Airport Encounters

My reader count has shot ominously since the last few days, ever since I started writing about nothing at all, nothing in particular. So its true then, the butterfly chasing, the giving up and then the sitting of the butterfly on thy shoulder story, or maybe I am just that awesome, that very popular but people are realizing it just now.

A few of you might have noticed that, I have begun quite a few posts in a similar way. For those who have- its called blogging license, I can do and write anything I like so just shut up and keep your comments to yourself, and those who didn't-lite lo and read on.

So as the title says, I'm going to relate some of my encounters with the fair sex. But as I am all out of them, just as I was 15 years ago, I'd rather keep it normal and tell you about a couple of funny incidents at airports.

Up until BITS, I had never travelled by plane. Well, actually there was this once when my mom was pregnant with me, but I didn't have much chance to screw up then. Though my 2 year old elder brother more than made up for it, by dropping hot coffee all over the unsuspecting airhostess. 

The first time, was after first year when I travelled by Kingfisher to Goa. I know most of you are smiling, and yes I too was smiling as I boarded the plane. But at the Delhi airport, which was my first look at one, I got into the wrong line and misguided around a dozen people behind me.

I arrived quite early had plenty of time to use the loo. For those who are curious and 'achambit', the best way to see how much money was spent building in a public building is to have a look at the loo, more specifically the urinals. The answer will probably be wafting in the air even before you reach it.

So basically I realized at the last moment, when the guy ahead of me asked how long it would take to reach the Gateway of India after we landed. So I hurried off and was the last in line. We were on schedule, but once I entered I could feel all eyes on me, as though it was a bus that would have left earlier had I not been late. I could hear whispers "yeahi hai woh, saala, jisne late karwaya." The plane had a stopover at Mumbai, and I had half a mind to get down, but somehow managed not to screw up.

The second time, I was again at Delhi airport. This time I had humungous luggage, weighing as much as 3 Kingfisher airhostesses put together. One is allowed 20 kg luggage, excluding hand luggage. When I put my luggage on the machine, it showed 33 kg, and she asked me to pay 900.

900, that's half the cost of the frigging ticket. But she wouldn't budge. I tried a few bargaining tricks, "C'mon ma'm, I am a student. Am going home after a year and a half and besides I don't have any cash." The !@#$% didn't budge, so I had to go back, open up the scanned luggage, and change my main luggage bag to my handbag and vice versa, and get it scanned all over again. It was dreadful, I was in Delhi airport, pulling out pieces of shorts, undergarments, socks and what not, and stuffing them into my so called hand bag.

Now this final "hand bag", looked as though it contained a dead body and I looked like one of those workers at a construction site, carrying around bags of cement. The security guys were all staring at me. One even said, "Bhai sahab, yahaan sirf hand bags allowed hain". Huffing and puffing and out of breath, I dropped my bad with a thud replied, "Yeh mera hand bag hi hai, hand mein hi hai na". 

The fun doesn't stop here. After the half hour wait, when the announcement was of the plane's arrival. I got in line, and the lady security guard stops me, and why? The guy who metal-detects you, and tidies you up later, hadn't stamped my boarding pass. She asked me to repeat the whole fucking process.

I had quarter of a mind, to argue. But the Sherpa lady guard, with a huge bun and a mole under her nose, looked like one of those rakshashis in Ramanand Sagar's Ramayana. So I obediently returned, to behind the metal detector. When I went forward, they asked me to go back and deposit the mobile so it could go through the scanner. Unbelievable! It was as though the bloody X-Ray scanner would scan all contacts, find possible links to the underworld and remove any chances of it being a bomb. 

My worst fear was that, if I sped to anything over a casual walk, chugging along this dead body,  moving against the line, I'd be mistaken for a suicide bomber and shot. Jaane tu ke climax mein saalon ne dikahaya hoga, saale abhi karke dikhao, goli se uda denge.

Now again I was late to board, and again those meaningless stares, "Yehi hai woh, yehi hai". 

