Making small talk with the cabbie on the way to the airport. Mimicking
the facial expression of the picture on the identity card at the
terminal entrance. Conveying the preference for an emergency exit on the
aisle at the boarding pass counter. Posing as the Vitruvian Man for the
security scanners. Trying to balance without holding any support as the
shuttle bus swerves around to the plane.
The eyes are heavy and puffy, the dark circles betraying the rude awakening from nightly unconsciousness.
The mind is on a disoriented overdrive. Thought and imagination lack coherence and clarity.
"Ladies and gentleman! I am your chief attendant and on behalf of the captain and the entire flight crew, I welcome you aboard".
Bloody hell! Stuck. And stuck for quite some now. I look around and secretly hate all the co-passengers who are blissfully asleep. But I am too proud to admit. Not to myself. Not to any other soul. Who needs to sleep in a flight, anyway? Sleep is for suckers. The brave and the honourable stay awake.
And afterall, this is the only time you get to do the things you wanted to do but couldn't find the time. Not a bad idea to resume reading the book from where you left off in your last flight ride. Not a bad idea at all. I am not a teenage girl to play Candy Crush on the dumb phone, nor a humourless suit to follow the financial times. Too bad that the mind refuses to fully grasp the words being read.
The eyes are rubbed, the head is shaken and the mind is willed to make sense of it all. Between the longing stares out of the window, the forceful cracking of joints and the wishful daydreaming of an inviting bed, a few pages are flipped with partial comprehension.
"Excuse me. Would you like to have something?"
"I would like to have a sprawling castle on the banks of Scotland" is what I would have liked to say. "A glass of water, please" is what I manage instead, with the blood red eyes and a forced grin probably disconcerting the air hostess. The realisation of me momentarily slipping into blankness before being awoken strikes. And the thought is swiftly dismissed with the blame being laid ironically on the lack of sleep.
I then start pondering about one of these great mysteries in life. As to how after every return from a trip, there is a truckload of work which magically manifests and every pending task suddenly acquires critical importance and becomes top priority. It is going to be a long day and I won't be hitting the bed anytime soon. Damn it!
"On behalf of the airlines and the entire crew, I would like to thank you for joining us on this trip and we look forward to seeing you on board again in the near future. Good day."
The neck-pillow was considered a boon to the frequent fliers. But to me, it represented the touristy way of life. Preplanned and packaged. The neck-pillow sucked the variability out of the flight ride by coddling one into a beatific dream. And I hated it with a vengeance. It was everything I stood against.
The broken-doughnut-shaped monster was to be seen at most airports. On display in stores in the retail arena of terminals and hanging from the dragged luggage of hurried passengers. And it was to be seen more and more, its presence greatly multiplied in colours and absolute numbers over the years.
Soon it would consume everyone. An entire generation of travellers would fall prey to its alluring charm. But not me. I always considered myself to be the influencer rather than the influenced. So no amount of eulogizing by any of the die-hard loyalists of the ever-growing cult of the neck pillow, would make me change my mind.
I would resist it. I would protest against it. I would fight the good fight till the very end. I didn't need to snooze on early morning flights. What if I didn't get more than a few winks of sleep the previous night? What if the the body was stressed and strained? And what if the mind was drained and fatigued? After all, I have survived all those innumerable travails in all those ungodly hours. And doesn't whatever that doesn't kill you make you only stronger?
A particular item was billed at the WH Store at the Terminal of the Rajiv Gandhi International Airport.
"Your boarding pass, please. Have a pleasant flight, Mr Varma"
The eyes are heavy and puffy, the dark circles betraying the rude awakening from nightly unconsciousness.
The mind is on a disoriented overdrive. Thought and imagination lack coherence and clarity.
"On behalf of the airlines and the entire crew, I would like to thank you for joining us on this trip and we look forward to seeing you on board again in the near future. Good day."
Now....where was I?
