Life At Airports... II (With due apologies to Shri George Orwell) It is invariably the case around the globe, the time in hand at the airport is inversely proportional to the distance to the boarding gate. I was in one of those situations, carrying a modern man’s burden called laptop and my 94.3kg of mass. Huffing puffing, part dragging, part carrying my burden I finally managed to reach the gate. The gate was what I expected, very transparent and very closed. The gate was guarded by 2 men one in white and a one in Khaki who were smiling and talking to the passengers. Oh yes there was also a lady in Khaki who had taken a Bhishma Pratigya not to smile. Most airports are very considerate to have these excel configuration of chairs near the gates which are occupied by men and women, who don’t look like they came here to go somewhere. I found myself one of those chairs and got my behind to rest on it. I knew from my past experience the metallic contraption called jet plane was not going to budge without me. The line grew longer, women with kids and 3 over sized cabin luggage, distinguished looking crooks with nothing but an iPad or a pinkish looking newspaper, young men who have shut off the world with the oversized ear plugs which definitely did not match their hair style, PYTs with one of their arm in right angle with an oversized bag with a vaguely familiar emblem dangling from it. The most attractive of the whole lot were the Groucho Marx, who preferred to stomp away than to use one of the chairs. I was just about cooling off after my huff and puff when the metallic voice crackled and announced something in English, repeated it a few times, though my superior intelligence ensured that I had got it on the third repeat. The gate has been changed and we have to go to another gate. Quite a few chose to break the line and either ask or curse or argue or just watch while the others did one or the other. I remained seated, I was not going to budge at least not so soon. I knew the gate was on the other side of the airport, which means one had to climb stairs, purely because they have a one way escalator that comes down, a walking distance which is measured by the burden one is carrying, go down an escalator, go around the smoking cubicle, down another escalator, lastly a small walk mostly because one can see the gate number as soon as the last tumble of the stairs happen. I stayed rooted to my seat and watched every one including some of my fellow lazy bums who were on the chairs. I decided to call one of my imaginary girlfriends and start a conversation. The best part of the conversation was she spoke I listened and she made promises to meet me, I promised to find time for her. The promise made me realise that maybe I should get going since the gate was not likely to come to me. I started the journey, when I reached the Gate I found no one except another white shirt and a scowling khaki shirt. I walked and asked. “Delhi flight”? The white one pounced at me. Where were you... The rest of his sermons I choose not to hear. He then told me. The bus has left, if I call a bus for you the flight will get late, I will take you in my van. Few minutes later, I got into a van and a crackling walkie talkie, all through and we reached the jet plane to see the Pilot the Airhostess and the ground crew standing at the doorway glaring at me. I profusely apologised and walked into the aircraft to see the whole cabin empty. I looked back at the crew and asked, is this the Delhi flight? The airhostess gave me a curt; Yes and the Pilot interjected; we are still wondering what happened to the rest of the passengers? The 2 busses with 2 busloads of passengers which had left some 25 minutes earlier were lost somewhere in the dark tarmac and there was a flurry of activity on the ground as I waited at the aircraft door looking out as bewildered... Finally they did locate the bus and its load of passengers somewhere and guided it back to the right bay, with some highly decent and profound expletives.
Posted on: Tue, 06 May 2014 11:55:47 +0000
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