Post-partum caregivers

After two weeks in my hometown during Mira's mid-semester break, I boarded an Emirates flight from Kochi. For a change, I opted for the window seat; aisle seat is my preferred seat as it gives me better freedom of movement and less claustrophobia. 

But I had not bargained for two older ladies as companions - women who were already in winter clothing appropriate for their destinations which were so bulky that it not only inconvenienced the wearer but me the neighbour. Its layered material encroached into my space while her feet in newfound shoes stole part of my leg space. 

Once I had finished admiring the skies and the land below, I turned to study the lady next to me. I surmised she was heading to meet her offspring most probably to help with her pregnancy. My sarcasm towards the kin of the new breed of Kerala immigrants to the West did not prevent me from helping her with her food tray. Her battle with the chettinad chicken biriyani further limited my space - she held akimbo the foil on her left hand as she attacked the chicken. A forlorn fork fell to the ground; I advised her to fetch it later as I didnt want her tripping the whole tray on me.

Once we had finished our meals, I decided to corroborate my findings. And boy! wasnt I right?!!. She was en route to Ireland to take care of her pregnant daughter whose due date was two days later. And her companion's daughter had given birth a day earlier. I only got her native place wrong. She hailed from Nagercoil and her friend from a town near Kochi; the latter seemed a little more flight savvy and English literate (enough to follow the cabin crew's queries). She had travelled all the way to Kochi airport instead of Trv airport to have a flight companion.

"This jacket is too hot," she told me as she removed it after her meal, revealing her dusky figure in  a green sari. I smiled sympathetically. 

But I wasnt prepared for the tale she narrated for the rest of our four-hour journey.  Her daughter was a nurse who migrated from Saudi to Ireland. She had worked as a daily labourer to bring up her three children after her alcoholic and abusive husband passed away. And no, this wasnt her first flight journey, she had been to Qatar to visit another daughter. 

Have you been to Dubai before? No, she said, though my son lives there. He has been incommunicado for the past three years. He lives there with his wife and child but doesnt call me ever. Her eyes moistened as she talked of her son. Her daughter had promised to take care of her. 

She kept talking until the place touched down in Dubai. I wished her all the best and went my way as she waited for the wheelchair to transport her to the connecting flight.. That is a ploy not only to  avoid the long walk inside dxb airport but also to navigate English illiteracy and related bottlenecks. 

Lives of people are more complex than we take them to be.