I saw them huddled in a closed semi circle at the terminal.
They looked so confused and lost. They were wearing traditional South Indian clothes, crisply starched white and carrying a small cloth bag with them. Probably, they did not have much weight to carry. They were being marshaled by an over enthusiastic airport security guy who was making the most of the opportunity to show his authority to these poor folks. Normally, he was tired of the snubbing he received at the hands of the high fliers through out the year. He bossed over the motley group and eventually guided them to their boarding gate. The relieved group was seen falling at his feet and profusely thanking him. His deflated chest swelled with pride. The group had never seen an air port leave aside a plane. Their children would run out from their thatched houses if a chance plane hovered over their native town.
All the lights in the air port could not match the sparkle of hope in their sallow eyes.
The hopes of the group,after take-off were soaring in the sky along with the plane. Each one felt on top of the world. They did not want to be awakened from this pleasant state.
Out of fear and anxiety, they did not even ask for water or the directions of the toilet to the accented flight attendants who anyway ignored the entire group snobbishly. The group had got used to such behavior by this time and quietly awaited their destination with parched lips and full bladders in the cold plane. The snobbish flight attendants were people like them who awaited their turns daily at the common toilet of their small decrepit chawls. Once, inside the plane, they forgot their ordinary life and pretended to be the all conquering angels in the sky. It was a make believe cosmetic world after all.
The group got down and were taken to the construction site in the Gulf region. They would work all day in the cruel Sun hardly complaining to their equally tyrant bosses. They felt light headed at times under the Sun but no one ever complained. The lure of the money to be sent back home kept them going.
The monthly cheque would be received by their smiling wives with moist eyes.
The tears of the home sick migrant workers had long,dried up in the hot Sun.
Someday, they would return back to their native towns into the arms of their loved ones with their tanned bodies and sleep in the shady coconut groves.
They would never leave their home town, ever again.
They hated the Sun.
The paddy fields looked green after a long time.
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