Go Goa!

First, after boarding the flight, we couldn’t take off. Some schmuck of a passenger got held up at the security check-in. So there we were tight as sardines (doesn’t help when you fly low fare airline!) waiting for an hour for ONE odd passenger to board.

The motley crew of co-passengers added to the predicament.

Next to me (thankfully I had the aisle seat) was a young American couple. The woman was dressed in the shorts that covered a little more than a bikini bottom and the man wore a cap big enough for both of them. They kissed and fondled approximately every 10 seconds (I am not kidding!). Now you may think how do I know unless I stared constantly? Hold on! I have manners. They kissed with dolby digital “muuuassshhh” and that’s how I know. And you can call me a party spoiler but trust me, it's very hard to keep one's eyes trained on the inflight magazine for over an hour!

Then there were the trio of men behind me. Men who bantered loudly and left their cell phones on highest ring-volume and didn’t switch off till the hassled flight attendant came over and insisted. Men who grabbed my seat from behind every 15 seconds in a desperate attempt to take pleasure from the khajuraho telecasted live from next door. Finally they got bored too and began discussing their plan to 'drink and make merry' (or did they say Mary?) now that they have managed to keep their respective wives at their respective homes. Then as the aircraft turned right to descent, one of them spurted loudly “Kya right mara, dekha!”

On the other side of the aisle sat an older couple. Michael Jackson-with-a-blonde-wig lady and the Stetson-clad gentleman held hands through out the flight. I thought it was very sweet. Then the lady wore her Jackie-O sunglasses while disembarking at Goa and I feared she would trip and fall since it was an late evening flight and it was pitch dark outside.

Then there were uncles who raced each other to the toilet as soon as they got in the aircraft and the mandatory wailing kid. Looks like every airline worth their milage points has to have atleast one of these wailers. Now, don’t get me wrong. I love kids. It’s their indifferent parents who bother me.

Getting off the plane I got into a cab whose driver is single handedly responsible for Mr. Mallya’s decision to change the Spykar team to Force India. To slow him down I said,

“Hello, I am not in a hurry!” To which he said,

“But I am.”