When Wings give you Fear


17 hours caught in a steel tube moving at 600 kph at 36000 feet was never my idea of relaxation. But ever since my company understood (after a few tries) that it was not possible to send their employees to the USA as attachments to emails, they rather reluctantly asked me to fly to San Francisco from Singapore. It was a good idea that I told them I couldn't swim, as that was the first option. So I prepared myself for the long journey by buying a thick paperback, which I was sure would keep me captivated for the first 15 pages, before sending me to that vacuous semi comatose state that all long haul passengers go through. As soon as the familiar boarding announcement came on that only the last 10 rows were to board first, the entire crowd listened, got up and organised themselves in well disciplined formations that are seen at the Kumbh Mela. I never understand why they even bother to announce…

I settled down in my aisle seat, trying to ram my 6-foot frame in a seat which was obviously designed by some seriously evil Pygmy women who, had they seen me at that very moment, would have been heartily slapping their 8-inch thighs. The seat next to me was empty, which was enough cause for most men (i.e., my friend Tuhin and I) to harbour a fantasy that some nymphomaniac Supermodel was going to occupy it along with her micro mini skirt. This fantasy however vanished when a bearded, middle-aged man rather rudely pulled my Supermodel out of the fantasy and occupied that seat. This guy had the disturbed look on his face that has you convinced that on full moon nights, he must be fondly caressing a pet axe mumbling lovingly to it while lying in wait at some lonely country passes. Well, my fantasy would have to wait as try as I might (and I swear I didn't), I could not imagine myself in a bathtub being fed grapes by this topless Beardo. The Captain made his familiar announcement in that typically overtly smooth voice and we were on our way.

After landing in Taipei for a brief refuelling stop, we were on our way to the US. The beer was taking its effect on me and I started to doze off as well. A few hours later (or may have been a few years later, time passes by so fast when you have drunk half a dozen beers at 36000 feet), cruising above the Pacific Ocean as I was about to enter my Supermodel's bathroom, I felt a tug on my left shoulder.

“Vous avez vu cela? Sur …laile?” Beardface asked me nervously.

If there is anything more irritating than being woken out of the middle of a stupor at 3 am Singapore time and being asked if I see something on the wing, it is being asked the same thing in French. A language, which I learnt so hard to impress the French exchange students at IIM, Ahmedabad (the ones without a beard and most often in an 'O-la-la' short skirt and the ones who in spite of me wanting it so badly never really woke me up in the middle of the night).

I rubbed my eyes to peer at some vague dark spot in the Pacific skies, which my bearded neighbour was trying to show me.

“Yep,” said I although at that point I was irritated as I had a Supermodel waiting for me and I had to rush back and was in no mood to refresh my French at that ungodly hour.

“Je ne l'aime pas.” (I don't like it.)

I didn't like it either …to be woken at 3 am Singapore time by some nervous passenger pointing at some indiscriminate point outside.

“Ce n'est pas bon. Je veux voir le capitaine.” (It's not good. I want to see the captain.)

I made myself a beer-inspired mental note not to sit next to people who were afraid of flying. (Unless they are Supermodels... or ordinary models in short skirts. Well, I am a complete believer in the equality of models.)

“Il est correct,” said I calmly. These were the right words to calm him down especially as I had forgotten to say, “Go to sleep you tight ass, you are scaring my Supermodel” in French.

“Non, Il n'est PAS OK. JE VEUX VOIR LE CAPITAINE.”

Great! Now he is getting vocal. I turned over the other side and pulled the eye patch tightly over my eyes and just decided to ignore him. There was not much you could negotiate with a drunk, who didn't exactly appear to have his mental compass in place to start with. But obviously a raving, ranting man at 36000 feet is not something that Air Stewardesses are trained to ignore. They should learn something from Air India, where as a standard procedure to call the stewardess, you have to set yourself on fire.

“What is it, Sir?” asked the stewardess in a calorie-rich voice when she in reality wanted to pluck this guy's beard out so he had something else to occupy his mind.

“L'aile d'avion!! Il se déplace trop…juste trop.” (The aircraft wing!! It is flapping too much ...way too much.)

Well, it is certainly not flapping more than you, thought I.

“Sorry sir, do you speak English?”

“NON… vous ne comprenez pas. ...JE VEUX VOIR LE CAPITAINE.” (No, you don't understand... I want to see... Awww, you know it by now.)

Now he was slowly making his way up the obnoxious scale, and ranting in French on a flight to San Francisco was not exactly going to make all the people in the flight queue up to invite him for dinner. He was also attracting a small audience of sleepy red eyes focussing on him, most of whom would have gladly flushed this jerk through the commode. He kept on pointing to the wing and used gestures which resembled very much the dance Red Indians might be doing on their castration ceremonies… and in French at that. His zonked out looks were not exactly helping his cause, whatever that was. As a conscientious passenger who had irretrievably lost his Supermodel, I refused to translate his craziness for the crew.

