Free Finding Arun by Marisha Pink

sir.’
     

 
TEN
     
    DESPITE his experience of changing planes in Mumbai,
nothing could have prepared Aaron for the pandemonium that ensued
when he tried to escape the clutches of Biju Patnaik Airport. The
queues were long and disorderly, the crowds hot and bothered in
equal measure, and the staff slow and inefficient. To make matters
worse the terminal building appeared to be undergoing significant
expansion works, which only served to add to the noise and dirt
already being whipped around the concourse by the powerful ceiling
fans. Aaron was agitated and fatigued by the whole ordeal and
having already been subjected to extensive security checks in
Mumbai, he simply couldn’t fathom what remained for officials to
inspect.
    He was severely dehydrated and desperately needed a
drink, but a quick glance around the concourse revealed no trace of
a water fountain. His face dripped with sweat as the bodies packed
tightly around him further compounded the heat already trapped by
the thick tracksuit bottoms that he had stupidly worn for comfort.
He was certain that his body was beginning to emit an unpleasant
odour, but it was nothing compared to the pungent fragrances
emanating from those closest to him, the smell a telltale sign of
the lack of antiperspirant use. The queue inched forward and Aaron
shuffled along hopefully, but after only a few paces things had
ground to a halt again. He sighed loudly with exasperation, causing
a few passengers to cast disapproving looks in his direction, but
Aaron no longer cared. He had been travelling for almost
twenty-four hours and all he could think about was getting out into
the city, not least because he still faced a train journey before
he would finally arrive in Puri.
     
    When he eventually stepped out into the morning heat
of Bhubaneswar a few hours later, there was barely time to take in
the surroundings before taxi and rickshaw drivers trapped him in a
tight, impenetrable circle. The men shouted over each other,
gesticulating wildly as they vied for his attention and his
business, all equally desperate to secure his custom in their
questionable-looking vehicles. They called out ridiculous-sounding
fares to unfamiliar places, trying to second-guess where Aaron was
headed, and though their rivalry seemed amicable enough, it was
difficult to gauge whom to trust. In their holey shirts and faded
slacks, brown skin blistering in the early morning heat, it was
evident that each driver’s enthusiasm was merely the start of a
long day of hustling unsuspecting arrivals in order to make ends
meet. One overzealous driver even tried to wrestle the backpack
directly from Aaron’s shoulders and, though it unnerved him at
first, ultimately he had to laugh at the chaos apparently inherent
in every Indian activity.
    After a little bartering and pitting the men against
one another, Aaron was able to agree a reasonable fare with a
stumpy, honest-looking driver, who quickly relieved him of his bags
and shuffled off towards the car before Aaron could change his
mind. Aaron had to move fast to avoid losing sight of the small man
in the crowds and, grateful to escape the mayhem, he began to push
his way past the throng of now disinterested drivers. By the time
he reached the battered silver saloon car, the driver had already
thrown his bags into the rear compartment and started up the
engine. Aaron slipped deftly into the back and, despite almost
burning his forearms on the scorching leather seats, the cooling
blasts from the air-conditioning came as a welcome relief.
    ‘First time coming in India?’ asked the driver
brightly, expertly guiding the taxi through the crowd to join the
long line of cars waiting to exit the airport compound.
    ‘Yes, yes it is.’
    ‘Where coming from you?’
    ‘From London, England.’
    ‘Ho, ho, London,’ exclaimed the driver, slapping the
steering wheel enthusiastically. ‘When I see you first, I think so
you are coming from India! Then after only I am seeing your