Airborne...part 3 of 3

My flight: Sahara Airlines...

I loved-

1) View (that's nothing to do with airlines)

2) Black coffee (i ordered another one! altho the stupid air-host gave it to me after 20 minutes, by then i had lost craving for it, but once i sipped it, i was loving it :) )

3) Food - panner tikka, hot pakodas, ras-malai (a sweet-dish). One word - Yum!

4) My co-passenger to the left. old. ugly. fat. silent. so why do u like him? well, he understood i am new in the world of flying (which was wrong, i did fly as kid) so he helped me adjust my chair which had developed a tendency to go back, for which the air hostess (the only one left in this creul male-dominated world) told me twice to make it upright. He also showed me where my (food-)tray was hidden (beneath the handle between two seats!!!) and how to assemble it... Merci Monsieur!

I loathed-

1) Air-hosts, or whatever the aeronatuically correct word is. sheesh! no feast(for eyes)! just snacks(plane-food!)

2) Seats, i'd rather go that 2000 kms by an A/C Volvo bus, whose seats are much more cosy! Or, if it has to be the plane, by the executive class :) The plush leather seats were appealing, but that meant a big hole in my dad's pocket. A few holes, rather!

3) My co-passenger to the right. a beautiful girl. flawless skin. thin. casual dress. great voice. smooth hairs that were acting as a magnet to my fingers. so why do i loathe her? oh! that sleepy head slept for half the time. and what about the other half? well, the iPod addict was... er... listening to her iPod. Sheesh! Have some mercy on your ear-drums, lady!

Airborne... part 2 of 3

Then, I found myself in the waiting room where I was, er, waiting for the plane to get ready for departure. As soon as i got in the bus to transport us to the plane, my thoughts echoed those of a typical male mind : Air-Hostess. Rather, Air-hostesses.
Little did I know that I'd be thouroughtly disappointed, little amused, and that my female co-passengers would get to feat their eyes... on... "air-hosts" or air-stewards, whatever.
Men, 3-4 Men!
Only one woman:
Fully clad
Figure: tubular (not hourglass)
Looks: mediocre
Hairs: unremarkable
Skin: smooth, but shiny and oily
Verdict: "NEXT!"
but there wasn't any.
Apparently, the men were handsome. So told me a transient female-flight-friend (man, i am good at alliterations!) Not narcissistic workout-obseesed brainless models who've drained the insides of the cranial cavity to puff their chest and shoulders, but tall, sophisticated, polite, gentlemanly, men (et patati et patata). Ah, bah!
The only amusing part was the instructions before the take-off (or during it?) which was done by a man, again! Well, that made me grin quite a bit (I'd have luaghed, but then i was in economy class with sundry passengers, so I hid that bit). Imagine a (allegedly handsome) gentleman wearing a tie gesturing (mono-acting? dumb-charading?) in air in accordance with the tape (?). Ha!
But without hostesses, with uncomfortable seats and accompanied by sleepy co-passengers (did I mention an occasionally wailing baby?), I was more than glad that my flight lasted but for 2.5 hours! I sincerely am grateful to the printing press for magasines and newspapers, the inventors of window and the creators of CD-player (a.k.a. Disc-Man), without which I'd have died of boredom...
Enuf said!

Airborne... part 1 of 3

And I went to the aeroport after many years, the last time i flew from Mumbai to Kolkata was like 5-7 years back! Summoning all my courage, I entered the aeroport. Visitors not allowed. So, I had to travel alone. Check-in alone. Wait alone. Fly alone. I had some problems in the hand-baggage counter. I had carried my college bag, and so there were the permanent constituents of the bag - scalpel, scissors and stethoscope (did i tell u i am a second year medical student?). Well, so i was held bag and asked,
"Are u a doctor?"
"No, i'm a medical student"
"Yeah, we noticed several medical instruments in your bag."
"Oh yes! i never remove them. it's actually the same bag i carry daily to college."
"Well, there is a pair of scissors and something long and sharp."
"Oh... hold on...."
And i removed my 'dissection box' which i didn't even remember existed. I opened it. Two forceps. One scalpel. A pair of scissors.
"Sir, the scissors wont be allowed. You can keep the scalpel though."
The scissors to me, was non-existant. It was heavily contanimated and it was blunt.
Although, i found one thing strange. She, the policewoman, didn't have the idea that the instruments were used for dissection and were sticky and contaminated. But she could see the difference between the scalpel and scissors. At the most I could poke somebody with scissors - maybe cause minor local infection. Period! but the scalpel! I can cut someone's throat! The blade was used just thrice, it was new and sharp! And knife always scores over scissors as a weapon. Strange.
Anyway, I allowed my scissors to be confiscated. I wished it were the scalpel. the blade comes cheap. damn cheap... far cheaper than the scissors! Aeroport security! Blast!

When it rains in France...

In England (or the US of A, or Australia, or... blah!) it might rain cats and dogs. But, apparently in France dogs and cats have better things to do (ahem!) than fall from the clouds(!). There, it rains cords - or ropes - (il pleut des cordes), as boring as it may sound, french would argue that it's a better imagination than falling cats and dogs. Although, in modern France, it rains like a cow who's pissing (il pleut comme une vache qui pisse)! A round of applause to the french imagination here, hein? to those who thought of a cow (with an unusually huge bladder) sitting on the clouds and... well... urinating! Albeit, I'd like to ask themwhy do cows in India urinate only from June to September (the period of 'rainy season' aka 'monsoon' in India)?