforting presence of his father waiting to receive him there. This time around, a wave of excitement washed over Ahmad at the thought of meeting Hira in Islamabad. His past experiences had made him aware that meeting in public in a café in Peshawar drew untoward attention and stares from everyone else. Therefore, he had told Hira that they should meet in Islamabad, once he had spent a week with his parents in Peshawar. He planned to extend his stay in Islamabad for a few days, determined to make the most of the short time they had together.
As Ahmad settled into his aisle seat in the plane, the soft murmur of conversations and the distant hum of the engines filled the air. Soon, a woman and her young child, who looked around eight years old, joined him. She politely asked him to make some space. After they settled down, the familiar smell of the aeroplane filled the cabin — a smell that initially made Ahmad a tad uncomfortable before gradually fading into the background.
As the plane ascended into the clouds, he peered through the tiny window beside him. New York was slowly fading into a cluster of twinkling lights. Ahmad imagined what awaited him on the other end of this journey — the familiar sights of Islamabad, the warm welcome from his father, and a reunion with Hira.
Traveling from New York to Pakistan was a long journey, often tiring due to the connecting flights. He wished for a direct flight that would land him home in just about twelve hours. But it was a far-fetched wish.
A voice boomed through the cabin as the captain introduced himself in the stereotypical pilot manner. Ahmad chuckled to himself; passengers never really interacted with the pilots, yet the introduction was an unskippable ritual.
As the plane settled into a rhythm, a flight attendant who had an air of Eastern European elegance about her, perhaps Romanian, approached with menus for Ahmad and the woman seated beside him. He took a moment to glance at his co-passengers. The young boy was engrossed in a movie, a pair of oversized headphones dwarfing his small head, while the woman was engrossed in a book, her eyes darting across the pages with intense focus.
Ahmad, a naturally curious person, was often intrigued by what others chose to read during travel. He had always been open about asking co-passengers about their reading choices, despite the one awkward encounter with an old white man on a bus trip to Virginia who seemed taken aback by his query. Ahmad grimaced internally as the memory resurfaced. The old man had told him to mind his own business and had stowed the book away angrily, as their fellow passengers watched curiously. But he still decided to try his luck and struck up a conversation with the woman, who introduced herself as Sunita.
She was Indian American, an Assistant Professor of Politics at the State University of New York, a far cry from her roots in rural India. They chatted in a mix of Hindi and Urdu, the shared linguistic roots bridging the gap between their nationalities. Despite her academic focus on U.S. labor unions, their conversation veered towards Indo-Pak relations as was expected.
Ahmad shared his experiences as a Pakistani living abroad, his curiosity piqued by the paradox of Pakistani and Indian expats forming strong friendships despite the ongoing political tension between their home countries. Sunita confessed her limited understanding of Indo-Pak relations; she had moved to the U.S. for her undergraduate studies and had lived there ever since. Despite her limited interaction with Pakistan, she had made numerous Pakistani friends throughout her academic journey.
The conversation was interrupted as the crew began serving meals. Ahmad chose chicken, while Sunita, given her Hindu roots, opted for a vegetarian meal. Their conversation turned to their shared experience of forming friendships with people from ‘unfriendly’ nations while often not mingling as much with those from allied countries.
After the meal, Sunita, announcing she intended to catch some sleep, dozed off, leaving her son absorbed in his movie marathon. Meanwhile, Ahmad dove into his novel, intrigued by the narrative of drug approval and patent processes and the protagonist’s journey to the top.
Ahmad started and finished a movie, read some more of his novel, and took a nap for the next few hours. After using the restroom, he stretched his legs and stood in the open space next to the restrooms for a couple of minutes before going to his seat. As a frequent traveller he had learned to stretch to keep his blood circulation running.
When the plane touched down in Dubai, Ahmad and Sunita exchanged polite goodbyes. Ahmad found his way to a gift shop and picked out some dates as presents for his parents and Hira. Afterwards, he sought out a comfortable seat to relax in during the three-hour layover.
As he waited for the final leg to Islamabad, he couldn’t help but notice the increase in familiar faces — his fellow countrymen making the journey back home. He found himself wondering about their stories. Where were they coming from? What cities were they heading to? Who awaited their return, and who would miss them in their absence?
Life, he mused, was much like an airport. We cross paths with numerous people, and mingle with a few for a short time, without truly understanding where they come from or where they’re going. Unknown to us, everyone carries their own emotional and physical baggage, with some bearing the weight more heavily than others.
His thoughts were interrupted by the announcement of his flight. The scene at the gate was chaotic compared to the orderly queue he had observed in New York. As the plane took off towards Islamabad, he could already picture his father’s warm, enveloping hug. It was the thought of this homecoming that carried him through the final leg of his journey, eager for the familiarity and warmth of the place he called home. His body ached with the strain of long hours of travel and the inconveniences of jet lag, but his spirits lifted by the anticipation of the upcoming reunion.
