Eye in The Sky

The ways we travel

Ever since travel restrictions have become a thing of the past, airports have once again become an intrinsic part of our lives.

This has afforded those amongst us who are consummate people-watchers the singular pleasure of observing the human species as it unselfconsciously goes about the great caravanserai of modern journeying.

Right from the time when passengers alight at terminals from their hastily parked vehicles most likely on no park zones and pedestrian crossings, grab their trolleys and then proceed to queue up to enter the terminal building, people–watching at airports is a lesson in barely controlled hysteria and unbridled emotions.

Because to begin with, we are a nation of families; and so, it is perfectly normal for entire clans, consisting of Mamaji, Kakaji Tauji and Babloo, to show up en masse at airports to receive and bid adieu to Munna or Munni as a routine procedure.

To watch these last-minute displays of affection and anxiety as families diverge or regroup at India’s airports makes air travel in India a master class in voyeurism.

Besides emotive family scenes at airports, it is our attitude to queues that makes us unique.

Everyone knows that the business of airports is that of queues. Right from the time you file up to gain access into the terminal, to when you check-in or wait for your security pat-down, or bide your turn at the immigration counter, queues are what take up most of your time at an airport and it is because of them that the system functions with some measure of efficiency.

But, it would not be wrong to surmise that queues (and their desi equivalent of ‘Qatars’) appear to be an affront to many among us, almost as if there is something about standing in a straight line, behind someone else, that turns even the most mild-mannered and compliant of people into raging anarchists and mutineersin fact, people who have artfully invented a fund of ways to subvert them.

For instance, a queue is not a queue if you place yourself just a little askew off it and your position in it is suitably vague; a queue is not a queue if you lurk or hover imposingly near the elbow of the person in front of you, making the space between you a figment of their imagination; and of course, a queue is not a queue if you manage to place a decoy in the form of a suitcase or a willing accomplice and saunter into it at the last minute…

And these are just a few of the ways that a queue can be undermined, by those who appear to be offended by its very existence.

But it is not only the business of queuing (or the lack of it) that sets us apart.

After all, nothing defines us more than the manner in which we choose to depart an aircraft.

The very nanosecond a plane touches the tarmac, and the pings and trings from sundry cellphones begin to rent the air of people calling their drivers, who amongst us is not familiar with the voice of a harried hostess imploring over the PA: “Sir! Please remain seated, until the aircraft comes to a halt. Sir! Please remain seated...”

Finally, when ‘sir” has been momentarily restrained, the doors open and it is declared safe to disembark, one has only to look up to observe a Great Rising of Humanity. And All At The Same Time.

Passengers pushing, shoving, elbowing, thrusting and squeezing past each other to make it 0000.02 seconds faster out of the aircraft than their neighbour.

In contrast, there is a video circulated online depicting a planeload of Europeans departing their aircraft in a symphony of order and grace: while the rest of the passengers remain seated, starting with the first two rows, followed by the second and the third, wave upon graceful waves of passengers ebb and flow out of the aircraft as if in a dance choreographed by the great Vaslav Nijinsky himself.

The penchant for viewing travel as one more way to celebrate our love for food is another peculiarity unique to us. Mercifully, the days of homemade acahaars and samosas being unpacked are behind us, but the extensive menus offered by India’s airlines, of hot and cold delicacies that tickle every taste bud from Junglee chicken sandwiches to penne pasta, vada paos and gulab jamuns, catering to the needs of their passengers India’s airlines have made travelling akin to a movable feast in the skies – a far cry from the moldy cheeses and stale juices served on most foreign airlines.

But families, food and a disdain for queues are not the only things that set us apart as travellers. Have you ever stood outside a terminal teeming with newly arrived Indian passengers and wondered why such a large number of them are wheelchair-bound? Frequent fliers swear that no sooner does a plane from India land at an airport anywhere in the world than the sight of at least a dozen wheelchairs being trundled out of it manifests itself. An airline insider swears that this does not in any way reflect the mobility quotient of the average Indian. “Indians often opt for wheelchair service to make the airport experience which is often daunting because of language issues-a bit simpler, others believe they will have someone to help with their luggage or even their duty-free shopping.” He says, “Of course, we have to turn a blind eye in these cases because they come equipped with doctor’s certificates…”

In fact, this preference for seeking assistance wherever we can find it is part of the larger, omnipresent VIP culture syndrome on regular display in the skies.

In no other country will you witness the extent of brown-nosing and fawning by airline staff in the presence of VIPS other than in these parts.

From half a dozen members of airline staff flapping around them, accompanying them into the aircraft and even carrying their personal items (right down to Madameji’s LV purse and Pappoo’s toy teddy) to waving them through customs and other formalities, the syndrome of VIP culture is one more feature that sets us apart from other nations that travel and makes us unique in the skies.

But more than any of these, of course, is our penchant for viewing travel as a collective experience. One that brings us closer in touch and engaged with others, through conversations, quarrels over elbow space and luggage trolleys, or just a keen scrutiny of our fellow travellers and their behaviour.

And of course, it is the last for which I have to admit: ‘Mea culpa’.