Is this flight going to take off?

Somehow, I find that I get the best opportunities to 'overhear' (or eavesdrop) the wierdest coversations ever at the airport. I don't know whether people try to show off what little they know or try to justify their existence on the flight. Well it could be a case of pure nervousness or fear of flying as well. Well, if I am nervous on a flight, I just try and be as stony faced as possible.

This flight of mine was from Hyderabad to Pune and it was one of those twin prop aircraft. For some reason or the other, this kind of flight freaks the hell out of me. Nothing to do with the stability or the smoothness of the flight. It just simply freaks me out. I have a seat beside the prop that makes it even more uncomfortable for me. I had arrived late at the airport and I am not much of a talker. So I won't say that I talked my way into the flight, it was a kind of pleading - bordering on begging, but the bottom line is that they let me in and I am going to say that I talked my way in pretty suavely.

The flight was empty and I am sure that because of the profuse sweating, the guy in the aisle seat beside me got up and moved in the front. His colleague was in the aisle seat beside me, but on the other side. So the airhostess has made her announcement and is walking down the aisle ensuring that people are not on their phones and everyone is tucked in for the late night flight. The aircraft is being moved backward to the point where it can start taxiing out and I lazily stare out at the propeller coming to full speed (slightly nervously). As the airhostess reaches my row, the guy in the aisle across, beckons her over.

"Yes Sir"
And I am not paying much attention, thinking that all he wants is a glass of water. He goes,
"Do you know that the propeller is not turning?"
The silence got louder!

The airhostess tells him, "Yes sir. but don't worry it will"
He says, "But the other one is."
She tries to pacify him saying, "That is because the plane is turning at the moment."
Which in my opinion didn't make any sense. If a bloke who thought that the plane would move with one propeller turning, didn't know that it would be pushed out, I am sure that he would not be altogether familiar with the mechanics of one propeller moving to turn the plane.

He pretends to understand, "Ah!"
Now glancing sideways, I can see by the look on his face that he is not totally convinced, and the airhostess is straightening up and starting to move forward.
In a desperate attempt of self reassurance he asks, "Both will turn right"
She smiles back, "Yes sir. Both will turn as we take off."

He leans back, she moves forward and I try and stem the flow of blood from my lip that I bit so hard so that I would not guffaw out loud!

Pilots should not be allowed to joke

I was standing at Hyderabad airport a week ago very groggy and waiting for the early morning flight to take me to Bangalore. I had a day meeting and a business dinner there. Waking up early in the morning was not my forte and not something that I wanted to do after two late nights in a row. I fell asleep promptly on getting into the taxi from my home to the airport, sleep talked my way though the check in procedure and dragged my feet through the security check. It is not a small wonder that I didn't forget my phone or my laptop at security. The moment I am in, I am like this drunken zombie, vacillating all over the terminal looking for my brown, heady beaned victim - a cup of coffee. I get my cup of coffee and stuff a sandwich into my bag for later and have just taken a sip, when I notice these two pilots standing beside me.

They are both having their wake-me-ups and looking very smart and spiffy in the morning. Made me feel like a hobo, but whatever! It was still early for me. If I wanted to look like that in the morning, I would have joined the armed forces. Pilot 1 is this smartly-dressed, well groomed pot-belied eastern European chap with a white french-beard and Pilot 2 is this cocky young lad sucking up to the old man and laughing at whatever he said.

Pilot 1: "I'll just finish up this cup and we'll go out for a smoke"

Pilot 2: "Yeah. That's fine. Take your time. The flight will wait for us (laughs)"

They then made up some conversation about the weather and that reminded them about some co-pilot of theirs.

P1: "Have you ever flown with Andy? (Name changed because I can't remember what it is)

P2: (Laughs) "Yes, I have"

P1: "That man is a nervous wreck. I don't know what happens to him on a flight."

Now I wasn't listening very intently and I assumed that they were just talking about some flight purser or someone from their office.

