Touch Down
I’m absolutely irritated when my alarm goes off in the morning thanks to late night surfing. The flight to Jammu is at 11:30. Not wanting to be late I reluctantly get out of the bed. More problem in the offing as I find neither the water heater nor the hot water tap working in the bathroom. It takes multiple phone calls and a bit of screaming for the plumber to arrive. I start panicking as the clock ticks away.
My tension doesn’t abate till I check-in. I enter the lounge after the security check and all I notice is an ocean of olive green. Army men in fatigues and uniforms occupy the entire lounge broken only by small groups of men with billowing beards. “Is the situation in J&K this bad?” my heart skips a beat. How difficult it must be to live there! I even call up JS to tell him as I sit next to a colonel. He looks at me disdainfully. Later I realize that many of them are leaving for a UN mission on a chartered flight! Ah, the fanciful flights of mind!
A security man grunts something at a 30 something bearded man even as he smiles obsequiously. “I have to go to Kashmir” he says - twice - in Hindi. The image stays even as I board the flight. I find the same man inside the plane sitting in a row ahead of me. A while later there is commotion over the seat. Another man - slightly distressed - repeatedly buzzes for the airhostess.
“Yes Sir?”
“My boarding pass says my seat is 10A but someone’s already sitting here”.
I notice it’s the same bearded man with the same stupid smile. The air hostess tries to converse with him in English and he smiles away without comprehending much (I presume). “May I see your boarding pass please?” she says in English and repeats in Hindi and the man hands over his passport to her! She manages to get the boarding pass and says, “Sir this is not your seat. Would you please come with me?” The man says, “but I sat here first!” in Hindi as he rises and walks behind her, grinning sheepishly!
Inclement weather and mighty turbulence we experience on the way. The flight is delayed by a good 20 minutes before it lands. Nobody checks the boarding passes of the alighting passengers to verify if they’re to disembark in Jammu only. I’d assumed it was a routine but mandatory drill. It’s raining in Jammu. “Is it a good sign?” I muse. It’s a small airport. Someone from the office is already there with a placard carrying my name. “Samarjeet Singh Sir, AAO”. He tries to carry my baggage even as I firmly say no.
It’s 2kms from the airport to the office (and the guesthouse). A few more officers from the office are awaiting my arrival. After a round of pleasantries and tea they leave allowing me to freshen up before I meet my new boss.
GS is a short man, bald with a little grey hair on the fringes. He sports an almost invisible white cropped moustache. His English bears no trace of his Bengali antecedents. A few minutes of polite banter over tea follows.
I’m in!
My tension doesn’t abate till I check-in. I enter the lounge after the security check and all I notice is an ocean of olive green. Army men in fatigues and uniforms occupy the entire lounge broken only by small groups of men with billowing beards. “Is the situation in J&K this bad?” my heart skips a beat. How difficult it must be to live there! I even call up JS to tell him as I sit next to a colonel. He looks at me disdainfully. Later I realize that many of them are leaving for a UN mission on a chartered flight! Ah, the fanciful flights of mind!
A security man grunts something at a 30 something bearded man even as he smiles obsequiously. “I have to go to Kashmir” he says - twice - in Hindi. The image stays even as I board the flight. I find the same man inside the plane sitting in a row ahead of me. A while later there is commotion over the seat. Another man - slightly distressed - repeatedly buzzes for the airhostess.
“Yes Sir?”
“My boarding pass says my seat is 10A but someone’s already sitting here”.
I notice it’s the same bearded man with the same stupid smile. The air hostess tries to converse with him in English and he smiles away without comprehending much (I presume). “May I see your boarding pass please?” she says in English and repeats in Hindi and the man hands over his passport to her! She manages to get the boarding pass and says, “Sir this is not your seat. Would you please come with me?” The man says, “but I sat here first!” in Hindi as he rises and walks behind her, grinning sheepishly!
Inclement weather and mighty turbulence we experience on the way. The flight is delayed by a good 20 minutes before it lands. Nobody checks the boarding passes of the alighting passengers to verify if they’re to disembark in Jammu only. I’d assumed it was a routine but mandatory drill. It’s raining in Jammu. “Is it a good sign?” I muse. It’s a small airport. Someone from the office is already there with a placard carrying my name. “Samarjeet Singh Sir, AAO”. He tries to carry my baggage even as I firmly say no.
It’s 2kms from the airport to the office (and the guesthouse). A few more officers from the office are awaiting my arrival. After a round of pleasantries and tea they leave allowing me to freshen up before I meet my new boss.
GS is a short man, bald with a little grey hair on the fringes. He sports an almost invisible white cropped moustache. His English bears no trace of his Bengali antecedents. A few minutes of polite banter over tea follows.
I’m in!