When they had reached here from the old airport Appu said : "I will sit in the lounge. Father, you.. "
"I am on leave today."
He helped to load his baggage on to the trolley.

Appu himself paid the driver even while he was enquiring about the rate. Though it was his first trip abroad, Appu was not at all nervous. From his altercation with the driver it was clear that he had picked up enough Hindi during a year of employment at Bangalore.
Did he go to the village before the trip? See his mother? He wanted to ask. But decided not to...
"Father, you need not spend time waiting here... You may go."
Appu said again : "The medicines for blood pressure .... .”
“Yes ... under control ...:”

In those letters he wrote with four or five sentences in the middle of the big letter head, he always enquired about health. Instead of allopathy, now I am trying homeopathy. There is improvement. Such information about health found mention in the replies too.

Unable to find anything to talk about, he kept standing.
“Write. Write as soon as you reach there.”
Adjusting the trolley wheels, he stood for a moment with lowered head.
“Take care.”
"I will write. Now I'm going."

Unexpectedly Appu offered his hands. It was in the midst of an argument within himself about whether to shake hands or hug that he thrust his hands forward breaking into a smile.
Grabbing it eagerly and pressing with the left hand, he said softly : "Take care.”
Appu smiled softly and for a minute stood looking at his face. The memory of his face in some picture from his youth when he could still laugh, surfaced.
Entering through the door that opened by itself, Appu stopped the trolley, turned and raised his hand. When the invisible hands of the machine, relieved of the pressure, closed the glass doors, he raised his hand in reciprocation. And then walked away slowly.

Hamza had returned to the car again. He bought the ticket and entered the hall. The visitors had already occupied most of the seats. Between groups that resembled families some solitary seats were vacant. He decided not to sit. The last of the cigarettes was finished. At the end of the hall below the stairs, only an apple juice stall was visible.

What a nice chap, this Hamza , who looks like a street goonda. The world doesn't become intolerable just because of the Mirchandanis. There is Ibrahimkutty who says we will talk about the accounts later. And neighbour D'Souza who, spreading fresh sheets, arranges her own bed room for Appu and waits for him ...

The first letters from Canada were lengthy : It was training-cum-employment. He stayed with a Maharashtrian guy. Later, when he bought a second hand car, he sent a photograph of him in front of it.

Once Sivasankaran wrote that he had resumed painting. Also about a 'one man show' that may never happen. How to fill pages without writing about something or the other? Luckily, in the reply that came very late, he forgot to enquire about the exhibition. There was one thing he never failed to enquire : How's your health?

Where are your great exhibitions? Were the buyers queuing up with millions? Neither did Jayashree ask. Even when she folded her life like an old unpaid bill and put it into his salary packet. Was it for this that she was asked to resign the job of a sales girl in a handloom shop? She never asked.

They say it was a woman who wrecked Abhaya Shankar, turning him mad. A former model, still ravishing at fifty, she roams around organising art festivals abroad for the government. Never felt like blaming her.

The mad streak started, with him hawking painting at Chowpatty footpath and at the steps of five star hotels. Later, in front of a Hussain exhibition, he spoke over megaphone about commercialising art. Was it to attain posthumous fame and thus to take revenge that, as Jayashree asks, he jumped in front of the electric train? He heard that she, Appu's mother back home amidst all chaos, had said when the girl at whose house he was staying as a paying guest became pregnant :

"If that is what Sivettan(*) wants, let that be."

Appu is studying. He is good at it. He will get admission for engineering. No difficulties…. He thanked God on hearing that Uncle was doing everything necessary.

Earlier, when he came to see off Appu, he did not inform Jayashree about it. Two weeks later, only when the letter from Canada came., did he tell her :

“He came to meet me before he left.”

Some day he would meet Jayashree and the kids. So he came to the airport having decided to take him home.

Mrs. D'Souza advised Jayashree to prepare dinner at home though it was available on flight; and she accompanied Jayashree for the shopping.

In the album of ten year old Rajesh, are stuck stamps from Canada. Jayashree had told both of them enough about daddy's other son. The nine year old Smita would like to know more. That brother …. whom does he look like? ... like daddy ... or .. ?

To change the topic, he always found something.

The driver came near and said "Look. Here are the people from the American flight" Hurriedly wiping and putting back his specs clouded and besmeared with sweat, he stood watching those coming out of the customs gate.
There is no question of not spotting Appu in any crowd. What change can three years make?
He could recognise Appu only after he reached the middle of the queue. The only change was the silver framed spectacles that he wore. Khaki shirt with big pockets and black trousers. Has he put on a little more weight?
Yes.
"Here he is!"
He waved his hands leaning over the aluminum railing. Appu saw him. Pushing the trolley aside, he came near and held hands.
"You're here. Great!"

