Who really, is flying our planes?

The first time I boarded a plane was in the year 1990. Dad was being transferred from Kolkata to Bombay (it wasn't Mumbai then) to take up a very important job role, and his company paid to fly his family. So one summer morning, an eight year old kid who had cried just the previous night saying goodbye to his Calcutta school friends, boarded the aeroplane with eyes wide open, a grin from ear to ear, a heart full of excitement and a little palm firmly clutched in his mother's palm.

It was an exhilarating experience for me, and I still remember every little detail. When we got into our designated seats and the airhostess aunties (no reflection on the general age of IA staff, when you're 8 years old every babe is an aunty :D ) brought us toffees and a welcome drink, I felt like royalty. When the plane completed taxiing and turned on full thrust for the final takeoff, it sank me into my seat, and I wondered how much power the engines must be producing right now. After takeoff the pilot came on to the PA system and announced that the distance to Mumbai is about 2000 kms and we will complete the journey in 2.5 hrs, I turned around and asked my mom "That means we will be travelling at 800 kms per hour (smart kid I was, see? :D ). Our Ambassador has a speedometer marked to 140kmph. The plane must have a speedo marked to 800 kms per hour, tai na?" They served us lunch and I ate heartily, thinking I was ek din ka sultan and the food served to me was no less than what Prince Charles must be served at Buckingham.

The most hilarious incident was I trying to pass motion on the plane toilet. Before boarding, a rather mischievous relative had told me that when you shit on the plane, the (err...) shit falls down on the heads of people over whom the plane is flying. This I had to see!! Sadly, however much I tried I couldn't manage to shit in the plane's lavatory, so I never got to see the unique spectacle explained to me in such graphic detail.

Before landing, one of the aunties gave me a handful of toffees. I remember I had a severe pain in my ears (happens to a lot of people due to the atmospheric pressure change inside the cabin during take-off and landing) yet still managed to thank her and say goodbye to all of them. We got off at Mumbai airport and I promised to myself that flying - the best experience in the whole world - is something I have to keep doing.

22 years have passed since then and I've flown countless times - business and pleasure. I am a frequent flyer on the 2 largest private sector airlines in India. I genuinely enjoy those 2-3 hours of nothingness in the air, and find countless things to do - read a book, work on an office assignment, or just sit back and think. Secretly, I still feel like that little 9 year old boy when the pilot turns on full thrust. The airports have changed from being basic stop-overs to fantastic facilities where you can spend hours. Try the new Delhi airport for instance. (Of course, Kolkata airport still continues to be as miserable as it always was - but hope springs eternal). To put it simply, I love flying!

Every air traveller has his share of stories, and I have mine. Like this one time in 2007 when I was flying from Ahmedabad to Kolkata on a Kingfisher night flight. There was this very attractive young airhostess, dusky, with an Angelina Jolie-esque pout. She showered lavish attention on me, bringing me the customary extra dessert, and laughing with genuine warmth instead of the cold clinical smile that most air hostesses perfect. After dinner most of the passengers went to sleep. There was some time for the flight to land, and I asked for something (probably another bottle of water). She came over, and over the course of asking for a bottle we struck up a friendly conversation. She told me stuff like where she stays in Kolkata, where she's done her education from, how long she's been on the job etc - as did I. That was the only time I've shared any bit of personal information with an airhostess, and in respect to her profession, I never tried to contact her after that. Never saw her again though. Probably in this plastic generation, airlines don't like employing people possessing genuine smiles.

There have been instances where I've been thankful to the pilots. One time I was flying from Kolkata to Hyderabad on an Air Sahara flight. It was terrible weather at Hyderabad, thunderstorms and pitch darkness - at just 5 in the evening. Our pilot warned us of the weather as we were approaching the city. Just when the plane started its descent, it got trapped in the thunderstrom. I could see flashes of lightning outside my window, and the whole plane was shaking. It was so bad that we could hear the luggage getting thrown around in the overhead bins. People were chanting their prayers, and my heart was in my mouth. Yet to his credit, the pilot managed to execute a perfect landing. When we were getting off, he came on the intercom and said "I thank you for flying Sahara". I told one of the airhostesses as I was getting off "No, tell the pilot that we thank him for saving our lives".

And that last incident brings me to the topic I wanted to discuss. Who are the people flying our planes? Today morning's paper carried this article where the aviation authorities have decided to come out with a more fool-proof system of detecting tipsy pilots (Click to activate link). Apparently, in the last 4 days the authorities tried the new system, they've caught 4 drunk pilots. This includes a very senior person in AI who's a training captain in AI and a flight ops inspector with DGCA.

Really? Did you know, o regular business traveller, that all this while your planes were being flown by drunk pilots? The man who was bringing you home to your wife and child could have been in a state where he's incapable to look after himself, let alone a 40 tonne aircraft with 180 passengers???

