The Joy of Flying

I remember Shashi Tharoor each time I board a plane. Not because I love the way he flicks his hair but travelling 'cattle class' stirs exasperating farrago of emotions. 

Once in the plane, you grab your 36B and impatiently wait for ground clearance. I’m talking about the seat number, you pervert. There are ten planes ahead of you and the airline does its best to save fuel by not switching on the air conditioner before takeoff. You can suffocate to death in the fart and sweat soaked seats for all they care. Mind you, this is not some low cost airline but supposedly premium, all service Jet Airways – The Joy of Flying. That’s their tagline. 

If you are on a short flight, anxiety begins to play havoc with your bladder muscles. They go into an involuntary twist. The first thought that comes to mind is to rush to the nearest toilet before it gets drenched in dew drops and begins to smell of roses. As it happens, one bladder inspires other 149 bladders. Unfortunately, there is short window of release between take off and descent. As a result people queue up outside the toilet before the cabin crew distributes juice to ensure a mass bladder burst. 

For some reason, the smiling stewardess who welcomed you with a chirpy ‘good morning’ gets all snappy. I don’t get it. Minutes ago she was pumping sunshine up our bottoms and now she is clouding it with ‘why the hell are you here’ expression. What happened?

One elderly man pisses her off by occupying the toilet for eternity and then brushing past her cart. When he returns to his seat, she is reeling from the after effects of reading Half Girlfriend, “Sir, we have only one non-veg meal left, lena hai to le warna kat le.” 

Almost.

“Sir, we’ve run out of non-veg trays. You can take veg if you want.” 

The old coot gets into an argument over the meal and after much doo-doo, it turns out that the quibble was over 15 grains of black gram accompanied with three cookie sized kulchas. If I offer this to my house-help she will screw her nose, ‘Didi aap kha lo’. 

Meanwhile others who are debating whether to pee or not to pee guzzle enough juice and beer to feel the force. Just when there is a queue of dozen loaded passengers, the seat belt sign is on. 

Crew on their seats, we are about to descend. 

Difficult to say if the stewardess has ‘why can’t you do it at home’ expression or ‘Piss off’ face. She decides to unload her annoyance over all the silent ogling she's faced in her career. ‘No Sir, please return to your seat. Can’t you see the seat belt sign is on?’ 

You can almost feel the joy in her heart. Revenge. Is. Sweet.

Never seen such imploring faces – Pee-lease…uff! 

I’m enjoying all the turbulence, making notes to write a blog post, when one lady decides to break the queue and take the feminist route to the toilet, “I’m menstruating, you can’t stop me.”

Silence.

The lady gets lucky. A dozen livid men return to their seats twisting their legs in awkward ways. Sitting on my window seat, I want to ask the lady, girl to girl, why should a menstruating lady get priority over someone about to wet his pants? Or soil his shorts? 

Eventually you land, hopefully at your destination (unless the pilot takes you to Jaipur or Lucknow due to air congestion over Delhi). You decide to be patient and sit tight before the groundstaff takes ages to fix the aerobridge. Turns out, sitting is a bad idea. Because everyone is standing and 149 booties are at your nose level. Direct transfer. 

We are the last to leave, but I now know why pee-ople itch to get out. Once at the airport, I find a sparkling clean toilet and I’m so happy, I could cry. Happiness, after all, is finding a place to go when you really gotta go. 

That’s the real joy. Not the joy of flying.

Apologies for messing your morning with this un-pee-leasant post.

Death by Buffet

Just when I was about to say cheers to lost weight, a 3N/4D vacation ensured that I found more than I lost - the weight that is. Amazing, rather exasperating, how a short outing can tilt scales in ways you never imagined.

After a long flight, you take a quick shower and saunter into the hotel restaurant to occupy the window seat overlooking the sun-kissed mountains. At a time when you are normally tending the door, waiting for the maid, packing lunch and ordering groceries, this is heaven. Never relaxed so much at breakfast time and you are so happy that you could cry. You soak in the atmosphere and fetch up to take a look at what’s on offer. Most buffet spreads are an assortment of Indian, Mediterranean and Continental delicacies served to challenge your midriff. For reasons unknown, even the oatmeal and sugar free porridge which seem puke-worthy at home invite you with healthy hush – come savor me. The boiled eggs and omelette you find mundane back home begin to croon, ‘Is it me you are looking for’. The stuffed paranthas look at you in all their oily glory and hum softly, 'pick me baby one more time'. The wide arrays of chutneys next to steaming idlis wink at you. The aroma from baked beans and grilled potatoes sautéed with parsely nudges you – try me. The cold cuts beckon, the stir fried veggies whisper, 'Sweetie, we have it all - carotenes, free radicals, fibre, try us no?' The little gateaux’s begin to waltz around your nose even as the creamy fondant plays hide and seek from behind the slim, crisp, hot and curvy jalebis melting you to mush. Yes, jalebis, miles away from home. 