Coming to the yard with the trolley, he said :
"What long queues at each counter ... absolutely no system…. for a reason someone asks for a bribe : 'Ten dollars. Ten dollars! It is a lot of money.”
He pushed the specs over his forehead. "I have brought a car, Appu"
"Accha, wait ...."
Then turning back, he looked.
"Aha, here she comes!"

The look met with a little girl coming along pushing the trolley. Only when she came near did one realise that the little girl was a short young woman. A huge rounded spectacles covered most of her face. Appu said something seriously to her. Her reply was even more serious. Could make out only that it was not English.

“Accha, this is Bela. She doesn't know much of English. She's French.”
Bela offered her hands. Smaller than that of Smita. Not knowing the right words of courtesy, he gave as open a smile as possible.
"Cochin flight is at Five thirty. It was booked from there itself."
Not only the son, but a Foreign woman too, coming as guest, will be a big event in the colony. Mrs. D'Souza knows French too.
"Let's go home ... No inconvenience there.”
The airlines had made arrangements for the overnight stay. They have issued coupons for it. Appu said.
"Then, we will put her in the hotel and ...”

They spoke to each other again.
“Where's the car?”
He immediately gestured to Hamza who was standing apart as if for the dispute to end.

The hotel was not far away from the airport.
He sat in front. Behind, Bela the French woman talked continuously. Once in a while he could hear Appu saying ‘hm’ 'hm’.
At the portico of the hotel when Appu asked the driver to take the luggage in, he asked "Why now?"
"Let me take it. You're in that same far away place, isn't it?”
"One hour's drive”

Two porters from the hotel took out the luggage. When they were checking in at the counter, he felt distressed. Mrs. D’Souza must be waiting without sleep. Even if Smita and Rajesh are put to bed they won't sleep. Putting the food in the hot case brought from D'Souza's flat, Jayashree must he sitting sewing buttons to some old dress.

Just before following the porter with the luggage, Appu turned back once and looked. He also followed them. Who is she? Friend or colleague? Not his love surely. The pygmy of a girl is not beautiful in any way.

Putting their suitcases inside the room, Appu paid the potter. Ten or twenty?

Pouring into the glass the cold water from the flask, she smiled at him. Touching her throat she said smiling : "Thirsty."
Appu is sitting on the sofa unlacing his shoes. Moving the chair in front of the table with the mirror, he sat on it.
Appu said : "Jet lag ... for some people it starts immediately after landing. Bela is very tired "
After drinking water, she sat on the bed and talked. Appu translated. She likes India very much.
She has been planning to come to India for quite some time.
He enquired : "Food?"
"Had dinner twice. In the flight they have a different time, you know.”

She shook two fingers to signal ‘twice’. That was also one reason why he noticed that Appu gesticulated more while he talked. Bela's father was Italian. And mother, French. Sensing that they were talking about her, she left for the bathroom with a small bag. Now they were alone.

"I told at home ... that you will come.
"Bela is tired.”
"Working with you?”
"She is a French teacher. There are a lot of French in Canada. Oh, I didn’t write to you our marriage was last month."
Should he congratulate, or offer hands and bless him?
Doesn’t know what to do.
"Registered at the embassy. There was a small party. I have the photos. Let me check Bela's suitcase. Or they may be outside.”

He opened the bag that was lying on the bed, searched and found the envelope with the photos. Bela in a white dress with a lot of folds and a suit-clad Appu stand with bouquets in their hands. Four photos of the party. There are four copies of the wedding photo.
When Bela came out of the bathroom, he smiled. And resumed looking at the pictures.
The driver is waiting, he remembered.

"I have told her about you, Father. She knows you are a painter."
She looked at him with respect. Then she said something with great enthusiasm. Appu translated. "She has a house at Montreal. And a guest room. If you come and stay there, you can paint a lot."
Thank God. She doesn’t know that I colour phantom strips now.

Once, the children who came to visit the newspaper office stood at the cabin door and watched it with wonder. They are the ones who follow Phantom's adventures. They were wondering whether it is this man who draw it. When he started explaining about the art works of American companies and about Lee Falk, the press official who took the children around said:
"Leave it, bhaisaheb. If they think like that, let them. Let them be impressed."

While keeping the envelope with the photos aside, Appu said : "You can take one if you want. Wedding photo."
“Oh.”
She removed her canvas shoes, took off the socks and taking out a cream from the bag, rubbed it between her toes.

