Missed Connection - The Chronicle of A Strange Adventure ..

I noticed her the moment I entered the near empty hotel lounge bar. A white girl with shoulder length auburn hair, slight built and a very pleasant face. Even at the height of a bitter winter she was tastefully dressed. Knee high boots, dark blue jeans, a white turtle neck sweater under a leather jacket. In the seat next to her lay an overcoat, muffler, gloves and a cap, the standard ensemble of a wintery Europe. She was reading a book and looked up as I passed her by and made my way to a seat at the further side of the room and settled down. As I stole a look back to her, I saw her look back at me. My heart skipped a beat. Literally. Her face looked very familiar, someone I seemed to have known for years but couldn’t place. Where did I know her from? I did travel to Germany a few times in past; did I know her from work? Nothing clicked. She looked about 25-26 years old, a little younger than me. Even from the distance I saw her regard me with her hazel eyes with a mildly curious look. I did the most natural thing when an attractive lady stares at you; I nodded and gave her a smile. She smiled back in return. That smile was the start of an amazing journey that I find it hard to believe really happened even today.

I debated with myself for years on whether to write about this strange adventure. Would this open uncomfortable questions, disbelief, even a snide remark or two? In fact, till today, I am not sure I recollect exactly what had happened that night, and much less why. However when last winter I received a short email from a sender in Germany – She is no more. Thought you might wish to know – I made up my mind that I shall write down what I remembered of the Otto Schnee affair. The others involved in the story have read the manuscript and have given their agreement.

As a frequent traveler there is nothing that puts my rhythm out of gear like a missed connection. But when the flight from Chicago to Frankfurt, lifted off a couple of hours late that winter about eight years ago, I knew there was no way I was going to be able to make it to the connecting flight to Bangalore. The flight landed in FRA under near gale condition. By the time I got into the Terminal 1 building it was obvious that the gale was getting worse. As I entered the terminal through the aerobridge there was an airline staffer waiting outside with a sign with my name on it, he guided me to a counter. The flight to Bangalore had long left and there was no chance of getting into an alternative flight. However they were ready to put me up in a hotel not far from the airport. They also gave me some vouchers to buy food and drinks at the hotel, a calling card and a boarding pass for the next day.



Tired, crestfallen I made my way out of the immigration chaperoned by the same guy who had met me at the aerobridge onto a waiting car. It was already around six when the car slowly pulled out, with only me as the passenger, for the hotel. The hotel turned out to be a small inn sort of place, quaint and pricy. Not the usual business hotel that I had expected. In any case the airline was paying. But why was I the only Bangalore bound passenger there, there must have been other who missed their connection? Perhaps the airline had put them in other hotels and gave the matter no further thought. After checking in to my room and making a few calls I decided to go down to see if I could get something to eat. I was tired and famished. And as I entered the lounge bar I saw her.

The lounge was dimly lit and remarkably empty; I was there, the girl seated at a coffee table with its own reading light, a couple of Turkish-Arabic looking guys far away near a fireside, an elderly white man nursing a drink and an expressionless bartender. Trophies from game hunting hung around the room giving it a strange air. I have never subscribed to the notion of killing animals as a sport.

I found myself a seat, kept my things and walked over the counter to get myself a draft. While passing back I flashed a smile again at the girl and she smiled back wide. Slightly inviting without being crass. So I kind of tarried a bit around her table and made an opening remark about the beastly weather. She closed her book and in a very slightly German accented English said, “Terrible, isn’t it. Have you missed your connection?” She had a nice voice. I looked at her again, I still couldn’t shake the feeling that I had known her from somewhere but for the life of me couldn’t place.

“Yes, I missed my flight”, said I

“Me too. ”

“But I see you have Mr. Kant to keep you company”, I noticed Kant’s famous face on the cover of the book she was reading.

“Oh! You know about Immanuel Kant”, for the first time looking genuinely interested in making conversation. Well, that was my cue. I immediately took the seat across and assumed a very philosophical expression. “He is one of my favorites, I find his Critique of Pure Reason, perhaps one of the epochal philosophical works.” I lied effortlessly.

My father was a fan of Kant and had his books at home which is how I recognized Kant’s picture and my father would sometime discuss Kantian philosophies with his friends at home from where I had some rudimentary understanding.

“Oh Yes! But there is so much more to Kant,” her eyes shone as spoke, “His invention of critical philosophy, notion of moral autonomy as central to humanity, his theories on God are equally amazing”.

I nodded sagely as she spoke nonstop for twenty minutes on intricacies of Kant’s philosophies as I struggled to keep up. Once in a while I would take a sip of the bitter brew in my hand, grimace and get back to the conversation. In between, I also learnt was that her name was Alexandra Schnee, like me she was also a Computer Engineer and had a deep interest in philosophy, both western and eastern.

Never before have I been so impressed, so quickly with any girl. And it was not simply because she was the first and thus far the only girl who could expound on philosophy and leave me speechless, nor was it because she spoke with so much passion and scholarship, and certainly not because of her striking good looks. It seemed to be a much deeper connection, it was almost as if I was speaking to someone who was a reflection of every good thought I ever had. Heaven help me, but the feeling I got while speaking to her was like the feeling I get when I and my younger brother have philosophical discussions, where we both know that every word, every thought we speak automatically resonates with the other and long explanations are never necessary, just the essence of the thought is enough.

“By the way, I am even more impressed of your Swami Vivekanda.” Well, I thought, that was a more familiar territory. However before I could start my speech on Swamiji, she asked, “What are you drinking..” I pointed at the tap with a sad face. “Well, you obviously don’t like it. Wait I will fix you a drink.”

I quickly took the chance to go to the wash room to dab my face with water. All the Kant stuff had gotten me quite drowsy. When I came back to my seat, she already had two tall glass of fizzy red drink waiting.

“What is this?”

“Grandma’s secret cocktail,” she said with a slight smile, “You will like it”

It was heavenly, tasted a little like the famous Singapore Sling, and I took rather big gulps. A little strong too, I started to think as suddenly my head started to swim. “Alexandra..” I started as I felt myself slumping forward, grazing the side of the table and falling to the floor. My eyes were open, but limbs immobile and brain sluggish. In a daze I saw that the Turkish looking guys were coming toward where I lay … to help I thought, as did the elderly gentleman whose presence I had forgotten completely.

However instead of sprinkling my face with water, the two guys held me on two sides and pulled up to my feet. I sensed Alexandra quickly wrapping my jacket around me as the elderly man shouted something in German. The bartender quickly opened a door somewhere behind the counter and the two man half carried half dragged me out of the door down a flight of stairs. I wanted to scream in protest but no word would come out. I could sense the elderly man and Alexendra right behind us. Were these the kidney thieves that I always read about and never believed? Would I find myself in a bathtub somewhere with both kidneys gone… these were the thoughts that were swirling in my head when finally we reached outdoors and the cold hit my face full blast. I must have passed out for a few moments because when I came to, I was still being dragged across the snow to a waiting black van. I remember thinking at that time that – Driving in such a blizzard was a sure suicide…

I was deposited inside the van, shivering uncontrollably. Alexendra got up besides me and the elderly man took the wheels.

As the car started moving, I slumped back into my seat passed out completely ….