A polite, if hassled, smile and the airhostess proffered the can of beer to the man on my left. I continued to snuggle into my aisle seat. It was a quarter to five in the morning. The sun had not yet risen, I was drowsy from having kept awake the entire night (regulations insisted we report to the check-in counter three hours before the flight), irritated because my husband and I were seated in different sectors of the aircraft... "Excuse me," it was the guy next door, or rather the next seat, "can you see the airhostess anywhere?" He had, or so he said, been hitting the button for almost five minutes to no avail. A few minutes later, the lady was at our side. Apparently, our take off was delayed by about five to 10 minutes. And our man wanted another beer. Seven minutes later, just as I had almost dozed off, it happened again. "Excuse me." This time round, he made his way to the aircraft pantry. Thirty seconds later, I could hear, over the noise of the revving engines, his angry voice berating the hostess. "Is this the way you do your job? I want a beer, NOW!" "Please, Sir," the hostess was almost pleading with him, "the seatbelt sign is on. Please return to your seat." "Give me the beer," he was practically shouting by now. A minute later, he was back in his seat, a fresh can firmly in hand. He was quiet until the seatbelt sign was switched off. "Excuse me," he made his way to the loo. He was back in seconds; apparently it was occupied. Five minutes later, "Excuse me," he made his slightly wavering way to the loo again. As I started nodding off again, "Excuse me," our man was back, another beer in his hand. I got up once again, but he still stood there thoughtfully. "I think we should change seats." "I think not." I had no intention of sitting between two strange men. "I think we should," he persisted. "No." "You see," he glanced at the beer in his hand, "I will have to go quite often." This was definitely not the kind of conversation I wanted to have at 5.30 in the morning. My irritated look must have said it all, for he quietly slid into his seat. The next three hours were energetic as he refused breakfast, demanded more beer and made umpteen trips to the loo. Then, blessed peace! He slept for the last half-hour. Or, may be, he had passed out. Honestly, I didn't care as I finally dozed off. I woke up when someone banged against my knees. It was our friend, struggling politely to get out again. We had just hit the Bangkok runaway and, despite repeated requests by the airhostesses, almost everyone was in the aisles... "Please, Ma'am, Sir, the seat belt signs are still on. Please take your seat," I saw a hostess requesting a couple ahead of me. "...Please do not open the overhead lockers as it could cause injury to you and your co-passengers..." Yet, many passengers -- almost all of them Indian -- had the overhead lockers open and were attempting to remove their luggage. One would have thought the plane had crashed or something. Finally, things calmed down only when an airhostess went around shutting all the overhead lockers and threatened passengers that no one would be allowed to disembark until everyone took to their seats and kept the safety belts fastened until the sign was on. The threat worked, everyone was back in their seats. Until, that is, the seat belt signs were switched off. Then, the stampede began all over again, before jamming at the exit because the staircase was not yet in place. Once the aircraft had disgorged the Bangkok passengers, I walked the aisle. Only to bump into an airhostess, who was preparing the craft for the next set of passengers. She gave a rueful smile, "This lot was okay, sometimes things can get rather unruly?" Unruly? "Yes, the Indians are the worst. They are always demanding something or the other and treat us like servants. Even the adults demand free kiddies' toys. And they drink like there's no tomorrow. God forbid, if we ever run out of alcohol." "We try, you know," said a second, "if there are any kits left over from the first class, we do give it to the economy class passengers on request. But they never understand that the kits are only for the first class and business class passengers, so we only have a limited amount. They grab the sweets, don't specify for vegetarian meals at the ticket counter, then berate us if we don't have enough vegetarian or Jain meals." "You know," said a third, "I once had this guy who refused to disembark. He stood there at the door and said, 'Madam, my complimentary.' At first, I did not understand what he was saying so I just smiled at him. And he kept smiling back, saying, 'Madam, my complimentary.' "Then, I figured it out. He wanted a complimentary gift. We did not give any, I told him that. Even told him that I didn't have any kits left. But he was still stuck at 'Madam, my complimentary.' I tried telling him, you know, I really did, but when he said, 'Madam, how can I leave without my complimentary?' that was it. "I smiled my best smile and told him to take the chair on which he had been seated. Complimentary, of course." Our laughter was cut short by a harassed looking hostess. "A through passenger is missing." Three simultaneous 'Oh shit' slipped out as an announcement filled the aircraft, "Will all passengers please take to their seats? We need to make a head count." One head count stretched to five as they determined that one passenger was actually missing and not hidden in some crevice of the aircraft. This, apparently, happened all the time. Despite repeated announcements, in English and Hindi, requesting passengers flying to Hong Kong to remain in the aircraft, someone or the other always slipped out 'for some fresh air,' 'to smoke a cigarette,' 'to stretch my legs,'... "Last time round," says a harried looking hostess, "there were three of them missing." The errant passenger, who did not look the least bit hassled, was finally located by a frantic ground staff. We took off 45 minutes later than scheduled. Meanwhile, another drama was playing itself out in the rear of the aircraft, were neither the audio channels nor the personal television sets were working. A large group of 15 to 20 Konkani-speaking people decided they would create their own entertainment. And they did, part one of which involved -- you guessed it -- innumerable requests from the hostesses. Part II involved photography. They clicked each other, the aircraft, the seats, the food, the hostesses, the blank video screen -- all amidst so much raucous noise that other passengers requested that their seats be changed. And when we finally reached Hong Kong, the same drama replayed itself. The aircraft had just hit the tarmac and was taxiing at high speed, everyone else were seated, seatbelts fastened, while my compatriots were already on the aisle, opening the overhead lockers. "May I request all passengers to please remain seated until the..." Savera R Someshwar is now enjoying her tenure on terra firma.
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