When you are debating difficult choices, the steward approaches, “Should I toast brown bread or multigrain bread for you?” You look so profound and thoughtful as if you are attending the G20 summit and wondering whether to vote in favour of the climate deal or go the Trump way. Back home, your toaster is a breeding ground for cockroaches but toasting, popping and smothering bread with dollops of butter is suddenly comforting. Almost calming. You are tempted to try every brownie, bun and bread with jams and marmalades of every flavour. 

There are other multiple choice dilemmas, ‘Mam watermelon, mixed or orange juice? Sparkling, mineral or regular water? Green, regular or masala tea?’ You are tempted to make the most because eventually you are destined to fall back in the arms of muesli and cold milk. But you summon all the self-control at your disposal and count backwards. 10, 9, 8… 

The steward hovers around your table with an assortment of maple syrup coated pancakes and juiciest falafel in town, here try some, we’ve used herbs from our garden and you won’t get this anywhere. 

There is laughter in the air, the beautiful couple next to you is relishing their scrambled eggs, their kids are jumping like dolphins and everyone’s so excited that you surrender. 

Given that breakfasts are included in your room rent, you decide to land a delicious kick on the hotel’s rear by recovering every penny.

After all, what is one day of cheating? 

The following day is worse. You head out for a long drive, you are not sure if you’ll stop for lunch so you stuff enough to last for dinner. Eventually, you have lunch, snacks, beer, dinner. The last day is the worst. You are about to check-out, you haven’t vasoolo-ed the room rent and the next vacation is a tiny blip on the radar. So you say, what the heck, I will shed the darn kilos again. Then the three day buffet breakfast takes three months to leave your midriff, if at all. But that’s what life is – diet, work, save, travel, repeat. Even if it means death by buffet.

Dressed in Hyperbole

Let’s say, your friend uploads a picture on social media. After her 1226 friends are ‘blown away’ by the ‘eye popping awsomeness’, what can you possibly say that stands out? After all, you have to create an impact. Seek acceptance. Remember, all your friends will read what you’ve written with deep interest as if they are studying English adjectives for school exams. Simply liking the picture means little, unless your friend is vain enough to check all the 742 likes. Also remember that ‘Beautiful’ is boring, ‘Lovely’ lame, ‘Awesome’ passé, ‘Stunning’ done-to-death and ‘Gorgeous’ clichéd. 

You can shout in capitals. YOU. LOOK. STUNNING. Or add extra alphabets - Sexxxxxxy. If that’s done, you can say Super Sexy. And if that’s done too, you can be a little hatke and say OMG Maar Hi Daloge Kya. Don’t forget to add half a dozen exclamation marks for that eye popping effect. 

The most dramatic outpouring is a tribute to originality even if it means an orgasmic ‘Yes, Yes, Yes’. So much for a lame exercise, because the odds are that whatever you write will have little effect on your friendship. Unless, of course, you call her a wild Babboon.

Welcome to the social media hyperbole, where simple is boring and superlative cool. Which is why I like Whatsapp where one emoticon 👌can pretty much convey the Absototofantabulosomeness of it all. 

So, I’m watching this video sent by a friend whose son is dabbling with stand-up comedy. After I say it’s hilarious, even though it’s pretty ‘meh’, I scroll down the comments. One lady who is who is ‘Literally Splitting at the Seams’ hasn’t smiled in the past one week. Another who is ‘Literally Dying’ is devoid of a funny bone. Silly me. If folks can ROFL, they can literally die. That’s the way a internet cookie crumbles. But for a generation that has recently learnt to ROFL, it’s tough. How do you process ‘Donkeys Balls’ which basically is an expression of disgust? 

It’s strange, but we never felt short of adjectives before the onslaught of social media. My heart goes out to food bloggers who cannot describe their labour of love as ‘Delicious’ because it is so un-appetizingly old-fashioned that their dish runs the odds of turning sour. ‘Tasty’ doesn’t work either because it amounts to saying nothing. And now that ‘Yummy’ is going the tiresome ‘Awesome’ route, how does one describe the lip-smacking scrumptious dish? Never mind. Don’t sweat it. We’ll find a way. Till then, make do with Yummilicious and Tastyyy!!!!

