Time Flies

Hmmm three months already and not a word to say. Maybe this should be a blog about not writing a blog at all. My mind is numb right now...so perhaps its best I stick to my latest wasted opportunity. Early morning tuesday, I hop onto the red eye shuttle flight for Lahore. Trying to read my "script" for the oncoming meeting and concentrating on people boarding. The usual droll collection of characters- corpulent businessmen, mna's, mpa's and polyester clad people doing their best to look desperately busy. One has to add a sense of drama to an early morning flight. There HAS to be something about waking up in the freezing cold at 6 am, to catch a shuttle at that ungodly hour.

And then he walks in. Mr Greek God. Ooozing (note the extra "o") confidence from every pore. Steps right in with a swagger. And when I say swagger, I mean swagger. He sports the ubiquituous Vandyke (what DID Pak men do with their chins before ? ) tight jeans, a cool top and one of those dumb wireless things clipped to his ear, transmitting his telephone from wherever he'd secreted it. Sits three rows ahead so I get the near perfect view of his nape. And there it ends. Or almost

Cut to the next day. 8pm. Time to catch the evening shuttle back. El Greco (with the Vandyke!) arrives yet again. Madly enough the swish earpiece is still on, the blue light on it throbbing with mysterious intensity. We go through the same boarding routine. Embarking, I think, they call it. Zorba carries only carryon luggage. A Hugo Boss suit cover and some other small pieces which can be stowed (don't you just lurve airline jargon) in the overhead compartment. Anyhow, he struts the aisle for a bit and then plonks himself next to me. And what do I do for the next thirty minutes of enforced constrainment in the tiniest seats on earth - where physical intimacy is thrust upon one perforce. Nothing. Zilch. Nada. I continue to read my book as though I am used to reading esoteric philosophy while sitting adjacent to the Gods. We arrive. I get up to push through. And then he utters his first words to me" I'm sorry I'm holding you up, but I have stuff at the back." And me (voice cracking for what its worth) blurt out "Don't Worry". Or something equally flaccid. We exchange a brief look. And that's it. Not quite F Scott Fitzgerald. Its life ...or something like it.