P2: (Laughs) Man I wish he'd stop trying to kiss so much ass. "Yeah. He gets totally nervous"

P1: "Nervous is not the word (use the Eastern European accent in your head. It makes it fun. If you don't know what an Eastern European accent is make it French, or Swedish or whatever non-American, Non-British accent you know). That man drives me nuts during a flight with all his fidgeting and shaking. Right from the take off, his hands shake and he starts sweating"

This is still not a cause for worry now. It technically can still be someone who is not a pilot.

P2: "Hard to imagine how that man became a pilot"

WHAT! I am praying that, Andy is not going to be flying my aircraft as I notice that the two of them are from the same airline that I am flying that morning.

P1: "I know! I tell you, that man scares the crap out of me. What with his sweating, shaking and fidgeting during the flight. He can't sit still for one moment. Drives the other person crazy as well."

P2: "But he is an ex-airforce pilot"

P1: "So what? I am an ex-airforce pilot as well"

Not a good statement if you are looking for analogies. Now I was hoping that these two blokes weren't flying my plane.

P2: "Perhaps he was shot down."

That did me in. Did the interview form say

Q1. Did you fly in the air-force?

Q2. If yes, how many times were you shot down?

Q3. Because of that do you suffer from nightmares and shell-shock?

All the way down to the flight, I was looking for the pilots who were to be flying the craft that I was in, to see if their name tags said Andy.

Once I was in the flight, I was relieved at first to not hear the same accent accounce "Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome aboard", but all I do was to analyse and think that if this was not those two blokes, then it might be Andy. And the flight was one of ATRs with the twin propeller. I hate those. So all in all a very unnerving experience made worse with all the time I had to think and analyse. Funny though. It kept me awake!

I would say...
1. Pilots should not be allowed to have coffee where there are passengers
2. Pilots should not be allowed to tell stories and joke

Paragliding in the Himalayas

I bet you all must be pitying me about my sad plight living in Bihar and now in Haridwar. But Haridwar seems to be pretty darn good. Well except for the fact that there is no Non-vegetarian food (Not even eggs) available for a radius of about 8km and there are no PYTs roaming around (Pretty young things – for all the ignorant). I live in the wilderness in the industrial belt in a place called Ranipur in Haridwar.

This weekend was a 2-day holiday for me. One of course was the usual Sunday and the other was the Mahatma’s birthday that fortunately fell on a Monday (Bless his soul) giving me a 2-day weekend. (No Saturdays are not off J ) So we decided to take off higher up north into the Himalayas. You would have to forgive my childish excitement as this was the first time I was touring this part of our great motherland. We hit the road at about 9 am on Sunday and headed out towards Dehradhun. That is about 50 km from where I am. Nothing great about that. The next stop was at a place called Mussoorie Jheel – a modest 2000 m (6500ft) above sea level I think. Here there is an artificial lake with paddle boats. Not too exciting.

But what caught my attention was a faded board that said "Paragliding". The board looked really ancient and I wondered whether they were still in operation. Well I told me colleagues that I would check it out and return. They volunteered to come and cheer me on. J So we walked down the narrow part in the mountains and saw this huge parachute strung out over the cliff. It was so on! Going towards the edge I saw that there was a small artificial platform where there was this girl strapped to the parachute and an instructor, both waiting for the wind. My heart was hammering as I looked over the cliff into nothingness below.

Well I then paid up and stood for my turn. A strong gust of wind took them over the cliff the parachute blossoming above and a heart thumping, breath stopping ride all the way down. As soon as they were back, it was my turn. I could hardly hear what my colleagues were saying because of the blood thumping in my ears blotting out all the sound. The harness was fitted over me and I clamped the helmet over my head. The sound of the thumping grew louder.

I waited for the wind.

As I looked back over my shoulder past my instructor, I saw a faded advertisement for a popular cola; the tagline – "Life ho tho aisi". Seriously man!!
I was suddenly very helplessly pulled off my feet and backward. Looking up I saw the orange and white parachute blooming over me. The instructor was yelling at me to run. I picked up my feet and (sorry for the cliché) ran like the wind J without a second thought. Closer towards the end of the cliff. It was so darn crazy!

