We began looking for the metro station entrance to take us to the airport when a young man approached us.
“Where are you going?”
His arms were shaking with visible agitation.
“To the airport.”
“Oh, that’s what I thought. Well, you can’t go to the airport here.”
“It looks like it does.”
I showed him my map and pointed.
“The train goes under Connaught Place, but it doesn’t stop, and there’s no station. You must go to Shivaji Stadium first. One kilometer.”
Then he walked away.
At Shivaji Stadium, men and women had separate security checks.
I went through my line without delay, but Dani couldn’t go through hers. The “girl checker” had gone on break, and no woman could enter the station until she returned.
~
Thirty minutes later, we sat on the train zooming to the airport. I familiarized myself with our itinerary as we traveled and checked the time.
I checked the time.
“It’s ten now. We’ll get to the airport at ten-thirty… and the flight boards at eleven-thirty.”
“We don’t have time for this.”
Dani stayed calm.
When the doors slid open, I grabbed her hand and ran from the metro station to the adjoining terminal.
~
“You’re late!”
The woman at the ticket counter looked at us disapprovingly.
“Your plane’s doors will close in thirty minutes. I think you should run. Gate 1 to Guangzhou. Go!”
We ran—but the airport had other plans. The security line stretched across the terminal, stalled and unmoving.
“Sorry. Our plane leaves in half an hour. Can we cut in front of you?”
The man at the back turned.
“Of course. I’ve been in your place before.”
We asked again, and again, moving forward one person at a time.
At the front, the line stopped mattering.
The security worker patted us down, paused, repeated himself, then waved us through.
Dani grabbed her backpack. Mine never came out. I’d watched it enter the X-ray machine, but now the belt was empty.
The security worker pointed to a table behind the counter.
“Lighter.”
Then he opened the side compartment of my bag where I keep my camera accessories and pulled out a battery.
“This is for my camera.”
He scrunched his brow, then handed it to me, put my bag back on the table, and left.
“We don’t have time for this.”
Dani gave me a squeeze.
“We’ll
Five minutes later, the worker grabbed my bag.
Instead of handing it to me though, he put it back on the conveyor belt, behind the rest of the bags.
The people who had let us cut ahead passed me one by one, each offering a sympathetic glance.
They scanned my bag, then
When it finally appeared, I reached out to grab it, but the guard stopped me again: not allowed.
I had to wait until it reached the end of the conveyor.
It moves forward then backed up. Again and again.
And then we ran.
Tired, frantic, and overladen with backpacks, Dani couldn’t make it far.
“Leave me here!”
Her voice was coming in stifled bursts of exhaustion.
“Run on ahead of me … and hold the gate. I’ll be there … in a moment.”
As the gate numbers counted downward from 30, my heart rate rose.
Sweat dripped from my arms.
It covered my brow.
When I turned the corner to the last gate though, I saw no plane parked outside its window.
An attendant stood nearby.
I gulped oxygen and tried to steady my voice.
“Guangzhou?”
She returned a look of calm surprise.
“That plane isn’t for one hour.”
“Please, sir, sit down.”
My eyes found the clock hanging above the gateway entrance.
It read 10:40.
We had boarded the train in Delhi a mere forty minutes ago.
I turned around and walked to find Dani jogging at her turtle pace through the terminal.
I intercepted her and conveyed the good news.
Somehow, we had time.