This blog is dedicated to a special someone, henceforth
referred to as Zee-man, who insists that I carry a trolley bag during trips out
of town.
Now my travel strategy for short trips had always been a
simple three-step process. First, pack everything that I could into my orange
back pack, no additional luggage. Second, call Zee-man from the airport and
crib endlessly about how heavy the back pack was and how my back hurt. Third,
every day during the trip, crib about how I couldn’t carry enough shoes or
spare clothes for my travels- stupid back-pack wasn’t big enough.
There are very specific advantages to my back-pack strategy-
a) no check-in baggage fees; b) no waiting at the baggage carousel and most
importantly c) two free hands.
This fated morning however, I decided to try Zee-man’s
advice. It was a 6 am flight from Delhi to Mumbai. After an uneventful security
check I still had half an hour and decided to grab a coffee. I was surprisingly
fresh for 5 am, but coffee is one of those bad habits that sticks (and not just
figuratively, as you’ll see soon).
The guy in front of me placed his order.
Man-who-looked-like-an-NRI:
(Looking at the menu) May I have an iced chocolate Frappuccino.
Server: What
flavor sir?
Man-who-looked-like-an-NR:
iced chocolate Frappuccino.
Server: Sir
Vanilla, Hazelnut….?
Man-who-looked-like-an-NRI:
Uhhh…..chocolate.
This went on for a while before I had my turn and could order
an iced Luttey.
I took a sip of my Luttey;
I could mostly just taste the sugar in it. Guess we Indians like it sweet. I
struggled with my sweet drink for a bit till it was boarding time at which
point I headed towards the staircase- note: no elevators. Trolley bag wheels
are not very useful while navigating staircases so I had to stop and push in
the handle to carry the bag down.
Trolley bag: -1.
Things were still okay; back-pack on shoulders, bag in one
hand, Luttey in the other, boarding
card securely between my teeth. I could get used to Zee-man’s advice, I
thought, as I stood at the top of the flight of stairs.
Right at that moment, my phone rang. Even without any free
hands, somehow I managed to transfer the battered Nokia from my right pocket to
my left ear; my head cocked to one side, holding the phone between my ear and
shoulder.
So there I was at the top of stairs: back-pack on shoulder,
bag in right hand, Luttey in left,
boarding card between my teeth and phone magically stuck between left shoulder
and ear. I could do this…
"Hello…yes I am boar…oh FISH!"
The coffee cup bounced into the air and wavered dangerously
for what felt like an eternity, before I skillfully caught it again! Quarter of
the the contents of the Luttey cup
now adorned my clothes and arm; another quarter was divided between the floor
and the DARNED TROLLEY BAG!
Trolley Bag: -2
Did I mention that coffee was a habit stuck? I could feel
the sugary sweetness as it travelled down my arm and settled between fingers. I
quickly grabbed a few napkins and wiped what I could.
Worse, I was wearing my light blue jeans which had
previously survived a chai spill and a soy spill. But it didn’t look like they
were going to make it through this latest coffee disaster.
I wasn’t giving up on the coffee so easily though. I still
had half a cup which I was going to keep drinking. Determined, I made my way to
the boarding gate. The gate agent shot me an ugly glance as I handed her my
splashed and spotted brown boarding pass. I grinned back and raised my Luttey for cheers.
Found a spot on a bus that would take us from the boarding
gate to the airplane. I stood near the bus door with my back against a seat. No
free hands, so I could not hold anything for support. The bus driver was in the
mood for jest or must have known that I was carrying a half full cup of Luttey. The bus gave several jerks
before it started the short ride. The driver drove like a racer, negotiating
sharp turns and breaking abruptly. I balanced the cup and the trolley bag
precariously and breathed a sigh of relief when we reached the plane.
Trolley Bag: -3
In flight, I raised the heavy trolley bag and deposited it securely in the overhead bin. I settled down into my seat, the Luttey nestled in my hands. Soon we were off. The man sitting next
to me fell asleep, and boy, was he a snorer! He had defined rhythm- long grunts
interspersed with regular short ones at an impressive constant 150 db. His head
rolled flexibly from side to side, like one of those little dolls that you find
perched on many a dash of Mumbai taxi cabs, except that his was in slow motion.
I was afraid his head might just roll off. I considered, at length, the
consequences of emptying the remaining contents of my cup on his bobbing head.
I must have laughed out loud at the thought because I found a couple people
staring at me. Stare at Mr Snores
instead, I thought.
Towards the end of the flight, the stewardess came by with a
garbage bag and motioned towards my still not empty Luttey cup. I reluctantly let it go. That was the end of that
relationship. I realized I needed my space.
As we were landing, Mr Snores woke up with a start and
loudly said to no one in particular “Meri neend hi poori nahi hui!” Oh I’m so
sorry Mr Snores! We all slept so well, thanks to the lullaby you provided us
with!
Jerk!
I was in Mumbai for a dear South Indian friend’s wedding.
Muhuratam was for 9:00-10:00 am.
Dear Rest-of-India, I strongly recommend that you get
married at mid-night like us Punjabis. Its way more fun and is definitely
easier to smuggle in drinks in the dark. And what’s all this nonsense about just
an hour long wedding. How can you possibly be properly married in just an hour?
It is a lifelong commitment, at least give the bride and groom half a night to re-consider!
My flight was late and I had to choose between missing the
split second Muhuratam and going to a wedding smelling like coffee. I prudently
chose the former.
5 minutes later I emerged from the ladies room beaming. I
was wearing my louder than Punjabis, Punjabi suit….
Trolley Bag; +10!
…and golden stilettos!
Trolley Bag: +20!
Score!
Thanks for the suggestion Zee-man!
