Buckle Up it's time to fly

 Originally published in My Kolkata on May 22, 2024.  Read online

Come Fly with Me

[The author, a frequent flyer of yore,  was reminded that the write up on train travel must be followed by one on air travel, something that’s now on everyone’s plate, especially as the holiday season breaks]

“Come fly with me, let’s fly, let's fly away” - sang Frank Sinatra oh so very long ago. And somewhere around 1969, to commemorate the moon landing, he changed the name of another popular song to “Fly me to the moon”.  I’m not sure if you want to end up in Bombay or Peru as the first song suggests, or if you really want to get to the moon, but everyone can and will fly these days - Vande Bharat and jet fuel prices notwithstanding. 

“Now everyone can fly” - proclaimed Air Asia.  “Simplifly” was Air Deccan’s mantra. Singapore Airlines insists it’s “A Great Way to Fly”.  I could go on, but you would get as impatient as you would standing at the check-in counters in Kolkata. We are a Q society - just look at the guys minding their Ps and Qs when they disembark from a flight and head to the rushrooms - or rest rooms.

A few months ago I saw a queue at Kolkata airport that didn’t seem to be moving much.  Pulling out my Priority Pass, I headed for the Lounge to have a coffee.  Imagine my surprise to see that said queue was for the same lounge!  Like Samsung famously said, Everyone’s Invited, and Everyone has a lifetime free credit card giving them lounge access, three times a year . I quietly left to the sound of hurriedly slurped coffee, clanking cutlery and speeding passengers trying to make it to the boarding gate having achieved their free lounge access!

But the queue starts outside the airport gate. Those of us who smugly know how to operate DigiYatra step up to the kiosk and punch in all the required information - only to be told that there’s a new version of the app that needs to be downloaded, new biometrics that need to be uploaded, and could you please stand so that your face looks a little less “loaded”? You sigh and join the queue for the burly policeman to check your visage, the Government ID and the ticket. Of course, you also need to manoeuvre the trophy trolley which you snatched from that little old lady, on which you piled your boxes till they were falling off the sides and now have to deal with an errant wheel that keeps going left - like sections of the state.

You’re now at Ground Zero and you made it to Queue #2 - the check-in counter.  Well, you did check in online but you have that Baggage Drop - not the ones that fall off your trolley, the ones that you will use every ounce of strength to heft onto the conveyor belt. What’s that?  The cute little lady just informed you that you’re 5 kg overweight? How dare she make personal remarks? Oh!  She means the luggage.  That’s where they will sting you.  You have to fork out much more than those few extra kilos are worth, but you can’t jettison any of the family presents.  I know you tried your best, you’re wearing three layers of clothing, a few overcoats and you’re heading to sunny Goa!  Did you try whining?  It holds up the other passengers and puts pressure on the PYT to let you through. Or you could have your little kids start romping around the forbidden area, or start wailing.  Anything works.

The next Queue #3 is the most interesting.  It’s here where, devoid of your checked-in baggage, you must face the ordeal of the CISF.  The “I” stands for “industrial” but they are more industrious in their hunt for banned substances carried by everyone other than politicians.  And Force is the operative word.  From “put your valuables in a tray” to “take off your belt and hold your pants up while raising your arms” they have it chalked out. They are looking for forbidden goods on your person, your cabin baggage and sometimes in the lining of your clothing. Very soon a small collection of water bottles, perfumes, cigarette lighters, pairs of scissors, garottes, knives, guns and water pistols join the growing tub behind the counter.  It doesn’t stop there.  Freshly packed masala is not allowed - you might cook a meal on board and poison the pilot?  Pickles and jams, too, are best left for distribution to the CISF after the security check. For the safety of the aircraft, safety pins are banned - too bad they hold up things you’d rather have held up. No one can risk a hold up on board. Remember 9/11?  It became an emergency number as a reminder. Whatever the logic, once you are through security you have the option of heading for the Lounge, if you really love queues, or you could browse the selection of unaffordable merchandise available, or you could buy yourself an overpriced coffee. But you must make full use of the airport experience.  You need to build up energy for the next stage - boarding.

You carefully avoid the Sleeping Passenger - he stretches himself across three seats while catching up on his beauty sleep before the flight. You make a beeline for the queue managers which are just outside your departure gate. There you shall stand till the uniformed gate managers come to inform you that you are in a boarding sequence due much later. But you will stand your ground and let all the other sequenced people crawl around you!

And then you are on board!  You’ve grabbed a couple of overhead bins, a fair bit of underfoot space, dropped your extra hand luggage onto adjoining seats and you’re all ready to cajole the rightful owner that your family wants his seat as they are travelling with you. God help him if he refuses. You will give him the “treatment” - lean across him to check on your beta every few minutes, make him get up so you can roam around the cabin checking on your family, and go to the washroom five times during the flight.  Once you’ve settled down you must, absolutely must, press the assistance button just to annoy the ladies for yet another glass of water, so you can use the loo yet again!

The flight takes off after some desultory demonstrations by the cabin crew, which you missed while checking out the seat pocket - reading material, safety card, barf bag.  And now, belts off, it’s Tiffin Time.  You’ve carried enough for the family and friends and must now start dismantling and distributing. The smell of your delicious home cooked food vies with the bland smell of three coloured sandwiches, cup-o-noodles or cashew nuts in reusable tins.  It wafts across the cabin as do your children, getting stuck behind service galleys and suffering attendants. Food done, you join the next queue on the flight - to use the washroom, play with all the taps and gadgets, forget to latch the door and just enjoy your new private seating. 

Landing means you must be first off the blocks - switch on your mobile phone as soon as you sense a tower, stand up when you’re asked to sit, open the overhead bins without a care for safety, and head for the exit, preferably before the pilot. The cabin crew keeps saying things like “taxi-ing” but you know you need to be first in that queue too.  “Come fly with me, let's fly, we'll fly, Pack up, let's fly away!”

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