“Please Sir, you are disturbing the other passengers. I assure you. This is an Airbus A340. The most reliable of all aircrafts. There is no reason to panic.”

“Vous bâtards... ... JE VEUX VOIR LE CAPITAINE.”

'Bastards' translates very well across languages. I realised this the moment the stewardess rolled up her eyes till the whites showed and marched off. She came back with a male steward who, I was hoping, had at least a tranquiliser gun on person to handle this drunk... or lunatic… or both. For the next 15 minutes, the above conversation was repeated in a much higher sound frequency and volume till the crew just had to get the Captain.

I was looking around for another seat when the Captain strode to Beardface and told him in a firm tone…

“Mr. Chretien, I am the Captain of this plane and I can assure you there is no reason to panic. I have been flying for 15 years and know a thing or two. However, if you continue to act in such a rash manner, I have no choice but to hand you over to the American authorities when we land.”

Even though perhaps the words did not get through, the Captain's tone made sure that the message would have been understood by even most of the single cellular bacteria. He then turned to the steward and said something in Chinese, which I hoped, meant to look for volunteers to gag Mr. Chretien or even better to help him make an exit at 35000 feet. But I was out of luck; the steward rushed in helped by another, who held Monsieur Chretien down and gave him an oxygen cylinder. This seemed to have the desired effect on Mr. Chretien as his words slowly died out and he drifted into the realms of slumberland.

The rest of the flight passed without event and finally we landed at the San Francisco Airport. As we were taxiing to the Terminal building, I looked at a red-eyed Mr. Chretien and said extending a verbal olive branch, “Ainsi Monsieur Chretien. Aucuns problèmes. Nous avons débarqué sans risque. D'ailleurs, Je suis Rahul. Je travaille pour Vino Systemes.” (See Mr. Chretien. No problems. We landed safely. By the way I am Rahul. I work for Vino Systems.)
Giving me a 'how could you' look with his bloodshot eyes he said, “Huh… Je… Je suis Jean-Pierre Chretien. Je suis Ingénieur d'études pour Airbus.” (I am Jean-Pierre Chretien. I am the Design Engineer at Airbus.)

Laughing Pass


One thing you will notice about Germans, is their lack of humour unless the German in question happens to be a topless model ..in which case you will notice two things about her. But seriously let topless models aside, ....not too far though, you will indeed find that most of the Germans tend to have a sense of humour which is so dry that you turn into fine, dehydrated, human dust by the time they get to the line ."....zo the Doktor zays " Kut it luse".......Ha ha". It is not the jokes I am talking about. Universal Jokes which are present in every language and have been around since ages. Jokes, which have the entertainment value of a root canal. Jokes, which have been permanently etched in your ear drums by repetitive hearing but at which you still laugh hard enough to dislodge your dental fillings, when your boss or customer ........or may be your parole officer cracks them. Laughter has a way of flowing towards authority. Ever wonder about, where do these jokes actually originate from. They seem to come from nowhere. I have a theory about these jokes. Guys, these are actual incidents which happen to actual people. There is actually someone out there who mistook the copier for a shredder and there is someone who peed in the Refrigerator (i.e Ravi Sisodia, from Class IV, New English school, circa 1980) . There are enough weird things happening in the world to make some of these jokes a reality. The people, to whom these things happen then start spreading it usually by saying "Here's a new one ". So the next time you hear an original joke, you know who is the original joker too.

Germans can tell these jokes as good as your average Joe but if you were to tell them to see the lighter side of life, Wolfgang or Helga will most probably bring his/her electrical Werkzeugkasten and start looking for bulbs to repair. I never saw a German sitcom or a major German newspaper that carries a regular cartoon or a humour column. When I use to tell them that I write a humour column, most people looked at me as if I told them I make candles from ear wax. i.e They had no idea how enjoyable it can be......although I must say sometimes it did take a lot of wax . Their movies too, though good are never really comedies. A film called "Goodbye Lenin" , which had a good comic plot but was really sub average as a comedy but ran to record ticket sales in Germany. If that movie was funny then I promise you, the following jokes, if cracked in a German pub would have die Bundesburgers rolling in the aisles, wetting their pants.

How many electricians does it take to change a light bulb ?
One

Knock Knock
Who's there ?
Me
Me Who ?
Me, Johannes Widdmann

You will rarely meet the happy go lucky German who will ever air drop jokes on you like the British or the Americans or even meet a German with some joie de vivre like the Italians or our own Sardars. I had once walked in to my neighbourhood library and while looking for my account records the librarian said,

"Entschuldigung, I hav forgotten your Nam , Ya "

"Well, You are lucky I still remember it"

This was a light joke which really could not have been lost in translation but at least merited a gentle smile. But no sirreee... no smiles, no show of teeth. He just looked at me with the expression which suggested that "Hey if I wanted to have fun I would have read the Old testament in Braille". So it is this everyday lighter side of life that just don't stick on to. I know one swallow does not a summer make but if you compare it with the general scarcity of humourous movies, books, sitcoms, stand up comedians etc, you just realise that if ever Hitler had won the war, the rest of Europe would have rather swam to the Antartic with the enthusiasm of Sachin Tendulkar signing up for a surgery and survived on penguin droppings.... except for the British. They would have stayed on in England where it is just as cold and the food tastes just as well. Atleast in the poles, they could have had some humour

What do you call a happy penguin ?
Sanguine

What do they call toilet Paper in the Antartic ?
A penguin paperback

Why is the Antartic such a degenerate place ?
Every dance is a pole dance.