Please spare us, Mr Pilot. We pay through our noses for airline tickets and then stand in endless queues waiting to be checked in. When we see you, in shiny uniforms, being whisked through the gates, we don't feel sad. We respect you. Don't make us lose that respect. Don't bring yourself down to the level of night lorry drivers, who're often found in the same state as you.

What was that you said? Oh, its not always the pilots to blame? Of course its not. Pilot Fatigue is one of the biggest causes of airline accidents in this country. We have too many aircraft and too many routes to fly, yet not enough qualified pilots. So you're paid double or triple your actual rate to fly extra hours. But of course, you're human, so you tend to buckle under the exhaustion some times. Like when both pilots in an Air India flight fell asleep and the plane travelled to Goa instead of landing at Mumbai (Link). Funny, isn't it? What's so bad about landing at Goa anyway? Just have a couple of beers and come back.

But sometimes it doesn't stay so funny. Like when one of you slept throughout the flight, and the aircraft crashed near Mangalore, killing 150 passengers. The data box picked up sounds of snoring inside the cockpit, and the co-pilot saying "We have no more runway left". Shame.

Sometimes unbelievable things happen, like an instance where a plane landed at Kochi instead of Kozhikode, and no one - the crew, the pilot or the airport - had any real explanation to offer. In the end the crew justified themselves saying they would have crossed the Flight Duty Time Limit if they continued till Kozhikode. Pull the other one, I say.

Who's that little voice in the corner? Oh the airline company? Yes sir, what do you have to add? Its not always your or your crew's fault? I agree. We live in India after all. A country where an Air Traffic Controller actually forgets which shift he's supposed to come in for. As a result his post stays unmanned. When the pilot of a loaded aircraft frantically calls in, the ATC's GM actually has to take the help of a fireman to guide the aircraft in to land!

Its unbelievable. Of course, considering this is religious India, and the airport in question was Tirupati, we will convince each other that it was the lord who took the fireman's guise and saved the passengers. And all will be well.

Enough. I can keep on pulling out little URLs of these instances. But lets make the point. Dear Airline, Pilot, Crew, DGCA, and whoever else is associated with the airline industry in our country. There are millions of people flying your planes at the moment - out of compulsion or out of pleasure. Some of them, like me, still enjoy flying with all the enthusiasm of a 9 year old kid.

These people keep your wallets going. Please be aware that you are responsible for their basic safety. Billions of dollars are spent every year factoring in safety measures into aircraft construction, and some more billions in pre-flight testing. Don't let human negligence destroy all this. We have families to come back to, as have you. Lets bring the joy back into flying.

The courage to face life

Once upon a time, the powers to be decided to build a mega-flyover on Eastern Metropolitan Byepass. A mega road, that, once complete, would take a commuter from Salt Lake to Park Circus in 10 minutes. Inspiring. Trouble is, within days of the construction starting, EM Byepass turned into an apology for a road, a pothole-ridden, part-barricaded, vehicle breaking nightmare for daily commuters.

Like a lot of Salt Lake residents, I too decided to change my office route. EM Byepass was out, the Chaulpotti Road-Moulali-Creek Row-GC Avenue route was in. Second day into the route, and I saw him for the first time.

"He" stands at Moulali Junction, just where Dr LM Bhattacharya road ends and you turn off into Creek Row. An old man with a stubble beard, dressed in a t-shirt and lungi, standing by the roadside begging for alms. He waits for the traffic signal to turn red, then walks from window to window begging. Seems like just another beggar, till you look at his eyes and notice he is COMPLETELY blind. The light in his eyes has gone out ages ago, replaced by grey, lifeless marbles.

The first time it intrigued me. If the man was blind, how did he know when the cars came to a standstill and it was time to go and do his thing? Other blind beggars usually have a helper to guide them, or they're not really blind. If you're observant, or if you've seen Madhur Bhandarkar's traffic signal, you can easily make out the not blind :). But this man was alone, and the best of my observation confirmed he was really blind as a bat.

Then I noticed his modus operandi. This man (lets call him Ahmed for want of a name) stood next to the road divider with a stick in his hand. The right hand held the stick, and the other end of the stick touched the divider railing. He stood and stood as car's whizzed by. Some inert sense in Ahmed (probably vibration sensing through his feet) told him when cars had stopped at the signal. When they stopped, he would slowly, carefully reach out his left hand and try to touch the door of the car nearest. Having set his perimeters (the divider to the right and car door to the left) he would approach the window and start begging. 2 mins at a window, and Ahmed would move towards the next car in line - all the time the stick in the right hand touching the divider railing and telling him he was within safe retractable distance.

This would continue until the signal turned green and the cars started rolling. The moment Ahmed's left hand sensed moving metal, he would retract to the divider grill - and the motion would continue all day.

