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Feb 22, 2023Liked by Nishant Jain

I’m in the black jumper, standing next to the cellist, who seems to be trying to fit a whole bag of Malteasers into his mouth (all at once).

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Tiny Airport Story

The girl with the backpack cringed, and wished she'd asked a rather less exuberant person than Loud Pointing Lady in Shades for directions to the loo. Next time, she resolved, she'd just risk getting lost.

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Such a great post, Nishant! I really enjoyed getting to know your tiny airport people.

Might I pick you up on something, though? Please don't kill time: time exists to be relished, filled and enjoyed. So spend it, don't kill it! You'll be glad you did. 😊

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Grounded: White space, low hum. Her suitcase, an appendage.

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I once asked a guy to guard my luggage at the railway, as I went to the washroom. I slipped and fell in the washroom and took about 30 mins to return. I was scared for the life in me that he must have left and the luggage would be stolon. I returned to find him standing.

He had his train 10 mins ago, so i asked him of the train got delayed.

He replied that he sold his ticket to someone else and bought a new one 2 hours later, so that no one stole my luggage!

Absolute Chad. I love public transport.

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Feb 22, 2023Liked by Nishant Jain

I love the fact that you and I were apparently at Heathrow at the same time last Sunday – me flying back to the U.S. after a great week of vacation in London. I like to think I might be in this drawing: I had arrived at the airport early and filled my time by writing out a bunch of postcards to friends far and wide. I was distracted by the incredible people-watching - and eavesdropping – opportunities: I must have heard a dozen different languages in the hour I sat outside Caffè Nero. I might be the figure at the lower right, his rollerbag in front of him...

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Just love your people I am always saying goodbye to my family at airports

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I was once dropped off by a cab at the Mumbai Airport, right after reading Katharine Boo’s book Behind the Beautiful Forevers. I was freaked out by the book (about life in the slums right outside that airport), by the chaotic crowds, by the gathering dusk, and by my cultural alienation from it all. Then I showed my business-class ticket to an airport employee, and I was suddenly whisked past the crowds and into a cocoon of snack trays, quiet, lounge chairs, and endless g&ts served up by smiling waiters. My position in the world became distressingly clear, and I was embarrassed and relieved in equal measure. I knew the slums were out there, a quarter mile away, but they may as well have been on Mars for all the effect it had on me. And not in a good way at all.

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