The human species was not meant to fly. We are terrestrial, land-bound. Maybe we’re amphibious, because some of us swim, but fly we cannot. Like the dodo, which tried to take off but only went extinct, we risk becoming a synonym for moron when we attempt flight.
But we do fly, against all logic. Indian aviation reached a record in November last year, carrying 505,412 passengers across 3,173 domestic departures. It is safe, by and large, barring the occasional crash in which only one person survives. In recent years, it has started looking so posh that entering the airport itself is like going abroad.
But I take trains whenever that option is open. Each time I board a plane, I realise how very like dodos we are, absurd, illogical and batty in anything concerning flight. We make confounding rules and follow ridiculous protocols. Our gleaming airports make us jump through interminable hoops before letting us board. Aviation brings out our inner idiot, thoughtless and impossible to understand.
Here are a few sharp notes about how aviation baffles me.
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Buns forever: It doesn’t matter which kind of meal you order. I ordered a Jain Vegetarian meal, but I might just as well have ticked Dhaba Non-vegetarian. An airplane is the only venue in India where a bun and a foil-wrapped pat of Amul butter will be served along with whatever meal you ask for. Passengers will behave as though this is a perfectly normal Indian custom and calmly cut through the bun with a serrated plastic knife, insert the butter, and eat it.
The best explanation I have received for this anomaly is that it is meant as a failsafe fallback when you discover that the rest of the meal is inedible.
Rose-scented toilets: On the way to posh, we have learned that things must smell good to be international. In most places, a perfumed spray will do it just fine. But very few countries have mastered the art of eliminating ammonia and urea fumes from a gents’ toilet, whether in the aircraft or in the airport. Thailand, where I live, seems to have figured it out very well. In our motherland, the toilet is such a swamp of odours that Bill Gates even considered a spray that would block our smell receptors rather than eliminating the smell. In a modern Indian airport, the magic is done with an aerosol of rose spray. Even as you stand there trying to sign your name on the urinal with your jetstream, you can smell India’s national flower blended with its national odour.
Mumbai’s amazing airport struggles to contain another odour. This one hits you as you step off the plane, reminding you of the cheap disinfectant used in government hospitals and Swachh Sulabh Shauchalays. For me, Lysol is the true smell of India trying to clean itself.
Not the last and final: One day you realise that nothing in life is either last or final. This epiphany comes to you when you hear the last and final boarding call for your flight for the seventh time. It’s a psyop move, meant to panic you into sprinting towards the boarding gate. But Indians are not so easily alarmed; they know that once your luggage is checked in, the plane cannot take off without you. They continue to shop at duty-free, eventually reaching the gate after everyone has boarded, and the last and final call is being made for the 23rd time. In some airports, it has been known to continue after the plane has
taken off.
Waiting at the boarding gate: If you should get your knickers in a twist and rush to the boarding gate, you will see a calm scene. No one is boarding, the counter is unpersonned, and the gate has not opened yet. Eventually, you will be admitted into the plane, find your seat and for the next 45 minutes watch other planes taking off.
The long haul: There’s nothing wrong with walking, I know. Ten thousand steps will do great things for your cardiac health. As part of their services, Indian airports include a health-giving walk with the price of your ticket. In Mumbai, you could easily get a couple of kilometres in before you reach baggage claim. To improve your health even further, Mumbai airport hides its trolleys so that, even in your early 80s, as a senior citizen, you must drag around your Tumi wheeled overnighter.
Find your gate: Here’s something no one even thinks about: your boarding card. This unwieldy bit of airport issue is designed to confound. I need only four bits of information: the flight number, gate number, boarding time and seat number. Instead, I receive a crowded card with arcane codes and scripts, handcrafted to lead me into the wrong plane at the wrong time, losing my glasses en route.
That fellow again: You probably know who I mean. There’ll always be one bloke who will applaud enthusiastically when the plane finally touches down without disintegrating. I used to wonder why no one told him to dial it down.
After last month’s Air India incident, I’ve changed my mind. I think applause should be made mandatory.
You can reach C Y Gopinath at cygopi@gmail.com
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The views expressed in this column are the individual’s and don’t represent those of the paper.