“This is the last and final call for IndiGo flight no 6E-122 to Delhi. This is the last and final call. Repeat this is the last and final call for IndiGo flight no 6E-122 to Delhi.”
I was just sitting in the Coffee Day of the waiting lounge trying to take a sip of a coffee, feeling reluctant to move out of the couch and proceed to the boarding gate. The coffee in hand probably already had cried, cursed, cooled down and was dead by now. I was still a bit nervous. Flying has never before given me the butterflies in the stomach.
Finally I buried the poor coffee into the bin, left it to RIP and moved towards the boarding gate. It was not much crowded and the lady assisting there had already understood that I am the “Last and the final passenger” because of which they’ve been announcing for a while. It was evident that she’d been noticing me for quite some time as there was no one else in front of that gate. She was not a great looking diva and her expressions of disgust made her look like an ugly fat “staring at you” owl after I confirmed that I am indeed the one she is badly looking for. She tried her level best to give her fake professional smile but failed miserably. I chose to ignore her and moved towards the plane.
Found that my fellow passenger on the window seat was a lady in her early thirties with a 2-3 years old kid. These one and a quarter fellas had occupied all 3 seats and she looked really disappointed that the window seat is mine and she has to clean her mess from the seat. She made so many noises and gestures in her attempt to move from that seat that I finally gave up and asked her to stay there. While I tucked myself in the aisle seat, she called her husband and started blasting him for all possible reasons a women can find against men. Unfortunately, I understand Bengali well and by no means could have avoided hearing what all she said. So, she had a fight with her husband who happens to be a techie in some software company, she took her kid a couple of his credit cards, booked a flight and moving to Delhi to her parents. And this phone call was to say a final “Good Bye”. I could not help wondering how that poor techie would be feeling at that moment.
Took a nap and soon woken up by the hostess “Auromita”, jeez… what’s with bongs and me today. She recommended me to have ‘Spicy Kulcha’ which eventually turned out to be a disaster. The match box style packing was interesting though.
Landed, got out of the airport and got into the cab which was waiting there for me.
“Sir Jee aap Bangalore se aaye ho?” the driver asked.
I just nodded.
“Wahan ki sadkon par traffic jam to hota hi nahi hoga?”.
I didn’t answer.
“Yahaan par to in behan-’beep’ Dilli waalon ne Dilli ki maa ‘beep’ rakhi hai.
I kept quiet.
“Yahaan pe mantri log apni ‘beep’ haath me lekar aa jaate hain vote maangne aur baad me hamaari ‘beep’ maarte hain”
I didn’t respond.
“Ye dekho sir jee, yahaan pe Mantri Jee ne patthar ke haathiyon aur mare huwe bhooton ki moortiyaan lagwaayin hain. Ab bataao, bhala ye hamaare kis kaam ka. Gareeb aadmi kyaa isko apni ‘beep’ me daal ke roji roti kamaayega?”
I quietly looked at the referenced park.
He then got into a small argument with an auto driver. After giving adjectives to the entire family of the auto driver he said to me- “In ‘beep’-waalon ko sadak pe gaadi chalaane ka yaa baat karne ka manners hi nahi hai. In behan-ke-‘beep’ ko koi tameej sikhaane waala chaahiye”
By this time we reached the Guest House. The temperature was about 40 Degrees in Delhi and my eardrums were way more hotter than that, thanks to the refresher course of language I just got over with. I got out and a man with long tilak and choti came out and grabbed the luggage from me and said-
“Sir, Bhelcome to Dilli!!”
PS: The ‘beeps’ in this post are context sensitive… Just in case you really attempt to decipher them.