The eyes are heavy and puffy, the dark circles betraying the rude awakening from nightly unconsciousness.
The mind is on a disoriented overdrive. Thought and imagination lack coherence and clarity.
"Ladies and gentleman! I am your chief attendant and on behalf of the captain and the entire flight crew, I welcome you aboard".
Bloody hell! Stuck. And stuck for quite some now. I look around and secretly hate all the co-passengers who are blissfully asleep. But I am too proud to admit. Not to myself. Not to any other soul. Who needs to sleep in a flight, anyway? Sleep is for suckers. The brave and the honourable stay awake.
And afterall, this is the only time you get to do the things you wanted to do but couldn't find the time. Not a bad idea to resume reading the book from where you left off in your last flight ride. Not a bad idea at all. I am not a teenage girl to play Candy Crush on the dumb phone, nor a humourless suit to follow the financial times. Too bad that the mind refuses to fully grasp the words being read.
The eyes are rubbed, the head is shaken and the mind is willed to make sense of it all. Between the longing stares out of the window, the forceful cracking of joints and the wishful daydreaming of an inviting bed, a few pages are flipped with partial comprehension.
"Excuse me. Would you like to have something?"
"I would like to have a sprawling castle on the banks of Scotland" is what I would have liked to say. "A glass of water, please" is what I manage instead, with the blood red eyes and a forced grin probably disconcerting the air hostess. The realisation of me momentarily slipping into blankness before being awoken strikes. And the thought is swiftly dismissed with the blame being laid ironically on the lack of sleep.
I then start pondering about one of these great mysteries in life. As to how after every return from a trip, there is a truckload of work which magically manifests and every pending task suddenly acquires critical importance and becomes top priority. It is going to be a long day and I won't be hitting the bed anytime soon. Damn it!
"On behalf of the airlines and the entire crew, I would like to thank you for joining us on this trip and we look forward to seeing you on board again in the near future. Good day."
The neck-pillow was considered a boon to the frequent fliers. But to me, it represented the touristy way of life. Preplanned and packaged. The neck-pillow sucked the variability out of the flight ride by coddling one into a beatific dream. And I hated it with a vengeance. It was everything I stood against.
The broken-doughnut-shaped monster was to be seen at most airports. On display in stores in the retail arena of terminals and hanging from the dragged luggage of hurried passengers. And it was to be seen more and more, its presence greatly multiplied in colours and absolute numbers over the years.
Soon it would consume everyone. An entire generation of travellers would fall prey to its alluring charm. But not me. I always considered myself to be the influencer rather than the influenced. So no amount of eulogizing by any of the die-hard loyalists of the ever-growing cult of the neck pillow, would make me change my mind.
I would resist it. I would protest against it. I would fight the good fight till the very end. I didn't need to snooze on early morning flights. What if I didn't get more than a few winks of sleep the previous night? What if the the body was stressed and strained? And what if the mind was drained and fatigued? After all, I have survived all those innumerable travails in all those ungodly hours. And doesn't whatever that doesn't kill you make you only stronger?
A particular item was billed at the WH Store at the Terminal of the Rajiv Gandhi International Airport.
"Your boarding pass, please. Have a pleasant flight, Mr Varma"
The eyes are heavy and puffy, the dark circles betraying the rude awakening from nightly unconsciousness.
The mind is on a disoriented overdrive. Thought and imagination lack coherence and clarity.
"On behalf of the airlines and the entire crew, I would like to thank you for joining us on this trip and we look forward to seeing you on board again in the near future. Good day."
Now....where was I?
Enjoyed it. Loved the initial description... Could relate to each bit, of course except a few fundamental opinion differences ;) (sleep is for the suckers)... Keep it going :)
ReplyDeleteP.s: would have been a treat if u had given credits ;) .. :$
Heheheheh..... I grudge you for taking away away my self-respect by brain-washing me into buying that damn thing. Therefore no credits. :P
ReplyDelete