To hell with surprises.

Salman Khan died in car accident on the wall mounted t.V  and the lady on Versace perfume hoarding went into an orgasm face. An Air India jet hauled at the doorway  as the Merry Xmas song kept repeating on the speakers.


''How are you feeling ?" an sms popped on my cell phone. I chose not to respond. I wanted to say, "I am batman...."

A passing airliner made a pattern on the window. The silhouette of a cleaning staff against the bright window with an airliner beyond made a perfect Hollywood frame.
He mopped the floor in the slow rhythm of a music composer nonchalant about the hullabaloo of the passengers, the planes and the monophonic Merry Xmas.

"Where are you ? " another sms. I want to reply that I am flying back home. I wish I could record a John Denver 'leaving on a jet plane' and reply the message. i chose to ignore again because if I did i would spoil the surprise.

  Vigorously I took out a novel from my bag to read but I  knew I cant focus. The music in the lobby changed to an epic movie theme. The cleaner had vanished as I looked up. Salman Khan is a ghost now.

Once on the streets of Muhammad Ali Road a kid tried to sell me 'Attar'. A strong smelling homemade perfume. I brought it then since it was cheap. I suddenly remembered the scent. Out of the blue a random street scent filled the lobby.

"Please respond" i got another message on my cell phone.

The monotonous lady made an announcement unclear yet crisp. A Marathi woman kissed her child right in front of me. A tamilian blasted his wife on the phone. Another airplane made a pattern on the window.

"I am coming home :-) :-)" i responded to the message, switched off my cell phone.

To hell with surprises.