I'm back after that
long (for me!) hiatus.I did write a lot these days but then all were the same old melancholy things which just didn't seem right...So!
Daddy took me on an
official agent-receiving trip to the airport yesterday. Corporate Business and
all...so I wore my most professional-looking normal-outfit (nothing
great...black inner and sleeveless sweater for the fashionistas) and waited.
And waited. And observed.
Since most
international planes arrive at night, the journey to the airport is usually
fun!
Orange street-lights shine bright, road reflectors look sleek, hoardings seem twice as natural,
Mumbai seems more urban than ever, crowded and if you sit next to the driver,
it's real life NFS, only scarier since the possibility of death is very
real...zip zap zoom!
Driving at night is
really awfully stressing...road rage is common, and gaalis abound... I've learnt a lot many cuss words through these
enlightening journeys!
Going to the airport was a festival some years before...I remember wearing my best dress, trying
to smooth out all the wrinkles and, not to be beaten at poshness, wearing my
free Bournvita-sunglasses, putting on posh airs and my best angrezi accent...never mind that I was
thin, chicken –muscled and probably worm-ridden at the time.
Also, the costly food
and water...grabbing the chance to eat out at the posh airport hotel when an NRI
aunt came, keeping all the tiny bottles and paper bags as souvenirs and showing
them off at school!
Ogling at the pretty
airhostesses...Jet Airways with the super elegant look,and Singapore airlines
for the prettiest uniform...almost worth going to Singaapur (I really believed this was a place in India before!) to
stare at the PYTs I think.
I saw Om Puri this
time around (I've seen Ila Arun and Macmohan before!). Why is it that only old
and retired actors (no offence to them of course) are seen at airports? Where do
all the hot young things disappear??(Muscled hunks and PYTs, I'm looking at you!)
The airport is one of
the best places to just sit and stare...there’s so much happening!
I feel like Professor
X connected to Cerebro (non-geeks who don’t know...it allows Professor X to
search for mutants for a large distance. Don’t know who Prof. X is?? Go watch
X-Men. You need it.)
All the stories
enfolding around you, there was this Punjabi ammi next to me in the waiting line(more like zoo-queue. I’ll tell you
why) who kept yelling into her phone for her Amrika-returned puttarin
whose India-number wasn't working but her Amrika-number
was...30-minute baggage delay. Uff ye
planes!
Poor thing was so
excited she did not realize she had sat on chewing gum. Yech!
Moreover, she was wearing
a bright pink jacket (arre you know
the ones recently in-style here)and spent some
time pulling it off with the khandan
helping of course and yours truly staring!
The people coming out
of the gates are fun to see too! Expectation writ large on their faces. They
all first have this stoic expression on their faces when they come out (jet-lag?
snobbishness? whatever) which turns to this grin if they spot their receivers
and chagrin if they don’t. You can actually see their features twisting!
And all the receivers standing there watching
them like zoo animals coming on display... must be scary to see all those faces
staring at you. And every time someone walks out the gate all the heads go up,
which are otherwise busy, bent over digital darlings!
I feel pity for the
foreign nationals who come for the first time and don’t know where to go...it’s
a comically pitiful thing!
 |
| Remember this?? |
And I think I saw some
Varun-something actor... some girl next to me kept squealing .
The melding of
nationalities (these phrases just pop into my head suddenly, is it irritating?).
The India returnees
with the huge electronics. Panasonic most popular return company.
The western
backpackers with the cool sneakers and accents…all fun.
If I have to be a
fairy, I choose to be an airport fairy!
It’s like a world on
its own...the airport.
There are bookies (namely
the taxiwalas, and porters and
officials. And most everybody has a suit on or at least a blazer (I just lurve
the blazer turtleneck combo...some random hunk had it on there!))
Wearing psychedelic colours
on yourself and your luggage helps a lot...it’s easier to find you and your
bags (and is a kind of safeguard against them being stolen). Though some of the
fluorescent yellow and pink eyesores were a little too much.
Best by me survey:
Outfit: Black pants.
Preferably something stretchy but looking sturdy.
Any pretty top.
Something long-sleeved.
Sneakers and
socks...the F1 racing-shoes look so pretty.
Guys wear a blazer if
its official or maybe something layered.
Talking about
outfits...I wish I could tell the women (it’s mostly westerners…not being
racist or any –ist mind.) who arrive without wearing a bra...shocking. Maybe I'm wrong... But I remember seeing this woman in a pink top and nothing
underneath when I was smaller and the picture has stayed. Everyone... at least
the men kept ogling. And the twin things kept bouncing with the tip-of-iceberg
showing. It was horrifying.
I spotted another
yesterday. But maybe she had worn something... because she was a little too bouncy,
no other problem. Don’t think me perverted, I'm a girl myself for crying
aloud... but some amount of decency is expected... just saying.
Khana: Nothing. Eat beforehand. Unless your office is paying. Note: Water
is 40 bucks a litre.
Attitude: be good. Elegant.
Nose-in-the-air is not nice practically contrary to whatever I said. Also, be
considerate about other people...no spitting, yelling, and general junglee behaviour.
Go stand in the front
if you want your guests to see you. Use the usual train-me-jagah-pakdo technique (I.e. stand (and stare!?) behind the
seat you want until it’s vacated.)
We met the foreign
agent after a lot of waiting. Swiss. Talked and all in my best English accent. It’s
funny understanding accents and thrilling using an accent yourself! I probably
passive-smoked more than I have done in my entire lifetime in those 15 minutes
of waiting for the car. Gawsh, the tortures my dad has to go through.
But I did learn a bit
about Zurich (all snow and ski. And -1 degree temperature) and also got into the
Leela to drop them (Obsequious gate-men. Rajasthan-outfitted bellhop...could have
gone for dinner but realized that later)
The food was fun too.
Though I have Bal Thackeray to blame for the stupid bandh, which meant no good places to eat and we had to eat at a dhabba sort of hotel...all the truckwalas stare, but the food is good. Hot
and yummy...I enjoyed being Miss Priss and saying thank you and please to the
bemused waiter-boys. Also I salute them for staying open when all the other
cowards stayed closed...really, why would a dead old man ever want wretched travellers
to go hungry...we almost dropped by the time we found the hotel.
