Remember the time I had to bring home a lotus from Pune? Well, here's the story of how I almost didn't go to Pune at all, but finally did...
Sunday morning. The time when you’re supposed to lazily roll over in your bed and close your eyes again. Especially if it’s the first weekend in months that you’ve been back home. But then again, the universe has other plans for the way my life should be.
I had a flight to catch at 11.45 (on a SUNDAY morning – I can’t say this enough) and a pretty complicated way of reaching the airport which is so far away that it might as well be in another city. I’d been smart – I’d looked up the timings of “Vayu Vajra” on the website 2 days before. 9.20 am was burned into my consciousness. (And to get to the appropriate bus-stop at 9.20 am, I had to leave home at 8.45. Why do all my weekends look like weekdays now?!?)
So a taxi arrives to pick me up from home and I set off, with my dad following on the bike. (He didn’t need to come back in the taxi). After getting stuck in a traffic jam (on a Sunday morning, can you believe it?!), we got to the stop at 9.15. Five minutes roll by – and no bus. Atleast, not the bus I wanted. I could’ve gone anywhere in the city by bus, EXCEPT for the airport. (How do these things happen?!)
A helpful conductor (from a bus I don’t want) decides to help us out – turns out, the bus doesn’t run on Sundays. (I knew it was a bad idea! God intended everyone to stay at home, in bed, on Sunday mornings!) That was the signal for my dad to start glaring and grumbling. How was I to know that buses get to sleep late on Sundays, when I don’t?!
So the helpful conductor tells us to go on to the next stop along the road, from where airport buses set off every 30 minutes. I load the suitcase onto the bike, and Dad and I move it to the next stop. Sure enough, there’s a bus there, airport-bound. Hurrah! I get in and ask what time it’s leaving (and I’m hoping the answer is “Now” ‘cause it’s already 9.45), and the bus driver says 10 am. Cue mini heart-attack. Ten?? That means I’ll reach the airport at 11.15, he tells me. I breathe a little. That’s not too bad for a 11.45 flight, right? I look into the ticket again, just to reassure myself. And it says “Departure – 11.30”. The heart-attack makes an encore. (When did that change?!)
My dad redoubles his glares and departs, clearly leaving me to stew in my own mess. Parting words to a daughter who’s off for three days?? “If you miss that flight, you’re dead.” (I can’t believe he said that – looks like someone’s been watching too many movies of late, huh? It’s a flight, Dad, the worst that can happen is that I miss it, and have to stay in Bangalore. Sorry, did I say worst? I meant best. Pune is ridden with swine-flu. But more on that later.)
I get into the bus and put on my best puppy-dog face, and inform the conductor that my flight is at 11.30. He smiles. I make some more sad faces. He agrees to leave at 9.50. Score!
There’s a middle-aged uncle in the seat behind me. “You should plan to reach there one hour before the flight”, he informs me. Thanks, I needed to hear that. Again, I want to reiterate, how was I to know that buses get a lie-in on Sundays?! Somebody explain this to me, please. As far as I’m concerned, if it’s up on the website, then they should follow it, Sunday or not. (Humph.)
9.50 am and the bus is off. Finally. Maybe I will go to Pune after all. So I open my book and settle down. It’s a Sunday, how long could it take? Smile.
Apparently, it can take pretty long. At every stop people want to load themselves and tonnes of baggage onto the bus and then proceed with long-winded, hugging good-byes to each other. Don’t these people realise that my career is at stake here?? And this bus, which should be moving like its ass is on dragon-fire, instead crawls like a flobberworm through Trinity Circle and MG Road. (Yes, I was reading Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.)
Crawl, crawl, crawl. Fret and fume. 10.17 and just past MG Road. Come on, bus, I have faith in you.
Frantic calls from my senior. Yes, I’m on the way. What, do you think I WANT to miss this flight??
More people getting in. More luggage getting in. Come on, bus. It’s 10.53 and we’re at the Hebbal flyover. My senior messages me. Apparently, they’ll hold the boarding pass for me till 11.05, max. God, if you’re listening, I am out of bed and worrying myself to death over a stupid plane (on a Sunday morning, no less). Now, it’s not that I doubt your existence per se, but it would be nice to see a miracle… right about now. If it’s not asking too much, please can you make this bus sprout wings?
Minutes are ticking past. 10.55 am. How can there possibly be 15 more kilometres to this airport?! Why on earth do they call it the Bangalore International Airport, when it’s evidently nowhere near Bangalore??
10.58 am. Come on, bus. And now, it’s a race to the finish. 11.05 looks a lot closer when the watch is on 11.02 and there’s 3 more kilometres.
Airport! I saw it!!
11.06..!! And I’m the first off the bus and hurtling towards the doors, receiving a call from home en-route about whether I made it. (Not yet, Dad, but almost!) Ticket and ID proof already in my hand. The security guard waves me through. The pretty girl at the start of the winding passage to the Jet Airways counter gives my running form one look, and unhooks the barriers all the way to the counter for me. Double score!!
I slam down my ticket and ID proof, and a second pretty girl at the counter [I almost ask her whether it was in their contracts that they have to wear make-up an inch thick. She’d’ve been nicer-looking without it. Then it dawns on me that I had a flight to catch, so I shut my mouth] convinces the baggage loaders not to leave my suitcase behind. “Just one more baggage,” I hear her saying to someone unknown baggage-authority. I flee up the stairs, receiving another frantic call from my senior. (I’m on the way upstairs!)
Why, why, why does there have to be a line the X-ray thingy now?! My flight leaves before all you people! Does no one realise that I need to be on that plane?!
I stand in the line, clucking impatiently. (God, who AM I?). Laptop? Take it out of the bag, please, and put it in this tray. WHAT? We didn’t do this the last time! Why now, why now??
And I’m through, and stuffing the laptop back into my bag. My senior’s standing at the counter and waiting for me, and I do a repeat of the hurtling that BIAL witnessed downstairs. My boarding pass is examined, and now we’re walking down the passage into the plane.
I hear footsteps behind, and look around. “Don’t worry, you’re not the last”, grins my senior. Thanks, buddy. There’s the gift the universe has for me, to make up for a bus that gets to lie-in (on a Sunday morning), when I don’t.
I find my seat, and settle down (after struggling to find some space in the overhead racks to stow this bag of mine). Two minutes later, we’re taxiing down the runway. Jet Airways welcomes you on the flight to Pune, and despite everything the universe had lined up for her, Nappinai Raghavan is safely on board.
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I could be designing bridges. Bridges so beautiful that they could be in museums. And I could design those museums. But instead, what am I doing? What has my career come to? A two-story Stetson, with outdoor dining on the brim. It’s a sick cosmic joke.
- Ted Mosby, Architect
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