The easy way out of this hyperbole mess is to wear a funny cap. If you can say something witty, you don’t need to dress in hyperbole, add extra alphabets or unload a bagful of exclamation marks. 

The trigger for writing this post is a short story I read on a blog. It’s an emotional story with an innovative twist towards the end. And I’m wondering how to praise and seek acceptance on a public platform. Given that there are fifty odd comments and being repetitive is not an option, I scroll down the comments. One lady says that her heart is pounding, eyes are watering, and that her brain is literally exploding after the unexpected climax. Literally exploding, really? I give up.

In an article, writer Charlie Brooker says that the online world has subconsciously converted everyday conversation into a form of exaggerated entertainment. Nothing wrong at all. But you have to, “Perform, entertain, exaggerate. Oversteer and oversell, all the time. And of course in this increasingly binary world, if good equals amazing, bad equals catastrophic. Any disappointment, any setback, anyone who steps out of line – all instantly labelled the Worst Thing Ever.” 

Indeed, if exaggeration is the official language of the internet, innovation is an inherent need. Go ahead and add an extra ‘s’ in Yesss or convert it into an Yasss for that feeling of wholesome agreement. Pre-fixing a ‘Super’ will do too. As will adding an ‘iest’ to whatever you are feeling. Just don’t say shittiest blog post ever. And no Donkeys Balls either. 

Puhleeze. 

I might die, like literally.

Image Courtesy: www.imgflip.com

www.collegetimes.com

Still Waters

Emerging from the airport, I inhaled deeply. Like an eager kid, I wanted to have as much as I could - the freshness and the crispness of it all. Far away from Gurgaon’s dust and heat, Srinagar’s air was rejuvenating. A mix of pine and apple. Farhan, the local driver was amused.
“Madam, where are you from?”
“Delhi,” I said.

“Aap India se ho?"
I swallowed hard as the husband nudged me to zip up. But Farhan continued, "I visited Deli once. So much pollution, I couldn't breathe,” he said. “We Kashmiris can’t live away from home.”

“I understand,” I muttered. 

A few meters away from the airport, I realized that the air was light, but atmosphere heavy. Gun toting CRPF men dotted the entire stretch. The sight of unemployed youth idling in groups next to closed shops was disturbing. It appeared as if the city was stuck in a time warp of the seventies. When the muezzin’s voice reverberated in the valley, the mountains echoed. Within minutes a veil of uneasiness clouded the excitement of visiting Srinagar after twenty-five years.

Dal - A view from my  hotel

As the day broke lazily, a customary Shikara ride was on the list. In a fit of a nostalgic reverie, I wanted to feel what Shammi Kapoor felt when he immortalized the shimmering waters. Since the ashes of the actor, were immersed in the Dal Lake, I expected the waters to sing ‘Tareef Karu Kya Uski’.

The lake, however was silent. Bearing the brunt of violence, ravaged by circumstances, the olive waters were festering with weeds. Even though sunlight danced on ripples and the backdrop transformed in different hues of green, the lake refused to sing.
Once we were in the midst of the lake the shikara owner - an old man lamented the lack of tourists. Routine strikes by separatists ensure that development remains a dream, he said.
“But the airport is crowded with hordes of tourists?” I asked.
“Most of them are Amarnath yatris. They go to Pahalgaon and the holy cave.” 
"So you support those who call for strikes and bandhs?"
To which he said, "This is our rozi roti. Unke bachche to bahar rehte hai, bahar padhte hai."

The loquacious old man narrated stories about ghosts descending on the terrace of Pari Mahal, located on the Zabarwan mountain range overlooking the lake. He truly believed in the mythical folklore.

“Why don’t they clean these weeds?”I tried to change the topic.

“They purchased weed cleaning machines worth lakhs. But the mechines don’t work.” 

After some prodding, he revealed that he would get one tenth of what we paid him for the shikara ride. The rest would be shared by a layered mafia. When we tried to pay extra, he refused saying there was no point. He would be strip searched at the end of the day."Don't give me money, aap mujhe Char Chinar par khana khila do." Char Chinar is a secluded piece of land in almost the centre of the lake.

