A Boy At the Airport, by Paritosh Chandra Dugar

I see him carrying a bottle of packed flavored milk, a newly bought paperback Pebbles of Wisdom, a smart phone with plugged in earphones, and an air of snobbish complacency. He sits on the chair just opposite ours at the airport. Still thirty minutes for boarding to begin. Enough time for me to enjoy watching that young man. The first thing he did was open the book. But I hated the way he did that. He twisted the cover page cruelly as if he were to throw away the Wisdom after use. The use and throw kind of thing, I mean. His cruelty hurt me. He turned over a few pages of the book casually and looked around with an air of superiority. Maybe he felt himself wiser than others. Then he put on the earphones and began to jerk his head rhythmically. Then he picked up the bottle that, I guess, would have cost him twenty times more than the city market and a threat to his health. He opened it by removing the plastic seal. He looked around, this time, to see if he was being noticed. And quickly he threw away the plastic seal on the right side of his chair. What an education!