Here is the final part of my jottings from my trip to Israel. You can now heave a sigh of relief that this torture by prose comes to a grinding halt. Regular service should resume soon. Parts one, two and three of this series go before this post.
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There are late meetings at office on the day of departure.
Which works perfectly with my routine: check out of the hotel in the morning, finish
up the late meetings, grab a bite near the office around 7:00pm and head out to
the airport for my late night flight back home departing at a little past 11:00
PM. This time I don’t have to deal with returning a rental car (which calls for special skills at Ben Gurion) and so I can
relax as the taxi drops me bang in front of the terminal.
The security check – with or without a clearance letter from
work – takes about the same time in my experience so far. And this time is no
exception either. But this time I’m held up in the line for getting my boarding
pass. I believe that when it comes to serendipity in the small and mundane jobs
in everyday life, lady luck flashes a toothless grin at me. For instance, the
person ahead of me in the line, any line, anywhere, while at the counter, is
always conducting the most complicated transaction without the required papers.
Or, the service person at the counter always has to step out – hunger, thirst,
family emergency, full bladder - when it is exactly my turn. This time the
people in my line, I suspect, are all on the US no-fly list for past
indiscretions but are nonetheless trying to board the flight. Either that or
they are trying, one person at a time, to work out the business aspects of a
merger of United Airlines with Delta. Long story short, my boarding group is 5.
In English, it means that you will hunt for a space for your bag while the
United crew members helpfully stand in a group and laugh derisively, pointing
at you.
Sure enough, as most of the passengers are settling in with
their books/e-readers, I’m standing there with my luggage, having been spaced
out of the overhead bins by the rest. I try to flag a passing flight attendant.
One of them walked right past me saying “They will help you”. They. Who are they? And who are you? Why
aren’t you a part of “they”? And why won’t you help me? But it is against our
culture to argue with elderly ladies keeping fragile health. Finally one of
them (from the original “they”), makes me roll my luggage to the very front of
the plane, past the business class and into the first class cabin and points to
an overhead bin there with room. As I hoist the bag into the bin, she tells me,
rather curtly, that I cannot access it anytime during the flight. If this were
a movie, this would be the scene where the poor dad, on a very rainy night,
gives up his crying new born son (the future hero) for adoption by a childless and
conveniently rich family so that he may have a better life (not before insulting
his biological parents while attending a residential school in the hills,
wearing a jacket) and goes back to his humble tenement. As I’m about to be
walked out of the first class cabin, I turn around and give one more longing
look and quickly leave, crying copious tears into a towel even as a firm hand
to my elbow guides me away. But on the bright side, I can now say that at least
my bags fly first class.
As I make my way back to the cattle class cabin where I
belong, an orthodox Jewish man near my seat is requesting a seat change so that
he may not be seated next to a lady not related to him. Read more about this interesting conflict here. But make sure you finish this post first. The airhostess, the same one
that had just made me do the march of shame, approaches me with this request. Would
I give up an class aisle seat for the sake of an obscure religious requirement
of a random stranger? That too, on a 11-plus hour flight? Especially after
being treated, what’s the word, brusquely, merely a few minutes back? I’m sure
that United’s Israel specific training requires her to do this but how I wish
she had used her judgment. Tsk tsk.
“I can't give you this
case. Besides, I've already been through too much shit this morning over this
case to hand it over to your dumb ass” – Jules Winnfield, played by Samuel
Jackson, in Pulp Fiction.
(Funny how I seem to turn to the same few sources –
Seinfeld, Pulp Fiction, etc – to get the perfect set of words for just about
any situation.)
But this is real life, I’m inside a plane that, barring any last
minute glitches, is about to take off and as much as I would like to, I can’t
afford to be as hyper articulate as Jules. Nevertheless, I tell her, not in those
words, that there is no way on God’s earth or His skies, for that matter, that
I’m giving up my seat. Payback, they say, can be a bitch, but instant payback
is a wounded, hungry one. I face many hurdles on a daily basis because of my
belief in vegetarianism. But I don’t go around kicking up a storm at
restaurants or airplanes. And I’m supposed to vacate seats now? Sorry.
Onward to the entertainment section and its time to play the
travel trivia jeopardy.
Alex: This airline, which worships and pampers even economy
class passengers, refreshes its inflight entertainment content monthly.
Me: What is Singapore airlines?
Alex: Indeed!
Me: I’ll choose United economy class torture for $800
please.
Alex: Answer, that’s your daily trouble from hell, sucker.
My trip saddles January and February and I was hoping to see
a different selection of movies – specifically, without The Intern – this time. But no such luck on United. And since I
have exhausted the TV content on the onward journey, I’m left with slim pickings.
But on the bright side, most of this post came into being on a dark winter
night, 33,900 feet over the Atlantic.
The turbulence and also both the landings send sharp jolts
of pain through my entire ear canal. With the facial plumbing blocked every which
way (remember, I have acute karaoke-iasis) my ears threaten to burst
spectacularly any moment. I almost reach for the barf bag to hang over both my
ears just in case. Chewing, swallowing and yawning have no effect. I sit there
with clenched teeth and my hands over my ears. Fun times.
As the plane makes the approach, the earth beneath, green
from the recent rains, is sighted, the bay – cloaked in grey – reveals itself,
the bridges are identified and the 101 snakes by the edge of the bay: familiar
sights signaling the last stretch of the week long race. I used to be this excited
about landing in Chennai, when Chennai was home, craning my neck to catch a
glimpse of landmarks, familiar buildings, movie banners, trying to spot our
house (OK who am I kidding, our locality) etc. Wherever your travels may have
taken you to, whatever be the comforts offered by a fine hotel, returning home
to family is truly the best part of traveling.
The taxi ride home was interesting too but that will have to
be a post by itself for another day.
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