Airborne
Yesterday morning I was at the airport at an unearthly hour. I had to discharge a social responsibility at short notice and I opted to take one of those low-price flights. The waiting hall resembled a ST Bus Stand. India seemed to be on the move. There just weren’t enough chairs for the teeming crowd. Paunchy men and obese women were tucking into burgers with an intensity that suggested the imminence of a famine. How people can eat so much at so early an hour is beyond the limits of my frugal comprehension. Babies bawled. Toilets were filthy. It was a relief to hear my flight’s boarding announcement.
The bus taking us to the plane traveled interminably. The driver appeared to be searching for our plane which was apparently parked in the remotest corner of the airfield. Halting the bus near the plane he sounded the horn several times, for no apparent reason other than the sheer joy of locating the plane. Some passengers showed an unusual haste to board the aircraft, the look of anxiety on their harried faces gave away their worry – the plane may have fewer seats than passengers and the late boarders might have to travel standing.
After a semblance of order had settled on the passengers and their over-sized luggage, the plane took off. Dawn was yet to break out. I had a seat by the window and next to me was a smelly young man. As soon as we were well and truly airborne, he pressed the button overhead to call the stewardess in the tight short skirt. He asked for water and she obliged him promptly and sweetly. The bottle was small, good enough for 3 gulps perhaps. Ten minutes later he summoned the girl again. Despite burying myself in a book, I started tracking his actions. He kept repeating this every ten minutes and in the 100 odd minutes of the flight he had a tidy collection of 10 bottles. Maybe he was quenching the fire in his belly. Or maybe he wanted to gaze at the baby faced stewardess, whose smile was getting increasingly plastic.
The rhythm of my co-passenger’s concerted action was interrupted only once when by the food cart arrived, rolled along the aisle by the two flight attendants. Though the airline kept referring to us as guests and not passengers, they asked money for the food they served. Athithis were not obviously Devas for this airline. I ruefully sipped a Rupee twenty instant coffee.
The beginning of the descent came all too soon, half an hour earlier than schedule. I felt cheated, for I wanted to see how much water my co-passenger can hold. As the aircraft was taxiing to the parking bay, the chief flight purser crowed into the PA system about how delighted he is to report the arrival earlier than scheduled because the airlines values our time. But the purser had spoken too soon for it took them 30 more minutes to deposit the Athithis in the terminal building.
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