I believe myself to be a born traveller, one who receives
peace from the sojourn as and when it happens. I was in my last year of
Graduation and concentrating on my future education. I had managed to get
through NIFT, New Delhi and was called for the final round on 5th Jan.
But all I wanted was the Mass communication course in Pune. One evening, I was
taken aback by an almost faded text on a telegram that said ‘You are selected
for the Mass Com. Course’, which required me in the capital city.
So here I was packing my bags amidst the chirpy chicks of
the hostel. Some had landed in my room, cajoling me and cheering me on how to
win hearts at the group discussion, even tips to treat handsome men with lady
like snobbery. “You wish girls!” I thought. With years of determination, I had
managed to get through three prestigious Post graduate courses and I really
didn’t care even if Brad Pitt landed to help me board that Punjab roadways bus!
I managed a peaceful journey on the bus smelling of desi ghee and unwashed woollen blankets.
I felt the butterflies in my
stomach when my name was called out for the final selection in Pune on 6th
Jan. A jump in elation, hugs and kisses I couldn’t stop the blood rush to my
cheeks and …. “Wait!! What? 6th Jan? I have to miss the NIFT
selection”, I exclaimed.
And that was the Prologue to my infamous ‘First-ever’ air
travel. The results were out; I was not amongst the selected in Pune. A silent
heart is all I had, hopes were crushed. I didn’t know where to turn for light
and that’s when my father took pity on me and agreed upon paying for travel by
air! Wish I could put emojis to show what it really felt like! An emotional
high blood pressure, almost bursting out with happiness emoji can depict me
well.
Extremely proud, (God knows why? Probably for getting an
entry to All India Mass comm. flunking club) I mentally prepared for the
travel. Middle class yet flying like business class was my agenda. A pair of
heels, black suitcase and the English daily in hand, I wouldn’t have recognised
myself in the mirror. At the airport, Air India was waiting. . Sure there was a
lift in my gait. I have arrived, I thought. The beginning of my ever shining
career, No more desi ghee! Hail high
living!
Oh wow! Is it all real? Am I dreaming? I pinched myself
quiet a number of times before figuring out what-the-hell seat belt with a
little help from oh- so comfortable neighbour. I was the Gen X woman ready to
take on the world with my knowledge, education, CSR, India today and of course
the Newspaper. I could blurt out names of prime ministers, history of the
world, top statistics of India in my sleep. I went on enforcing the fact that I
was the ‘educated’ one there by picking up India Today over a Femina. Quietly listening
to music, down the aisle I spotted the airhostess. She was going to some seats
and saying something. I could not figure out what? As she approached, I was
getting anxious, what will she ask? How’s your day? Do you like it overboard?
Hope you are okay? were my brain’s suggestions. Finally she came near; I
ruffled my paper and took out the latest Times. It has to be the first
impression you know! I turned and saw her saying something. #$^&%?? Oops!
my earphones. She bent down now and said, #$#%$$??? What? Oh god! Why can’t I hear?
These flight attendees use British English only na? I am sorry, I said, gesturing that I couldn’t hear. She bent
down again this time and asked, MADAM!
AAP MAASAHARI HAIN YAA SHAAKAHARI? My world came crashing down to my feet,
I understood that my preparation did not help this time and settled for Shaakahari. I ducked myself deep in to the
seat with shame and stared at the Times in my lap. Oh Great! I was reading it
upside down.
