Odds all the way

(SEARO NEWS, 31 March 1992)

For some it is touch and go, the sailing is smooth in anything they undertake. For me, however, it is battling odds all the time, including at the recent trip to Trichy for a publications display. Here is the account.

After half a dozen rehearsals, I completed the packing for the early next morning flight, and switched on the television for some well-earned relaxed moments. The newscaster dropped the bombshell that the pilots had threatened a lightning strike from that midnight. This was enough to put me on night duty, ascertaining from the airlines office if the strike was being averted. Equal to the occasion, they asked me to check every hour.

Unaccumstomed to taking risks, I reported at the airport early morning. Meanwhile, a settlement had been arrived at, at last, and the Madras flight was announced. We were about to report for 'security' check when the Calcutta-bound passengers sprung into action and waylaid us. They claimed that they had been waiting for over twelve hours and as senior stranded passengers, they should be seen off first. Some more delay.

"All is well that ends well", I heaved on board to my neighbour, a foreigner, more to start a conversation. "Oh, end?...Madras", he replied, mistaking my statement for ascertaining his destination. "India good country", he complimented. "Yours too", I repaid, though still unsure of his nationality. "Pleasure trip?" I quipped. "Business", he replied, rather emphatically. He might have meant "None of your business", but, given to taking the brighter side of life, I assumed that he was here to explore business prospects. I attempted further dialogue in gestures, but switched back to monosyllables when I felt I was being watched by rest of the passengers.

Veg. or non-veg?" asked the airhostess. He looked at me as though he would have me instead. With no vegetable or animal around, I felt unarmed to explain to him what these two terms meant. "I think I will serve him non-vegetarian', decided the airhostess, meanwhile, and moved on. After lunch, she served us saunf (aniseeds). He asked me what it was. As usual, my memory failed me for the correct word, and I replied him, tentatively, that it was a digestive. He tried it and transferred the trayful on to his hand, saying it was good. Further conversation was rendered impossible as thereafter he was busy commuting between the front and rear toilets, whichever was vacant. Moral: "In different doses, saunf can be a digestive, laxative or even a purgative", I concluded, at his expense.

Next morning I was at Madras airport on the dot for my connecting flight to Trichy. Once again there was a strike, this time only on selected routes. Since things must go wrong for me, Madras-Trichy was one. So, instead of a 45-minute travel, I headed for an eight-hour ordeal by bus. In the initial stages I was busy masterminding possession of the common arm-rest with my neighbour in the bus. But, sizing up his Stalin-like personality with bushy eyebrows, I befriended him, instead. He was a senior police officer on his way back from a High Court hearing for a murder case. He whispered in my ears that some 'heavyweights' were involved in this and, despite threats of dire consequences, he was hell-bent on bringing them to book. "You don't mean you apprehend danger even now?" I asked, more to gauge any imminent risk to myself. "You never know, somebody could be chasing me in this very bus itself, Mr Sundaram', he confided. My name was the last thing I wished him to make public at this juncture. I excused myself saying that I was too tired and needed some rest. And, not to offend him either, I requested him to wake me up at Trichy. He made a few abortive attempts in between to unburden his murder mystery on me, but I remained firm on not opening my eyes.

At Trichy I hurried for a waiting taxi and named the hotel. After going through several lanes and bye-lanes, the driver dropped me at the hotel. While taking out my wallet, I turned back and observed by chance that the bus stand wherefrom I alighted was just behind. "How come?", I asked. He confessed that he had not had a single passenger since morning, even to pay rental to the owner. "But you could have told me that before", I said sympathetically and settled the account for five rupees less.

For my return journey from Madras to Delhi, the airlines systematically kept us in suspended animation by announcing a delay of an hour, every hour. Thus instead of 6 pm I reached home in the early hours of next morning. "Still, better than last time when they chose to drop me 24 hours later'. I consoled myself.