YetiBlog® - 2nd January 2010, the flight home. The flight to Kuwait is not much to talk about. Uneventful and a bit fitful.
We have 4 hours to kill at Kuwait Airport. To be honest, it isn't easy. Kuwait Airport is not very exciting.
Shopping is limited, I buy some chocolates and sea-salt covered pistachio nuts (LOVE those!) and we spend some time at McDonalds and stuff.
I see some strange travellers. Indian of course but they well, look like they wouldn't usually travel by plane.
I'm going to be careful how I word this.
I realise that this is probably a lot funnier when I relate the story to people, but not very funny to write down and of course chance on the possibilty of treading on someone's feet or feelings.
As I write this, I've decided to tone down the humour. I'd have dropped it.
Except for the fact that the lady in front of me in the line to board the plane is carrying...
A bucket.
She's carrying a bucket. An honest-to-goodness bucket. Like a big bucket. Bathroom bucket. An Indian bathroom bucket. An old bathroom ka bucket with a rusty handle.
The lady in front of me in the line, to board the plane is carrying a plastic ka balti.
It's her hand luggage. It is full of stuff I can't see. No actually I can't bear to see.
I look around. I can smell underarm odour. Hmm. Where does it...
The guy behind me has his bag on his head. With his right hand he is supporting the bag on his head (hence the underarm ka baas) and in his left hand he has a potli.
What the heck is going on here? I look around, not sure what to think.
I see some elderly bearded men and some elderly bearded ladies. It occurs to me suddenly.
I'm on a Haj ka plane.
From Kuwait to Bombay.
And I am surrounded by a single group of people who are from somewhere in Rural Gujarat. For whom this is probably the second flight of their lives. Assuming they flew to Kuwait.
My mind is telling me to be kind. They are my own people. They are poor and probably they, or their families saved up a long time in order for them to complete this important religious pilgrimage, necessary to every Muslim.
I must be kind. I must not complain and I must be nice to them.
But then I'm human. I am a person who is fussy about planes and seats and smells and new aircrafts and good-looking crew and fancy meals and the contant urge and effort to be upgraded to Business Class.
I enjoy flying and I do a lot of it. Should I be ashamed at wanting to fly in comfort and style?
Especially since I know that the flight ticket is often what someone makes in one whole year of hard labour in India?
I want to be kind. But my neighbour is slurping his water from a glass LOUDLY and his wife is complaining loudly about something. AC chaloo karo shouts someone else to the stewardess who of course speaks no Hindi.
People are standing around and talking to each other. Please sit down. Please wear your seat belt! SIT IN YOUR SEAT!
There is only one Indian crew member a guy who is rushing up and down. Telling people that they cannot open the window, that they do actually have seat numbers, that they cannot place their bags in the aisle.
I look at the lady trying to fit her bucket into the overhead compartment. It doesn't fit. She leaves it in the aisle.
Of course every seat in the flight is taken.
And so this flight becomes the single worst flight I have ever taken in my lifetime. Like travelling in an ST bus.
Please don't judge me. I understand people's circumstances fully well and I was not embarrassed by anyone.
I was just very uncomfortable.
------------------------------------------------
The flight lands on time. Before the plane has come to a halt, at least 10 people rush up and open up the overhead compartments. The bags are falling down. The stewardesses are yelling, both on the mic and by getting over to the people.
SIt DOWN PLEASE! Nobody listens. HALLO!! Hum land kar rahe hai abhi!
Sir please turn your mobile off. He doesn't.
Getting out of the plane is an ordeal. Everyone is falling over each other to jump off.
I'm annoyed and angry. Somehow I get my bag and get out of the plane. Not the best end to my journey.
Then I look at TheOne® and scowl angrily. Come on Sam, they're poor people. I feel bad for them. They must have saved their whole lives to do this. They've never flown before and they don't speak English. Just imagine how they feel. Don't be angry with the situation.
I look at her in silence. I am ashamed of myself. I realise that in truth, I have a greater problem with this situation than she, as a foreigner does. And these are my people, my fellow citizens.
I carry my bag in silence on my way out of the aircraft. She's right. Again.
And I'm home again.
No. We're home again. The End.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
And so ends my little story. I apologise that I have no exciting adventure, or travel to some strange and exotic location or something that I usually can share.
Thank you anyway for your love and appreciation and for allowing me to share this with you.
Last edited by GTO : 23rd February 2010 at 09:45.
Reason: Pm coming up
|