It was during the flight to America that I came to Bombay for the first time. Well, it was inside the Bombay airport terminal, to be more precise. But at 2 in the morning, the enthusiasm of going to the USA was not enough to subdue the long spell of exhaustion and sleeplessness. And the airport couch was not a bed. With my luggage containing all of my important belongings and the fear of losing the flight, sleep was a luxury I could hardly afford. Our plane, scheduled to leave at 3:30 am, was delayed by an hour. By the time we finished checking in at the airline counter, we were told to board the plane. As was in Kolkata, we had to take a bus to the airplane, parked far in the tarmac. In the early morning winter, the giant two-story jumbo jet, lighted by floodlights, appeared like a giant bird. As I looked around from the top of the stairs, faint dawn light seemed to be oozing from the eastern horizon. The surrounding area looked calm in the early morning haze. As I entered the plane from its front door, leaving the first-class area close to the captain’s cabin, the size of the plane became evident. Rows after rows of seats went all the way to the end. A heavy green curtain separated the first-class from the economy section.
An air hostess checked my boarding pass and pointed me to an area in the mid-section of the plane. There were ten seats in each row, divided in three lines and separated by two aisles in between. The middle line had four seats and each of the two walls sides had three seats. And on each seat, neatly placed was a navy blue blanket, wrapped inside a clear plastic bag, and a small white pillow. A small towel was attached to the head rest. My seat was next to the window, as usual. And the seat and its hand rest was chock full of lights and buttons. I could push one button to lower the back of my seat and the seat became a half straight bed, or I could push it again to bring it back up. The second button was to turn on or off the light above the seat. Each passenger has one’s own light that only shines on that passenger’s tiny front table. There were tiny white nozzles under the overhead bins above the seats. As I rotated a white knob clockwise, a jet of air started flowing. Aha, a fan! I could move the nozzle around to change the direction of the flow. There was a small sack attached to the back of the front seat that contained a litany of things; a folded pamphlet of the airplane’s make and description, showing the door in case of emergency; an earphone to listen to music when you connect it to a socket in the hand rest; a disposable paper bag, in case you feel air sick and needed to throw up; a bunch of popular magazines and news papers.
It took a while for the plane to be filled and be seated. And with the usual captain’s call and the safety drill instruction by the air hostesses, the plane took off. We would be flying to Rome!
Not soon after, under the exhaustion of many a busy days and sleepless nights, I finally fell asleep. And I don’t remember when our plane flew over the warm waters of the Arabian Sea and Nebuchadnezzar’s hanging garden in Babylon. Leaving behind the pyramids in Egypt, our plane silently crossed the Mediterranean Sea. When I got up by the intercom announcement, the air hostesses were delivering breakfast. But I had to visit the lavatory of the plane, a cramped compartment barely large enough to turn around. But it is packed with all the modern amenities you can think of: paper towels and paper cups, soap and hand lotion, perfume and deodorizer, and from tissue papers to ladies’ sanitary napkins and even a telephone for emergency. As I came out, the window sheds were opened and the morning light was streaking inside the plane. Even after flying for so many hours, the dawn of Bombay was barely turning to morning over the Mediterranean sea. The plane was flying east to westwards and so the sun was constantly being left behind. And though the local time was morning, my watch read afternoon hours.
At Rome, all the passengers had to get out of the plane so the janitors could come in to clean the inside. Only, the janitors at Rome did not look like the Romans of my imagination! We went inside the terminal building, looking around the tax free shopping stores, but we were not allowed to get out of the airport. As we boarded back the plane, we had new stewards and stewardesses. It appeared that the whole crew had changed. The stewardesses looked fresh and chirpy, many more white westerner than Indian. And I looked through the window of the plane to get a glimpse of the Roman civilization (bookish me!). But that might have been far from the airport.
By the time we departed the Rome airport, I pretty much got accustomed to the activities the air crew follow during a flight. I knew when the soft bell chimes in the intercom, when the lights of ‘no smoking’ and ‘fasten your seat belt’ signs were turned on or off; when the pilot announces to close the door and the plane slowly moves away from the terminal towards the runway and the air hostesses play the safety demonstration. As the announcer reads the safety steps over the intercom, the airhostesses, like mimes with artificial smiles, standing in the aisles and looking towards the passengers, silently show how to fasten your seat belt and how to untie it by lifting the metal plate on the belt. They show a picture of the aircraft with a map of its inside layout, wave their hands downwards to show you how the aisles will light up in case of an electrical failure and all the lights go off, and point towards the locations of the exit doors; they show you how to open the doors by turning the red handle clockwise and then pushing it out, and they demonstrate how the inflated sliding chute would automatically roll out and how to jump and glide on it to safety.