When all of a sudden… there was silence… and nothing below me.

We were airborne. There was a lovely feeling of floating over the air. I could see the people below like ants. I was flying. I noticed the mountains in the distance and around me. The sky was azure and wind gentle. The valley sloped away smoothly into the horizon.
As we got closer to the ground, the wind dropped a little. I felt as though I was in a free fall when the chute caught the air again. There was this loud roaring sound as we so closer towards the ground. The instructor was giving me a landing lesson mid air as we were about to touch down!! I touched down in a perfect 10 landing J What an awesome high!

White water rafting seems to be next… Watch this space!

My kinda drug - Mumbai!

My kinda drug - Mumbai!
Since there is so much going around about my beautiful city, I feel compelled to add my point of view too.

Mumbai is not a city.... It is a NARCOTIC! I shall tell you why...
You come to this city, a stranger from a foreign land. Any place out of Mumbai is foreign to us. No matter whether you have come in by plane, train, bus or even with a sack of clothes ties to the end of a stick, walking over the bridge at Vashi or trundling over the one at Thane. You may have even come in by boat or handcuffed in the back of a police van. No matter how you come or where you come from the moment you enter this island city you become a Mumbaikar; or a Mumbaite as some would like to call it. You don't have to wait 5 years or even 5 minutes to be called a Mumbaite and be treated like one. You already are one.

The first thing that you notice about the place is the amount of people and the speed and the synchronization at which we all move. I remember this friend of mine from Delhi, who had recently arrived in Mumbai saying "Man! Where the heck have all these people come from?" You may be amazed at the pace the city moves with as it seemingly ignores the slow you. You may feel left behind. I urge you to stand on any railway station in the morning waiting to get into a train to go to Churchgate. You are slow.... people are whizzing past you. Suddenly as the train stops, you notice the mass of humanity pouring out and then feel the surge and strength of the people getting in. You are swept off your feet and suddenly you are in the train. Not so slow now are you? Still not satisfied? But you have felt the first dose/shot of the drug. The effects are bad. The people in the train are all sticking to you and pushing you. You cannot stand it. You are nauseated. You stumble off at Churchgate and go about your business.

You wonder how you are going to manage this. This didn't seem like such a good idea after all. Or was it that you were transferred here? At night you are alone and the city is still abuzz. Trust me it never sleeps. The second day goes by... you are exhausted and frustrated by night.... Then comes the third and the forth..... it is the weekend. Well... well... a day of rest finally! You have it all wrong there. The city wakes up to a weekend of partying. So many places... so many people... as usual there is space for all. Everyone is accommodated. You are beginning to enjoy the high. It is two weeks that you are here and you are hooked on to the city. The pace of life gives you the high. The people give you the high. When you are late for work, everyone pulls you into that moving Churchgate fast. Then you realise that you are not alone. You chat and laugh with complete strangers in the train. Whatever happened to what your parents told you about not talking to strangers? All of a sudden you are not alone. You have realised that people are as friendly as anyone can be. Any part of the day or night there are people willing to lend you a patient ear. You can never be lost and more importantly you can never be alone!

There was this time I had to go someplace and didn't know how. I just asked a passerby on the street at Fountain and he said he was going the same way. Well I had a new friend for 10 mins. I have never met him since. Another time, while I was going back home from work, a friend and I got off the company bus at Bandra east. I was so annoyed at having had my sleep in the bus disturbed, but I had to go home and didn't really want to sit in the bus. This well dressed man comes up to us and asks us if we have change for a 100. I didn't but my friend did. He thanked us and told us that he would have otherwise had to pay the auto-rickshaw guy a 100 bucks for a 20 rupees journey. He asked us where we were going and it turned out that we were going the same way. So he offered us a lift in a friends car. In my sleep all I noticed was a shiny black 'big' car. I got in and promptly dozed off on the plush leather seats. I woke up when we reached and then realised that a complete stranger had given us a lift in a spanking new Mercedes. I have made many many more such friends. And I shall make many more too!

