let's try this again, yeah?

I figured that if I’m going to get this blog rolling again (see what I did there?... no? ok.), then I’m going to have to start writing more regularly. And short of smoking a big fat joint, the only way I’m going to able to get past this strange writer’s (?) block I’ve been having is to record my experiences on a daily basis, starting with today. (where’s that joint?)

Anyway, I went to Bombay today. On business, not pleasure, before any of you jump. I had to get up at 4am (which is actually pretty difficult) and take a cab to the airport. And its 1am the following morning now – I walked in the front door about ten minutes ago. Sigh. Its not easy being a high-flier (read: high-flying-iyer).

The day started fairly well – I went to work to pick up some material (a solitaire diamond, in case any of you are interested), and didn’t know how to open the bloody safe. After struggling in vain for 15 minutes with 4 keys and two locks, I called the security guard, who, of course, opened it in 10 seconds flat. I mean, key 1A goes in first, clockwise, and then 2B anti-clockwise, and then 1B in the second lock anti-clockwise, followed by the aptly named key X in a hole at the back, which I wasn’t told about. Its enough to do your head in!

After collecting my erstwhile boss from his house, we set off on the thrill-a-minute journey to Bangalore. The traffic wasn’t too bad actually, until we reached the outskirts of the city. These days, of course, the outskirts start 20 kilometers before the city, so it was a slow crawl for the last hour or so. We got to the airport with minutes to spare, literally, and were the last two people on board Kingfisher flight IT 104 to Bombay.

Everyone talks about the air-hostesses on these flights, but to be honest with you, they looked like a bunch of ugly Barbies with dark hair, too much make up and skirts which are way too tight. (Pinky and Anamika– if you’re reading this, I MEAN YOU!). Those are their names, God’s honest truth.

Every seat has a little TV which you’re supposed to fiddle with for a while, so I obliged. But we only seemed to be getting Zoom TV (?), Star One, and Ten Sports (which I will forever hate for buying the rights to the UEFA Champions League). So I tried the radio, but that wasn’t working. I was thinking of asking the albino sitting next to me how he got his sound going, but he was immersed in the in-flight magazine. While the plane was taxiing before take-off, each and every passenger was treated to the sight of Vijay Mallya bragging about his brands, while walking through a maze of model airplanes. I tried to turn it off, but I couldn’t… and the sound was being played over the speakers, so I couldn’t even shut him up. Git. After some more posturing, he handed us over to Yana Gupta, who took us through the usual safety instructions. You know, life belt under my seat, oxygen mask will land on your head if the cabin pressure drops suddenly etc. Only, her voice was dubbed in Hindi, so it just seemed surreal (although she IS tasty, you have to give her that!). The English voiceover was done by someone with a strong lis-th-p. “Pleath ensure that all you belongingths are sthowed in the overhead rack, or under the tseat in front of you”. Now, I’m not making fun of people with speech impediments (I used to have a cracking lisp), but come on! A voiceover is supposed to be professional!

Thankfully, the flight passed without further incident. Unless you count the horny guy next to me insisting on asking Pinky for more cream in his coffee. I offered him my packet, because I wasn’t drinking anything, but he went “I want extra cream”. So I said, “This IS extra cream!”, but he wasn’t listening, so I left him to his pathetic attempts to get a smile from the air-hostess. Honestly. The thing which struck me was the fact that 95% of passengers on Kingfisher Airlines are male. Hardly surprising, you’d think. And you’d be right. Ah well, at least I didn’t have to stare at Vijay Mallya’s ugly mug for an hour and a half.

Bombay is huuuuuge. Massive. It took the cabbie two and a half hours to get us to the office. By which time I was so fed up I just wanted to go back to Hosur. But there was work to be done. I had to interview some big-shot vendor for an in-house magazine, and I couldn’t afford to miss it. Off I trudged, up six flights of stairs, to this really plush office. My appointment was for two thirty, and I got in at 2.25. Naturally, if you’re a big shot, you’re supposed to make people wait – so I’m sitting in this dingy waiting room (the reception was the only really plush bit, actually) till 4 30, when he decided that I’d twiddled my thumbs long enough. Tall chap, this fella, but with a massive, massive arse. His son was there too, and his arse was even bigger. I wanted to laugh, but that might not have gone down too well. Actually, it Wouldn’t have gone down too well. My flight was for 8pm, so I shot through the door and caught a cab at 5 on the dot (it was a very quick interview), because I didn’t want to take a risk with the traffic. As Murphy’s Law would have it, the roads were clear all the way to the airport. So a journey which took two and a half hours in the morning only took 45 minutes at rush hour in the evening. An interesting little aside here – On my way into the city, I actually saw a Dhabbawala. After hearing so much about these guys, seeing one was almost a let down. But fair play to them… I don’t think anyone could do their job. Brilliant.

So I’m sitting in the departure lounge at 6pm, boarding pass in one hand, head in the other trying to get some kip. Eventually, I made my way to the security check, where they managed to confiscate all my batteries, and tried to take my pen as well, on the basis that it’s a sharp object. (I made that last bit up, but I’m ticked off about the batteries). More waiting. And then, as you would expect, some lady going “Jet Airways flight etc etc to Bangalore has been delayed due to technical reasons”. Effing brill.

Some more waiting. And then we boarded. Now, I’ve never really noticed them before, but Jet Airways had a couple of absolutely gorgeous air-hostesses. Drop dead, literally. I was smiling all over my face for a while, but then I saw one of them go up to a steward and say something while pointing at me. Well, that did the trick, I guess. I pretended to be lost in my newspaper for a while, waiting for take-off. I’m not making this next bit up, honest.

The captain came on the PA sounding almost breathless, “I’m sorry for the delay folks, but there was a traffic jam, and then someone hit my car, so I had to catch a cab. That’s why I’m late”. Oh. Really. The whole plane fell about laughing, pretty much. Even the gorgeous air-hostesses. I felt a little bad for the skipper, poor sod. After that, we only heard stuff from the “First Officer”, who informed us that we would be landing at 10 30 in Bangalore. I think the Captain was rather embarrassed. The reason for the delay was also clarified by the First Officer – “Crew Malfunction”. Sorry mate, but that sounds just as bad.

To cut a long story short, I’m back at home now. My driver, poor bugger, was half asleep, and I had to keep making conversation with him, so that he wouldn’t drop off and drive into an IT company (Does anyone else think there are too many of these?). Right, well, that’s about it. Feel free to give me your feedback, be it praise or criticism (constructive, preferably!).

Maybe today will be more fun.