The possibilities just numb the mind.

I don't know the causes behind the humourlessness and I don't want to find them out either. If I do , I am certain to deprive some PhD student somewhere of a 300 page thesis titled "An examination of the psychosocial criteria influencing the lack of encrustation of general audiovisual amusement inducing laughter in contemporary Germany". But you know what, someone should write that thesis...... or else what would the Germans read to have a good time.

Reservations- A Future Press Release


In a significant move today, Congress announced 50 % reservation for all Left Handed people in IITs/IIMs. Said a congress spokesman , "In 60 years of independence there has not been a single left handed CEO. It is time to set the system right " . This reservation will be over and above the existing reservations taking the total reservation to 99.73 %. In order to take care of the fractions, the government also announced an increase in the number of seats taking the total IIM seats to 1000.

The official bill would be signed soon by the PM's office ....with his left hand. Predictably, the Communist parties cheered this announcement saying that "We have been on the left for years and it is time the system is set right....I mean left....no Sorry ...I mean right....well may be left, AWW What the... any side will do as long it is not the American one" . This was a move which was long overdue and if the parliament had not held it's seasonal sessions throwing flower pots at each other, it would have been passed right back when V P Singh was still the prime minister and Lata Mangeshkar could actually still sing in the sonic frequency range. This move is not totally unexpected. Indeed before enjoying comparisons with another hugely popular figure , Homer Simpson, ex Prime Minister V P Singh had actually considered reservation for left handers but made it as a second priority as with it, it would have taken just too long to screw up a nation.

While fielding questions from the media at the press conference, the UPA government defended the decision saying that this reservation is not applicable for a creamy layer. It applies only to those who are born left handed and not those who are all left hands like Parthiv Patel. Also, this will exclude those left handers who think they are always right e.g Saurav Ganguly, Mahesh Bhatt etc. Amongst the first few bodies to react, the Left Handed Albino employees Union have welcomed this move saying that this move is the correct step on the direction to ensure quotas for the left handed Albino employees family members . For generations, they claimed that left handers have been oppressed by the right handers. There are many instances in history when the non left handed just came down with a heavy hand on the left just because they had the right. Many ancient Indian leaders like Akbar, Ashoka, Jyoti Basu etc were all right handed. The left handed were not given by due by the society to date that even 50 years after independence , there exist places in states like Bihar where the left handed are not even permitted to kidnap or kill people. Even traditionally, left handers were depicted by media as pure evil i.e. Ravi Shastri etc.

Political parties in the opposition have reacted differrently . BJP leaders promised to take a rath yatra first before visiting the issue. Jayalalitha promptly unveiled a statue of herself at the Meenakshi temple. Shiv Sena Supremos insisted that unless all Maharastrians were classified as left handed , he will ask his loyal Sainiks who numbered 7 at the time of going to the press, to burn a few trains( headed out of state). However if they are classified, the Shiv Sena will unlilaterally volunteer to restrict itself to looting shops belonging to right handers. TDP leaders announced a left handed technoclogy park and made a SWOT analysis and a statistical model about the impact of this move and announced the the formation of a sub commitee which will explore the advantages of making a powerpoint presentation using only the left hand. Dewe Gowda after a brief period of confusion in trying to differentiate between the right and the left , finally managed to get a few moments with the press and reacted , "What about the left handed farmers ?" before his last words were drowned by his snoring.

Some regional congress administrations have supported this move with Vilasrao Deshmukh legalising all slums built by Left Handers. A few organisations like the National Right handed weavers have actually claimed that they were orignally left handed but were forced to change to the right owing to the system and hence should qualify for this. Some hitherto neutral organisations like The Mumbai Rickshaw Drivers association have stated that even though they might have obtained their driving license on the basis of the Playstation 2 skills, they are actually closet left handed people, so much so that even when they want to turn right, they still signal left and decided to go on a strike to ask for their right to be left.

The IIT and IIM directors met at a meeting in Delhi to confabulate on this topic before they realised that no one in the media was really sure what "confabulate" meant . They have now decided to merely discuss and then directly submit their findings to a high powered shredding machine in Delhi, in order to save some time. The UPA government spokesman further said , "Ensuring primary education for all people might be a good form of ensuring social justice but it takes too much time and brings in too few votes. The UPA government as a part of it's manifesto is committed to rapid social justice before anything else....even if it happens to be left handed"

Ujwala Bayaji
PTI