THE SILENCE THAT GREW LOUD IN ME

NCE on a flight from somewhere to Delhi, I sat comfortably in my usual aisle seat, having long outgrown the youthful urge to sit by the window.

- RENUKA NARAYANAN

The window seat, I had grown to realise, was strategically a bad move. This time, the middle seat beside me was empty, and I closed my eyes in relief. I looked forward to some elbow room and no threat of a possibly smelly, uncouth passenger beside me for the next two-and-a-half hours, an all-too-common occurrence nowadays.

An argument two rows ahead made me open my eyes. A rough, unkempt man was having loud words with the air hostess about a seating mix-up. She looked at the empty seat next to mine, clearly intending to send the man there. I froze in horror. Meeting her eyes, I rolled mine and gave the faintest shake of my head. Her lips twitched slightly, and she led him away to an empty seat elsewhere. When she passed by me before take-off, I discreetly murmured, 'Thank you'. She smiled, shaking her head, as if to say, "No problem". The wonderful yet sad thing about this encounter was the instant understanding that silently passed between two Indian women, even across generations, that some men were best avoided.