During sightseeing, Farhan, my driver was polite but his angst was onbvious when he was frisked for a security check. He muttered swear words and swerved the vehicle with anger raging in his eyes. For any discerning tourist, mistrust between the locals and the army was palpable. The sales girl at an emporium was equally cold and clinical. While I marveled at her peaches and cream complexion she rebuffed me. “Don't open the shawl if you don't want to buy.”

Despite opting for ballot over bullet, the situation in the valley is beyond occasional tourists. It is beyond a complex law and order problem. It is beyond a pesky violent neighbor. It is beyond political apathy. I don’t know when the Dal will sing, 'Deewana Hua Badal'.What I know is that still waters run deep. Serene but scenic, they don't sing anymore.

Flight Of Imagination

Sea and Sand - Goa Travel By Train Decades Ago

Then

When I was a teen, travel was mostly about train journeys. Each time we embarked on a train journey, the baggage of reality was the first casualty. And of all the seductions of train travel, the most enticing was the possibility of a chance encounter with a stranger. Oftentimes I imagined meeting him in a first class compartment, discovering him just as the train emerged from a dark tunnel. Or watching the handsome stranger sleep on the adjacent berth. All because the movie Casablanca and some tacky novels had left footprints on my delusional mind.

But instead of meeting mysterious good looking strangers, my imagination was trampled by heavy boots of reality. More often than not, my travel companions were pot bellied gassy men, loquacious aunties or naughty kids who enjoyed hanging on the berth like monkeys. Most wouldn’t even allow me the privilege of a short nap.

Tell me if I am wrong, but many youngsters hold on to romantic possibilities while traveling. And unlike me, some even get to meet interesting strangers.
After holy matrimony, the entire travel matrix had changed. My tryst with travel held great excitement of  meeting parents or my husband who was abroad. So travel imagination was predominantly about meeting loved ones - the explosion of emotions, the squeals of joy and the moments of embrace.

On board a Cruise -Superstar Libra (2010)

Now

Today when I travel with family, comfort and relaxation are the key words. The mantra is to travel light and travel right - the shortest possible route with  lightest possible luggage. While on a vacation, I aim for total relaxation. And unlike most, I am perfectly happy when I am lazing around, doing nothing. I mean, why else would I take a break?

I love the sea and the sea loves me. Nothing fascinates me more than the soporific air, laid back beaches and warm transparent sea waters. I dream of lazing around the pristine beaches and lagoons of Maldives

Seychelles In 2006

with family. The Maldives is a long narrow country formed by twenty six natural atolls - ring like coral formations enclosing lagoons. There are over three thousand coral reefs in and around Maldives. Due to the countless number of reefs, all you need to do is travel 30 minutes by boat to get to a different dive spot every day. Night diving is particularly exciting as it lets you experience interesting flora and fauna. No, I haven’t been there yet, but I plan to. Perhaps, this October.

Unlike the past, I plan to travel smart by striking the right balance between budget and comfort. On our previous cruise to Krabi and Penang, the tour operator booked us on a long flight via Colombo. Cooped in an endless hopping flight, I felt like a chicken in a cage. Worse, the hotel booked for us was in a red light area and not exactly what we had imagined.

After heated arguments and last minute change of hotels, I realized that it is best to book flights and hotels yourself to avoid any disappointment. With  Skyscanner, it is really easy to compare and select the best options available. The free services enable you to compare several airlines and offer  deals on hotels worldwide.

Right now, I have identified tentative flights to Male, but am recovering from another shock. I had my eyes on the divine Lagoon Villa with a Plunge pool at Taj Exotica, but it costs a bomb. So the dilemma is whether to save and plan a trip next year, or, go ahead and stay at the Surf

View Hotel which overlooks the popular surfing area (the website says there is free cancellation, which works for me). Another boutique luxury venture in the middle of Ari Atoll looks promising too. Sigh, I am sold on Taj Exotica.

Notwithstanding the minor hiccups, who can stop my imagination on an over-drive since the tenth grade?

Imagine landing on a slender strip of verdant land surrounded by a transparent sea that transforms into a million shades of blue-green. There I am, at the centre stage enjoying the symphony between rumbling clouds and gurgling waves - a microscopic speck in the grand scheme of things. Suddenly it begins to rain. And the following morning, the sand appears satiated – glistening in the glorious sun. Bliss.

Future

My Dream Destination - Taj Exotica, Maldives (Picture Courtesy).This post is written for fun and Indiblogger Skyscanner contest.