If the plane goes into water, they tell you, there is a life jacket under your seat. They tell you how you should open it, put it on and inflate it by blowing through the whistle-like device. They mention that there is a light somewhere in the life jacket that will light up automatically when it will be wet and will act as a beacon. I checked beneath my seat. But I could not find a life jacket. Then a hostess told me that the seat itself is the floating device. But her mood was cheery as if telling me not to worry much. They showes you how to use the oxygen mask in case the plane falls into severe turbulence. “The oxygen mask will fall automatically from the bin above” the announcer reads as the air hostess raises her left hand with the yellow mask with tubes attached and then loosens the mask end for it to fall freely. She grabs the mask with her right hand, covers her nose and face with it and then pulls an elastic string from the mask around her head and pushed it below her ponytail. “Always put your oxygen mask first before you help your child,” the announcer says. It sounded so cruel!
As they completed the demonstration, some of the stewards and stewardesses would hurry around to make sure that the overhead bins are all securely closed and that all the passengers have fastened their seat belts, folded their tiny front tables and raised their back seats. Someone will count the number of passengers to make sure how many food plates to bring out. Then, when the pilot would announce that the plane is ready for take off, the air hosts and hostesses themselves will take a seat, facing the passengers, and put on their seat belts. I closed my eyes in prayer, (fear really). The plane taxis to the runway, the jet engine roars, the plane runs fast and faster, you can feel that the nose of the plane gets raised and then with a mechanical thump under the belly of the plane, it starts floating up in the air.
Soon thereafter, you would hear the whining sound of the landing gear being folded back inside the plane’s belly. I would feel a whizzing sensation in my ear drums and I swallowed to clear it up. Through the window of the plane, I would see the world below, slowly receding away. And if it was cloudy, some wayward clouds would block the view of the earth. Then the bell would chime again, the pilot made announcement, the airhostesses unbuckled and started helping the passengers. They treated you as if you have just got up in the plane at the last airport and that it was the first time they have met you: helping you find a blanket or a tiny pillow, giving you a new headset to listen to music or whatever your requirements would be. Every time the plane flew from an airport, they served you candy and drinks: coke or Pepsi, orange or apple juice, water with ice or no ice. The more seasoned passengers, mostly white, would ask for wines and liquors, which the pretty hostesses would be ‘so’ willing to oblige. “Tonic water, sir?”, the air hostess would eagerly enquire, as if to show the esteemed passenger that she and only she is up to the level to serve him! I would sneak a quick look to see what was being served and in my elemental weakness, would recoil inside! Then they would serve them the tiny liquor bottles.
And I remembered the story of these tiny liquor bottles. Once, many years ago, a new principal came to my old college; he was freshly returned from his studies in England. And along with him, came his acquired western habits. Rajen-da, his office assistant, would love to tell us the story in his funny East-Bengali dialect. Rumor had it that the principal could not complete his breakfast without some of the liquid in the tiny bottles. “Bujdacho Rajen (Understand, Rajen)?” Rajen-da would mimic the way his old boss sheepishly lamented to him, “Avyesh to sohoje jai na (The habits don’t die easily).” The gentleman left the college within a year, after he procured a better paying job in a foreign company. But the glory of his westernized habits survived. And Rajen-da would gleefully account the poor gentleman’s problem to our freshman class. Though we all enjoyed the story, I would feel a warmth, a hidden pride in Rajen-da’s voice; he, the poor office bearer, being privileged to be associated with a person of such upper class!
“Kee doordanto machine ta dekechen (Isn’t the plane an amazing machine)?” my co-passenger from Kolkata mentioned. I smiled and nodded at him. This was the first time I got to talk with him after getting up in the plane yesterday. The whole time inside the plane, he seemed to be lost in his thinking: sad, melancholy. Like I was. Leaving your home and parents, your comfort zone. Going to a new place. Not knowing anyone.
Our stop at the Paris ‘Charles de Gaulle’ airport was short. Only departing passengers were allowed to leave the plane. And after few incoming passengers took their seats, we were flying again. I looked through the window and tried my best to get a glimpse of the Eiffel Tower somewhere. No luck. The sky was cloudy and I had no idea where to look for it. But I knew we were headed for London.