A Bird in the Sky

It is five in the afternoon and I am on another flight that has just taken off. Ten years back this would have been unthinkable. The children were young and travel meant taking the first flight out into a city, pushing yourself through the day and work done, hoping to catch the late night return.

The children have now grown up and (much as one would like to deny) the years have caught up with me. The family is more indulgent about me taking an afternoon flight out, a relaxed evening drink at a club in Mumbai or Delhi and thereafter a quiet meal ( in either of these cities you are spoilt for choice). 

As the seat belt signs are switched off the mind wanders back to at least two decades of hectic travel and flights one has lost count of. Some incidents stay and typically catch up with you on odd flights like this one. I feel a trip down memory lane in my bones and stop to capture the memories.

In the early nineties, choice was still limited to mainly the National carriers - good old Indian Airlines. They had these lovely planes plying between the major metros - the Airbus. At the centre were the four seaters and a very early or late flight was more or less empty. As soon as the seat belt signs went off, you pushed back the armrests, asked for a blanket and caught a neat snooze. As a regular you invariably had a matronly air hostess recognise and take care of you. In a sales job, you had the benefit of free ticket offers on their international flights to Thailand & Singapore (Malaysia onwards by road). The latter was a true incentive for the hubby and we took many memorable short breaks to the Far East.

Let alone empty flights, Kolkata or Calcutta (still CCU) did not not have very heavy crowds at the airport and relationships were easy to forge. Our good friend Raju Virmani at the bookstore could be counted upon to ensure you never missed a flight. No paranoia about gates closing 45 minutes before take-off or SMS reminders to reach the airport 2 hours prior to departure or face dire consequences. This last bit actually irks, especially when you are taking a 45 minutes flight to nearby Ranchi !

The era of private Airlines - Modiluft, Damania, Spanair, Sahara and the King(fisher) of good times - brought its share of excitement. From free drinks onboard to miniature cricket bats and fancy travel pouches, they wooed us with their freebies. On some we lost our hard earned mileage points (as a colleague puts it his much planned Europe tour with family). 

Amidst all this, you recall fellow travellers, some of whom have become friends or business associates over the years. One time it was a celebrity, sitting paranoid next to me and clutching her meditation beads during take-off and landing (despite, as she confessed with a wry smile having to take a flight every week).  Another time became a story-telling session for a nine year old, intrigued with the squiggles in Saint Exupery's The Little Prince and wanting to know what I was reading. A city entrepreneur, once whipped out sachet packs of Nivea cream (their Sole Selling Agent) in business class and I learnt you could ask for Tabasco sauce with your omelette. 

My singular experience, however, was a flight I took out of a city airport in the Western part of the country. I reached the airport, confident that my wait-listed position of one meant a certain confirmation. On being told it was a full flight I was standing around with a sense of loss when a very confident gentleman strode up to the counter, pulled out a wad of cash for his ticket and boarding pass. With quick presence of mind, I insisted that I be given preference over him. Both of us were asked to standby for further instructions. Much to my surprise, I found the flight was announced, passengers boarded and it took off. My new friend and I waited, even while the airport store shutters were brought down and obviously all flights were off for the day. A while later, we were ushered to an extremely small plane (11 seater or so). Three strangers (the pilot, the purser and this gentleman) and I boarded and we took off. I then learnt that the owner of the airlines had relocated from Nigeria. He owned a couple of planes for personal use but when licensing for private airlines opened up grabbed an opportunity to commercialise. The flight we had boarded had actually faced a technical snag, which was attended to at this local airport. However, fitness to fly certificate could only be issued at Mumbai Airport. So, here we were, taking a commercially unscheduled flight into Mumbai. On returning the following day to Kolkata, I realised that as an unlisted traveller, had anything gone wrong, I would have been lost without trace. At the airport, that evening, the only thought on my mind was - work over I had to go home to my six-weeks old son at the earliest.

The wonder is that no matter how many flights I take, the sight of dark hovering clouds beneath, with lightening flashes or the aerial view of city lights as you approach touchdown always makes my spirits soar. Every homecoming has a sense of anticipation, as though a new beginning. For now, I ready to switch off my electronic device and as the flight descends into Mumbai city, I weigh my options for dinner.