The Suitcase
17th November 2025
5pm
Hyderabad international airport, belt number seven.
A mouse-colored suitcase drifts along the baggage carousel with silent mediocrity. Its zipper secured by a small, golden Godrej lock, vibrates as does the non-specific airline tag marked with its destination code. No fancy logo, no particular design, just a drab piece of luggage, its scuffed surface a testament to untold journeys. Inconspicuous, a spook of practicality, waiting, going round and round…
Its neighbor, a peacock blue Samsonite, displays its sheen. A jewel amid a jumble of quiet comrades. Its shiny, hard surface glows under the fluorescent lights. The smooth, sleek finish gives it a contemporary grace. Fine, soft grooves running across its surface like wrinkles in time.
They rotate on belt number seven.
The safari suitcase on the other side, sandwiching the Mouse between itself and the handsome Peacock, rests, its handles relaxed. An experienced traveler. It knows exhaustion. Its soft fabric body is navy blue with an artful grey piping along its droopy edges. The textured material is strong but pliant enough to accommodate last-minute additions. It is stuffed to capacity, its middle bulges like a pooch belly.
They all circulate on belt number seven. Clack… clack….
And then there are others. Dull-sheened, some stained, others tied with rope. Some suffocating in plastic baggage wrap. Some are festooned with stickers from offices in distant lands. Others are war-wounded with a missing wheel, a handle hanging askew, a patched-up flap.
One by one, they are claimed. Pulled off the carousel, loaded onto squeaky trolleys which move sideways on unsteady wheels.
The airport remains busy. More landing and taking off.
Mouse goes round and round. Clack… clack… clack…
A quarter of an hour goes by.
Just Mouse and a cardboard carton of mangoes in a plastic tub.
Round and round. Clack… clack… clack….
Mouse lies rotated now. Checked by someone on one of its circulations
One last rotation of bags regurgitates onto belt number seven.
A khaki duffle bag, slouches like a brooding hen. A soft canvas traveler bag, its straps tied together with the half-undone magenta ribbon. An army sleeping bag, its cylindrical shape reinforced with stitching along the seams. More luggage follows.
A full flight.
Another quarter of an hour passes.
The airport is busy.
Footfalls echo. Announcements blare. Children cry. Security yawns.
Clack… clack…
Belt number seven empties …except for Mouse and mangoes.
An hour goes by.
The belt has stopped.
A man in uniform approaches, clipboard in hand.
Another joins him. They eye the suitcase.
The mango tub is pulled off first.
The man reaches down for Mouse.
The lock blinks gold.
A soundless pause.
And then,
Mouse detonates.
The carousel shatters.
Steel shrieks.
Flames rise like curtains at a hellish theatre.
The terminal erupts in a feral bloom of lashing sparks and shrapnel.
Glass implodes.
Bodies lift and scatter in fragments.
Trollies are flung like comets.
Mangoes combust into flaming paste.
A minute passes
Silence falls.
Ash whispers and rains.
The arrivals board flickers on rotation, square pixels dangling.
Holes left behind.
Mouse has claimed the airport.
Discipline.
Café Marina hummed with early evening activity until a family of five marched in. Three kids bouncing like pinballs, parents smiling with blind confidence which said: they’ll settle down once the food comes.
The eldest immediately began sword-fighting with breadsticks. The middle child discovered the merry-go-round of the revolving door, restricting entry to bewildered customers. The youngest, barely tall enough to see over the table, dumped a saltshaker into his glass of water and announced, “Potion!” before offering sips to strangers.
When the waiter arrived with menus, the kids lunged at him like paparazzi, tugging his apron, demanding pizza, fries, and “ice cream FIRST.” One crawled under a neighboring table and emerged with a lady’s handbag. Another climbed onto the buffet counter, shrieking, “I’m king of the chicken wings!”
The parents, unbothered, sipped quietly on their soups. “They’re just… spirited,” the mother said proudly, as the youngest attempted to stir her soup with a fork and a straw simultaneously.
By the time the family left, the restaurant looked like it had hosted a food fight championship. Waiters leaned against walls, breathless, like survivors of a natural disaster. The manager muttered, “Next time, we charge them a cleaning fee instead of a service charge.”
***
Children thrive on discipline. It is more than correcting misbehavior, it sets boundaries that build self-control, respect, and responsibility. Consistent discipline teaches life skills like empathy, problem-solving, and sound judgment.
Parents must be role models, as children mimic adult behavior. Discipline helps them pause before acting, consider consequences, and make thoughtful choices, while fostering cooperation and respect. Accountability builds independence, resilience, and success in both relationships and academics.
Effective discipline is not harsh punishment but guidance: consistency creates security, positive reinforcement motivates, and communication makes rules meaningful. Discipline should match a child’s age and temperament, firm structure in early years, shared responsibility in adolescence.
Balance is vital: too much strictness stifles, too much freedom weakens self-control. With love and respect, discipline shapes character and prepares children for life’s challenges.
Start early. A toddler cannot dictate family rules—refusing showers, preventing you from speaking on the phone, or monopolizing your attention. If this sounds familiar, pause and reset. Children must learn boundaries while young and impressionable. It is our duty to raise socially conscious, well-trained humans.
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Mumbai, Maharastra
dheera_k@hotmail.com