It intrigued me. If ONE of his judgements was mistimed, Ahmed would be in mortal danger of being injured by parts (or the whole) of a moving car. Yet his begging continued day in and day out.

Most of the summer I saw him in a tattered T-shirt. In July I saw him decked in a brand new white T-shirt and cap, carrying the logo of a prominent NGO. I personally believe these NGOs are dictated by jackasses who think that the best way to do upliftment of the poor is to give them brand new clothes which display their own logos to the best effect. Within a week the new clothes were gone - sold or stolen I don't know - and the tattered t-shirt was back. As winter approached I saw someone had been kind enough to gift him an old sweatshirt - thankfully without logos.

Ahmed was the only beggar in Kolkata I gave a fiver (or anything) to the first time, and continue to give a fiver or tenner whenever I'm in the rightmost lane and he comes to my window. Twice he misjudged my window and moved ahead, when I yelled "Idhar aaiye" and he came back to receive his daily grant. He knows my voice now, which became apparent when I called him one day and tried to make small chat. I asked him how long he has been blind, to which he said something like "Aap to achhe admi hain saab, humko hamesha dekhte hain aur kuch dete hain. Andhe ke lie saal/din barabar hota hai saab, hum to idhar hi hain kab se". He then burst into a smile, the typical large hearted, toothy, innocent smile I've seen many blind people breaking into.

Another day I saw Ahmed being irritated by 2 street urchins who also operate at that same traffic signal. The kids were taunting him, calling him "andha" and pulling at his sweatshirt. He was laughing.

I've reached a point now where I expect Ahmed to come to my window everytime at that signal, and rather enjoy giving him a fiver or tenner when he does. Quite surprising since I'm generally a heartless fellow and hate beggars. The reason, when I dig deep, seems to be simple. In him, I see a reflection of our human lives.

Think about it. The way Ahmed operates in traffic is the same way we lead our lives. Our family - our parents, our wives, our children - are our road dividers. We have a stick in one hand, with which we are constantly ensuring contact with our families. The other hand reaches out to touch everything we do with out lives - our careers, our education, the choices we make. We live life by moving from window to window, picking up experiences, picking up money, picking up the results of the choices we have made. All the time the other hand touching the railing assures us we have some place to go back to.

When one of the results of our choices does not turn out the way we expected - when the cars of life start moving too fast for our comfort, we sense, and we retract back to our families who give us support and shelter. We recover. Then we sense that the time is ripe again - the cars have stopped at the signal - and we're back moving from window to window asking for all that we ask from life.

In Ahmed, I see one more thing. I see the courage to face life. The man has lost his vision a long time back, is probably too old and haggard to be employed anywhere. He probably has no one in the world to assist him in begging, so the only way he can scrape out a livelihood is to play "Sense and touch' games with tonnes of moving machinery. Yet he laughs. When a sympathetic passerby asks him what brought on his current plight, he laughs. When younger fitter humans mock his disability, he laughs. He laughs, and shows people like me how pathetic we really are - scared stiff at the prospect of losing the sand castles we've built out of our educated, protected lives.

So when my boss ensures I've had a miserable day, or when things don't go as planned, I think of Ahmed now. I reach out to my family, try to share the happenings of the day - or simply a laugh - and get on with life.

Its true that God shows you the path in remarkable ways. Maybe Ahmed is one of them. The next time you're at Moulali signal, do call the old man to your window and give him whatever you can. You'll feel happy.

Welcome to the madman's ruminations

The morning shows the day, a wise man once said. Obviously that man has never been to a B-School, or he would have realized that morning is just an extension of the night's efforts to stay awake and meet impossible deadlines, or (depending on which term he visited) nature's signal that the night's party is finally over. He's never been to a BPO either, where morning shows the END of the (work) day, and time to sleep. Not so wise anymore, is he?

Similar wise men have been asking me to start a blog. "You write well, dude. Make sure you write a killer first post. What you write in the first post will ensure people come back to read your blog again".

While I cannot guarantee that this one will absolutely turn out "killer", my focus has been on making this rather interesting for the first time reader, which is, err, everyone. I differ with the wise ones in trying to make this the flagship post. I'd rather, and you'd rather, know what I'll write and what to expect of this blog.

In a word, everything. I will treat this more as a personal diary, and will choose to comment on things I feel strongly about and feel you should know and share opinions about. I may occasionally bore you with my reviews of things, bear with them. Automobiles, being the definitive inspiration in my life will keep finding mention here. References will be made, to people alive and dead, and events past and present.

And lets get one thing clear. Its MY blog. You're welcome to come in and read my opinions. If you have conflicting opinions, please post a comment. But don't, please don't, coach me on what I should (or should not) write about.

To start off, I'm putting in a touching little true story in the next post. Let me know what you feel.