Westbound Sign Barriers

Things can go haywire when you think you’ve got it all planned. Sitting in the aircraft am I & doing a quick recap of the ill fate I’ve faced in the past 3 hours.

To start with, and by far, the most disastrous of all, I forgot a parcel that had to be brought to Mumbai. Not a vital package but one that would’ve pleased a few folks yes. Klutz that I am, I forgot to take it out of the fridge. Perishable item you see. So that’s that.

Secondly, I took ages to get myself some viable public transport. And it was raining. Of course, I had calculated this possibility in my equation and so I made it a point to leave my house at an early hour. Still, traffic snarls thrust themselves onto my path and I remained helpless, crawling ahead in a rickshaw which was shielded by the rain on only one side. Nice and uncomfortable.

Several kilometres later and at one of many vehicle gridlocks, the rickshaw driver craned his neck out and peered at the front wheel. He turned back in. Again he looked out. Then back in. On the third try, I inquired cautiously and hoped against the worst. He smiled and looked at me through his rear view mirror. “Lagta hain puncture ho gaya sir”. Sigh.

I frantically searched the surroundings. No hopes. Only private vehicles neighboured my 3 wheeler’s pathetic state & I was in no mood to attempt my first hitchhiking ride at this juncture. Damn this Metro construction, I thought. As far as I could see, it was an endless & colourful chain of car rooftops that lay ahead. A few rickshaws passed by but with passengers. Luckily, an Omni cab pulled up alongside and in a minute’s time, I had got out in the middle of the road, thrown my luggage in his space and then thrown myself inside. Oh yes, flipped a 100 note across to a waiting rickshaw driver. He grinned as I slid the door shut.

At Terminal 1B it was raining cats and dogs. Because of a car queue, I was ‘asked’ to get out early. So I grabbed my backpack and yanked it across my shoulders like a baby carrier. Pulled at the Skybag and ran across the pavement to the GoAir entry point, located at the end of the terminal. Sweet.

Now it’s more or less stable, apart from a slight shocker when the fist time flyer uncle in front of me excitedly and seemingly I would say, cranked open a Coke can to celebrate his mode of travel. With that, he welcomed the soda all over his family and himself. The air hostess couldn’t help but chuckle to herself. She handed him a few paper napkins. He laughed it off too. The steward gave a dismal look to the scene. Luckily, uncleji didn’t notice that part.

Closer home now and the plane suddenly turned left. Wow. Sharp swing really.

20 minutes to land. (Oh, my first post flying high)

Cheers Mumbai.