Live in the city and move with the flow to understand and I guarantee that you will be addicted. Once you are hooked on, there is no known cure or rehabilitation. But then who would want stop feeling the pulse of life in him. Feel it eating bhutta at Juhu, feel it in the splash of waves breaking over Marine drive, feel it in the people who come forward with nothing to ask back in calamities, feel it in the throb of Mumbai's lifelines... the local trains, the buses, the streets, the chai shops, the skyscrapers, the slums, the elevators, feel it everywhere. It is a city that you don't live in... it lives in you. It is the place at the end of the beanstalk that you dream about at night. It is a mess in the monsoons and oppressive in the summers - the only two distinguishable seasons made apparent by the lack of rain in the latter. It is a place where people in suits and auto rickshaw drivers dine at the same table. It is the friend about whom you wondered how you lived your life without. It is your solace when you are down and kick in the seat of your pants telling you to get up and move on. The smell might leave you holding your breath often and the speed will leave you breathless always. Feel Mumbai... it is already inside your veins. You are already addicted.

Just like the Eagles sang in 'Hotel California' "You may check out anytime you like, but you can never leave"

Bus ride in Chennai!

So what if I thought that Chennai was a bad place. I mean it is all you guys fault for telling me this... Yeah Ms. AR I ain't talking about you. You are going to have to forgive me for that ok? Ok ok that is not fair... You can't hold me to a Nalli sari.

So like I was saying... Chennai is good. Well it actually helped that you lowered my expectations so much, so when I actually came to tambi-land it was actually good. Rather is actually good. I mean the language barrier is really bad. I managed to learn to be able to speak a respectable amount of Hindi, only to come here and find out that our dark-skinned, coconut loving brethren consider Tamil to be out national language. I mean they would like it so. Something to do with the Dravidian race. I won't get into those specifics now. But that is the scene. I shudder to think that this country would miss this brilliant engineering mind (Of course I am talking about me! A shameless example of self glorification and promotion ;-) ) as I would not have passed out of school. I remember my language teacher telling my mother (in a very maharashtrian accent), "You see Mrs. G., your son is knaat making anyee ephort. With a leetle more ephort he can do whonders. See his marks in the other phaphers. (Yawn!) Maybe you can tape the lessons… now-a-days all of us that tape-player (What is she saying). Baba re… my children-s play that at a so very high bholume. (She hasn't studied any 'eengleesh'but is trying to shove this down my throat.) They are listenings to this EPH-YUM the whole day. I tell you, I go mad bhen my husbands (how many does she have!!) is not at home. (Get back to the point!) You tape the lessons and you tell him to play it in his two-in-one (yeah right and subject my whole family to 'nidradevichi's aaradhana' like they don't get enough of the stuff from her.) Or if he has the whalkmen, he can leesten to it in that (What did I ever do to her!! Considering leaving home and leaving for foreign soil here. I can imagine myself 'Huckleberry Finn'-style with my belongings in a bedsheet tied to the end of a stick walking away from a burning pyre of my language books. Yeah add 'Bad Boys' to the soundtrack)"

