Of cornflakes and bread

On January 1st 1892, the Ellis Island, topologically positioned on the mouth of the Hudson River, was swarmed with immigrants from Europe. Never would have Annie Moore, the first immigrant through the Ellis Island, realized that her ribbon-cutting would set the pace for millions to come to the Land of opportunities, decades later. Come August, the holy month of Indian Independence, scores of raw talent leave the shores of the Indian soil, on an 8000-mile sojourn, with great hopes of metamorphosing their dreams from a slithering caterpillar to a soaring butterfly.

Done with the check-in, as we turn around with a hanging pouch and clinging cabin bag, to mentally photograph the waving and blessing parents and friends, we have set the clock of longing to tick. Walking through the maze to get to our seats, the moment of anticipation ends with the old couple as our co-passengers. Obligingly, we take the window seat, only to realize how big a mistake it was, when we dash our away into the restroom of the transit airport and spend 1 hour, only to be stalled by the megaphone auctioning our name for the last time to our final destination.

After another grueling 10 hours of being cornered in a 3x3 feet space, bored of watching the rerun movies, munching fruits and leaves like cows, as we touch the tarmac of the land of opportunities, a dint of our homeland and our people flash by in a flicker. Our emotional rollercoaster is subdued by our sudden adrenaline surge of not being able to locate our pickups. Sensing our new sneakers, crumpled new jeans and flashy T-shirt, with a disappointment writ all over the face, for misinterpreting our name for a girl, a casual hand picks up our luggage and says “Dude, let’s go.” Right there, we have taken our first step to our dreams, on the paths of Issac Asimov and Albert Einstein.