He desperately searched among the bushes and woods of his mind to find a topic to talk about. He sat distressed. Oh, the rain of the century ... the, storm that moves gathering strength far away in the distant seas. He felt relieved when he found the topic. He started talking about the way life in the metro came to a stand-still due the downpour. When he saw Appu leaning back on the sofa and closing his eyes, he asked :
"Why? Are you sleepy?”
“No. Throughout the flight it was nothing but sleep.”

Feeling thirsty, he went over and drank water. Thanking Hamza in his mind, he lit another cigarette. From the corridor outside, the noise of the rolling trolleys. The airport was not visible through the window. This must be the rear part of the hotel.

"How long is the leave, Appu?"
"I have to return on August Seventh."
"You're here on the sixth.”
“No, I can't. Delhi ... Bela wants to see Delhi. The booking is made like that."

He somehow managed to say :
"The kids wanted to see you.”
"Sure.”
Appu tried to smile. Then remembering something, said:
"Father, don't they conduct marriages at Chottanikkara?"
"Yes, I think so.”
Appu said removing his shoes : "Bela would like to marry in our way.”
She also wants to take photographs of exorcism ... she is an excellent photographer."
When he saw Bela slowly climbing on to bed, towards the pillow, to sleep, he got up.
"Okay. Then shall I?”
"Okay, Father. Proceed."
Appu called his wife.
She sprang up energetically.
She knew that he was taking leave.
What should he tell her while leaving : Welcome? Good to see you? Or nice to have met you?
When she came forward, stood in front of him and stooped down to arrange the shoe laces ...

No. Only when her fingers touched his muddy shoes did he realise. She was paying obeisance to him. Then she straightened up and murmured : "Acchan" (Father) Then she embraced him.
Totally taken by surprise, he placed his hands on her head. Words did not come. He said within. Let good things happen to you. Let good things happen to you.
Then, as if doing something he had left out, Appu also came hurriedly and touched his feet. He embraced his son.

"May you prosper."
At the door he stopped and with a confident smile shook their hands. Then he walked away hurriedly.
Let good things happen.

The rain water had drained and the roads were dry. In the valleys of the sky, no rain clouds now. From Hamza's stereo came once more the song "Ek, do, teen ..." The song that a female sang at dusk is now being sung by a male.

When he got off the taxi, all the buildings in the colony were the dark. Only in the flat on the third floor there was light. Have the kids slept?

It was Rajesh who opened the door. Long pants, shoes and T-shirt with the legend, "World Champion". Dressed up to receive the guests. Jayashree was in a light yellow sari instead of the normal tattered kaftan. Fashionably done up hair. Smitha in a red and yellow salwar kameez bought during Deepawali. Mrs. D'Souza beside the dining table, playing with the wine bottle, a Christmas leftover. In the flower vase, flowers cut from the pots.

Standing with his back to them while closing the door, he managed to say before the barrage of questions began.
"He didn’t come”
"Eh?"
"The weather."
Mrs D'Souza got up.
"Didn't I tell you? The storm is moving at 30o km/h."
Without looking at anyone he walked to the bedroom.
Why elaborate? No detailed explanation would make them understand the tiredness of sitting in a plane for twenty-two hours. They didn't know what jet lag is. They will blame them; at least within their minds. Should tell them sometime that they bowed, touched my feet.
What a miracle. Here, here on my muddy shoes, the fingerprints.
He should say before it fades away. There is one word she said without fault : "Acchan"!
They bowed ...

That is enough. God, these mercies are enough for me. He lowered himself to the cot. After fooling people with a clear sky, is the storm coming back with a growl? Roar in the ears and the surroundings. The whole building shook and trembled. It was God's mercy that it waited till the plane landed.

"Who is trampling about?"
"Why are you crying, Daddy."
He got up startled.
"Who said that?” You” Or you?”

Move away. Nobody need support me. Why should I fall? Why should I cry? Keep out of my way, he said to himself.
In order not to lose it, he held close to the mind a form, leaning and touching the feet.
May you prosper. May you prosper.
Who is murmuring? Who is sobbing there?
In the bed, he turned his face to the wall. From the room, the roar of the wind slowly moved away into the distant seas. In the sea, the dance of the storm. A demon with pieces of bones hanging from his hips. A crown with horns. A demon trampling above the deep blue sea. In his hands, plucked out stars.
Lo! The black waves have drowned the faded blue of
the picture drawn, earlier. He closed his eyes praying that at least this will not fade away when he wakes up.