Coming back… (I know I digress a bit ), as degrading as this may sound to the tamilian dudes and dudettes, to me this sounds like my tongue is on a combination of Speed and Ecstasy while my lips are paralyzed and my esophagus is tied down by weights. Or the classic tin paint can with stones and you guide the conversation with a vigorous stirring of these pebbles with a wooden stick. I am trying though, (No of course not... I ain’t stirring anything in a can in front of these "Tamil tigers" - What if some bad word comes out of the can? ) but that is about all… I know that 1=ohne, 2=runde (or something…) and so on… (Well actually that is pretty much all).
I get into a bus, determined to travel cheaply. I tell the conductor 'Abhi-ra-ma-pu-ram' (of course I was reading it out of a paper. You think I would have not taken Biology just for the sake of the long words and remembered that one. No way Jose!) So he says to me “Mudal stop illai adata stop?" And I go like "Huh?" "Abhiramapuram", I say more confidently. I point to myself and repeat very slowly trying out in my best tamilian accent (I figure that adding a few uh and ahs in the word may just do the trick) So it actually comes out as "Abhi-uh-rama-ah-puram-uh" He has this exasperated look on his face and then he says " Adhu Teriyun Paityam. yende stop sollu?". I bet he is swearing at me now. So I look at him and say "ME-ABHIRAMAPURAM-GO" And at the last word I make this plane-taking-off like motion with my right hand. (I suddenly am thinking to myself that this dude isn't Chinese or eastern. Ah screw it!) I don't care" To which he replies, " Valladariya... addi konnupduen.... " People around are smiling. He bares his teeth in a 'funny' way but it looks like he is gonna take a bite out my neck. Guess he is pretty damn sure that I don’t know Tamil. I back off and just give him some money "Take it my good man but don't bite – shoot I mean…" my head is screaming. He gives me a scrap of yellow paper with noodles all over it (Yeah the writing looks like that) and the number 4.50 on it. Yeehaaw!!! I am on my way. Oh-oh! New problems… When do I get off? So I look at the shop boards which, through small mercies that I am very grateful for, have the addresses written in English. There goes Arumbakkam (that took me about half a kilometer to read, yeah roughly about 25 shops to read) I told you I was smart.

So I am standing inside the bus. The bus is divided down the middle into men's and women's zones, the latter's zone being on the left of the bus. Now the seats on that side are empty but no one is sitting down. Well as any self respecting visitor to Rome, I do as they do and not sit there. But this is defying logic. Anyways I somehow find the place and have arrived at my destination, sweating at the thought of going back by bus. Well later may room-mate tells me that had I sat down there, in all probability I would have been beaten up. So much for cosmopolitanism… here in Chennai.

Watch this space for my travails with the Rickshawwalas!

Coupling again...

Not that I am running out of ideas to write but this is kick ass!

Coupling again...

Oh, because it's got naked women in it! Look, I like naked women! I'm a bloke! I'm supposed to like them! We're born like that. We like naked women as soon as we're pulled out of one. Halfway down the birth canal we're already enjoying the view. Look, it's the four pillars of the male heterosexual psyche. We like: naked women, stockings, lesbians, and Sean Connery best as James Bond. Because that is what being a bloke is. And if you don't like it, darling, join a film collective. I want to spend the rest of my life with the woman at the end of the table here. But that does not stop me wanting to see several thousand more naked bottoms before I die. Because that's what being a bloke is. When Man invented fire, he didn't say "Hey, let's cook!" He said: "Great! Now we can see naked bottoms in the dark!" As soon as Caxton invented the printing press we were using it to make pictures of - hey! - naked bottoms. We've turned the Internet into an enormous international database of... naked bottoms. So, you see, the story of male achievement through the ages, feeble though it may have been, has been the story of our struggle to get a better look at your bottoms. Frankly, girls, I'm not so sure how insulted you really ought to be.

Coupling...

I got this from a Coupling Episode....

We are men. Throughout history we have always needed, in times of difficulty, to retreat to our caves. It so happens in this modern age that our caves are fully plumbed. The toilet for us is the last bastian, the final refuge, the last few square feet of man space left to us. Somewhere to sit, something to read, something to do, and who gives a d**n about the smell. But that for us is happiness because we are men. We are different. We have only one word for soap. We don't own candles. We have never seen anything of any value in a craft shop. We do not own magazines for the photographs of celebrities with all their clothes on. When we have conversations we actually take it in turns to talk. We have not yet reached that level of earth shattering boredom and inhuman despair that we would have a haircut recreationally. We don't know how to get excited about really, really boring things like ornaments, bath oil, the countryside, vases, small churches. We do not even know what, what in the name of God, is the purpose of potpouri. Looks like breakfast, smells like your auntie. Why do you need that? So please, in this strange and frightening world, allow us one last place to call our own. This toilet, this blessed pot, this fortress of solitude. You girls, you may go to the bathroom in groups of two or more. We do not pass comment. We do not make judgment. That is your choice. But we men will always walk the toilet mile alone.