Mostly, when you reach your seat, the airhostess helps you put your luggage in the upper compartment. But looking at my luggage, the bag of cement, she didn't even bother. So I somehow pulled it to the top, punched it gently a few times, after all kidney wagairah bachani thi na bechne ke liye. Finally reached, safe, sound and bruised.

No new post here.. but don't dismay

Sorry guys, there's not new post now. I have just updated my "Thank You Note"  http://inconvenienceregretted.blogspot.com/2008/11/thank-you-note.html

Times of Yore

Here I am again. Hope this is not too much trouble, and I hope you're not addicted. Because if you are, I'm here only a while longer, to be gone, not knowing when I'll return.

No, no, I'm not feeling psenti. Just random shit. Btw, my paper went fine. It was more of a test of my writing skill than actual factual recollection. If I write to the point, I'll fill only 5 lines, but its a 10 mark compre question, so I am obliged to call upon all my writing prowess and vocabulary skills and fill in 8 sheets. 

A simple sentence such as, "Valmiki authored Ramayana" is transformed into "According to historical evidence, which surprisingly conforms to local wives' tales as well as local heresay, one is brought to believe, however unlikely it may seem, that the immensely historically and philosophically important scripture of Ramayana, the story of the ideal man and his quest to hold his ideals dear to him, despite all obstacles was penned down by the great writer Valmiki with divine intervention and under the supervision of the Gods". So now you also know why I blog.

Leaving that aside, yes I am feeling a little psenti and spend a lot of time reminiscing. No, not about BITS, that would just bring tears to my eyes. I try and compare how much things have changed since school.

Remember, in school, we were made to wear washed, ironed and spotless uniforms, shiny black shoes with matching black socks, neatly combed hair and cut nails. And now?? Forget wearing clean clothes, I haven't bathed for a week, and my utterly stinking socks are lying right next to me. I have worn this same pair of socks this whole semester-placements, tea party, cricket, jogging and what not. My hair hasn't felt a comb in years, and my nails resemble claws.

Then I remember the note books. ohhhh, just the thought sends shivers down my spine. The books had to be covered with brown plastic covers, and neatly labelled, with an index. Red lines were drawn after each answer, double for names of lessons. The teachers used to correct each book... can you imagine!! each and every f***ing book. I seriously have trouble believing that. And at the end of the lessons stuff like, V. Good, or V.V. Good. The more Vs, the prouder I'd feel. Just a Good was just not good enough. 

And parents!! that part was seriously hilarious... every now and then, one weekend would be open house, wherein parents were called to receive their wards' report cards and hear their class teachers either complain about their son talking too much in class or not paying attention.

The best part was definitely the monitors. Everytime I remember this part,  just ROFLMAO. Each class had a class monitor, the syudent who stood first in class, who's job was to write down the names of the people who were talking... seriously man talking, not kissing or making out, just plain simple talking. And each added instance of talking would invite a cross next to your name. And the punishments, finger on your lips, kneel down, stand on the desk and murga ban. 

How much things have changed, forget having covered and corrected notebooks, or covered books, or even just books. Ab to xerox notes zindabad. Forget the Vs before the Good, as long as you're Av+ you're jumping for joy.

Parents aren't called for just report or rather grade cards. If parents are called in BITS, most come to know of what happenned reading the mess notice boards. Rest of the parents, the same one's who came every open house, could be congratulated if they know one course you're having this semester.

Monitors aren't selected, Presidents and General Secretaries are elected, with all dhoom and dhamaka. The punishments though less severe, are now nightmarish. I'd go through a hundred murgas, I'd kneel and walk like that from C'not to VK, if spared one meeting with you-know-who. 

Summer holidays with the family are now foreign internships. Anything at all to add one extra line to the resume. Talking of Basic Instint was taboo and now Jenna Jameson moans aloud all day all over Bhagirath Bhawan. Hand held video games used to excite, but now even NFS Undercover seems drab.

We have changed, a lot and seemigly for the better. But are you sure? There were meaningless rules then that we blindly followed and now we have this fake freedom, this 'independence' that we so take for granted. Then, we walked on paths that others had laid for us, and now that we're independent, we take predetermined paths to "success". Are these different???