6 raised to 4 seconds. A precise 100 times this time had passed. The need for food was beginning to supersede the need for a seat on a plane. Any plane. Listeners were at attention, gatherers on cue. Tribes that had pledged alliance with SpiceJet were being showered with blessings and food boxes at timely intervals. The Great God didn’t seem as much pleased with those of the Jet Airways clans. The rumbling of stomachs and munching from neighboring clans were the only sounds the ill-fated Air India battalion heard.
Once upon a few days back voyagers, food earners, travelers, and family men, were caught unawares in the peninsula of the Chennai Airport. The wrath of God brought down showers which first seemed to be a playful sprinkle of frolic but soon seized all their modes of transportation and aspirations in its clutches. Beasts that once flew, slicing the high skies into ozone and low zone, stood at the parking bays on runways. Their nose bent down, their knees buckling, their wings begging for shelter.
The rains had turned the beasts timid and the men ferocious. The limited resources on the now turned island were depleting. High ceilings, Wi-Fi connections and luxurious seating were not filling stomachs. Clans that once remained in the vicinity of their castles, their boarding gates, began crossing. Scurrying. Bushes and flesh and cups of noodles started disappearing. 129600 seconds later, their most hidden possessions started surfacing. Tiffins of home made chapattis and chutneys and weird yellow spirals started exchanging hands, sometimes not even reaching the youngest of the family.
Listeners were at attention, gatherers on cue. The voice of God boomed over the Public announcement system. Every time, it led to a hustled excitement of one clan. Murmurs followed. The chosen clan displayed their badge of eligibility, their mark of authority and identity; their boarding passes. The other clans simply cursed, the voice of God and the neighboring clans getting their fair share.
The time of the day would now be guessed by the contents of the box of treasures. An idli could very well mean 8ish or 10ish. Chappatis stood for two hours past noon. Something sweet indicated that the wee hours of the day were in session.
Family men, priests, students, and writers, who once took pride in boasting about their caste or religion, were now identified by a different entity. Air Carriers had become the new religions, the Voice of God tipping the clans closer into communal riots.
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