There is always something in this home of 1 billion that draws me in again and again. The airport at Mumbai could be better. Like searching for Waldo among a sea of images, I try to spot positive changes since my last visit a year ago.
I approach the crowd organized in a serpentine queue by the Thomas Cook dividers. My turn arrives after a not-so-long wait, and a courteous officer nods me onward. Check. Positive change. That polite smile helps me pull through the mad scramble to get a baggage cart, lay temporary claim to it, and make sure it doesn't disappear while I am making rounds of the baggage claim area, trying to identify my luggage. Some impatient passengers peer through the rubber curtain from where the conveyor transfers the bags to the baggage area. Every now and then the conveyor stops. An airport official hops on top and adjusts heavy suitcases that make the belt groan. I have been waiting nearly 45 mins now. I sigh. Then I smile.
This is India. I am home.
I approach the crowd organized in a serpentine queue by the Thomas Cook dividers. My turn arrives after a not-so-long wait, and a courteous officer nods me onward. Check. Positive change. That polite smile helps me pull through the mad scramble to get a baggage cart, lay temporary claim to it, and make sure it doesn't disappear while I am making rounds of the baggage claim area, trying to identify my luggage. Some impatient passengers peer through the rubber curtain from where the conveyor transfers the bags to the baggage area. Every now and then the conveyor stops. An airport official hops on top and adjusts heavy suitcases that make the belt groan. I have been waiting nearly 45 mins now. I sigh. Then I smile.
This is India. I am home.
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