October 29 - a Thursday - turned out to be a beautiful sunny day in Long Beach, an interlude between periods of rain, with temperatures inching towards the 70’s.
Other than a fleeting moment of gratitude for the bright morning sunlight pouring in through the large glass windows overlooking the ocean, the morning breezed by in a storm of last minute activities that had to be completed prior to our departure for LAX. The taxi was scheduled to arrive at the condominium at noon, and it did. For two people who had done the packing the day before, it seemed unreal as to how many loose ends needed to be tied up prior to leaving that morning. As we clambered into the taxi, Giresh and I were out of breath and fifteen minutes later than the scheduled time of departure. I was grateful for the suspension of activity and the forced relaxation that is the promise of planned trips.
The ride to the airport was uneventful and we reached three hours before the 3.50pm take off time. We had planned on traveling lightly, but that idea was scrapped the day before when Kiran, my sister, provided me with an additional 33 lbs of snacks to take to our brother in India. Given the circumstances in which my brother lives, I did not want to thwart the possibility of him being the recipient of someone’s care, so we ended up adding another suitcase.
LAX, like all large airports I presume, has an energy that sucks you in. It’s large, chaotic, diverse and full of life - a microcosm of the globe encapsulated in a whirling sea of humanity that seems to be bound for a brief moment in space devoid of the concept of day or night.
I always feel a sense of rejuvenation and connectedness when I enter the airport. There was a few moments of labor as we navigated the suitcases through the airport to the check-in line for Etihad airway. Bags checked in, we went towards the passport and handbag screening area where the only form of mild excitement was a portly, large individual dramatizing directives to what needed to be placed on the screening belt, and to the removal of all items from pockets prior to walking through the X-ray machine. In a booming voice, he droned the directions and proclaimed that since he had given it in 4 different languages we should all now know what needed to be done.
It all washed over me, as I, on autopilot, took note of what he was saying, until a short Indian asked why the directions weren’t given in Hindi. I became semi-alert and listened to the response of the airport personnel who immediately rolled out a list of Indian culinary dishes - yellow dhal, chicken tikka masala, tandoori, palak paneer - as a good natured concession to Indians all over the airport. He went on to note that he was going to have Indian food for dinner since he loved it. My husband, of course being very nationalistic and a lover of all things dramatic, joined in by rattling a few more Indian curries to the list and telling the gentleman to eat that too. To which, he rubbed his large belly and said it was all going in there.
The excitement subsided after that and we proceeded through screening and navigated our way towards the departure terminal. Giresh had to make a last minute pit stop at a Starbucks, so we proceeded towards the coffee shop in the opposite direction of our departure gate and I waited till he got his fix. I decided then I needed my fix too and we stopped on our way back at a bookstore where I picked up a packet of gum, and a Pulitzer prize winning book with just two intentions in mind --
One, to read a good novel on the long flight home;
Two, to pick up on writing skills by reading the writings of acclaimed authors.
The airline crew members are firm, competent, and very rule abiding I realized. This should not be noteworthy except for the fact that they have to hold on to their rules when faced with irascible passengers that provide the rest of us with entertainment. I noticed that, first, when an Etihad personnel stood her ground with a defiant elderly lady who insisted that she would carry in the overstuffed hand carry on and try to push it into the overhead bins in the aircraft. For whatever reason, the passenger seemed to have bypassed the baggage check-in terminal agents who did not take her to task there, although they had checked my carry-on and ensured that it was the right weight for the overhead bins in the aircraft. As Giresh and I walked into the aircraft, I could hear the aircraft personnel mildly threatening the lady with a loss of luggage or excessive fines if she didn’t follow the directions.
We entered the aircraft and navigated through increasingly constricted walkways between seats as we moved from first and business class towards the economy class. As we reached our seats, I noticed that there was a gentleman already at the window seat, who mercifully found a solo seat in the back of the plane thirty minutes into the ride. But for now, my husband, with his long legs, was relegated to the middle seat, much to his chagrin, and I took the aisle seat in a concession to maidenly modesty. I took out my reading book, popped a gum in my mouth, watched my husband place all our bags into the overhead bin and cram himself in the middle trying desperately to fold his long legs, and then took my seat sedately and prepared myself for a long, uneventful 15 hour flight to Abu Dhabi, the first leg of our trip to Kochi, India.
It all started out unpretentiously enough, but as they say, no good deed goes unpunished. Immersed in the first chapter of my novel, I felt a nudge in my ribs from my husband who said loudly enough, ‘help the lady” and nodded his head in the direction. I looked over at the aisle across from me and an elderly Indian lady was engaged in a three way interaction with one of the stewardesses and a well-meaning passenger, both were trying to get her to relinquish an oversized bag from her lap and have it placed in the overhead bin. She looked bemused and indicated a complete lack of understanding of the request being made to her even as the grimly patient stewardess was doing a very formidable version of a game of charade with hand gestures and lip movements. The good samaritan of Indian descent had decided to help the stewardess by launching helpfully into fluent Tamil. Unfortunately, the elderly lady and her husband, who sported a hearing device, indicated no comprehension and repeated her lack of understanding in Malayalam which of course had prompted my husband to offer my services to the lady.
Since the aisle was disturbingly narrow, I was able to reach over and tap her on her elbow. She looked over and I proceeded to translate the request In Malayalam which she was hesitant to comply. She held the bag grimly believing that any loss of control on her part would mean loss of luggage. So, I stood up and reassured her that it was going nowhere and would be there when she landed in Abu Dhabi. With 3 pairs of eyes staring at her and her husband who entered the fray and began reassuring her, she had no choice but to relinquish the heavy bag into my extended hands. With help from the stewardess, I put hers and her husband’s bag up into the bin and went back to my seat.
But sadly, that was just the beginning.
