The Thing About Pravash
The thing about Pravash is he cannot sit still when his friends need something.
We were at Bhubaneswar airport on an April evening, waiting for Woodward and Rishaw’s flight from Meghalaya. Me, Pravash, Bidura. The three of us had been in the same wing of Akash Bhawan at IGIT Sarang between 1997 and 2001 — the same corridor, the same noise, the same bad mess food. Bidura had arranged everything properly for the reception: aluchap, bara, samosa, ghuguni, the full Odia evening spread. He had also brought flowers. One bouquet for Woodward’s wife, one for Woodward’s son, one for Rishaw. Bidura is a senior officer at the Airport Authority of India, so our Thar was parked right at the main arrival lane — a small thing, but when you are waiting for people you haven’t seen in twenty-five years, small things feel large.