Seen One...

* fancy polyphonic ringtone *

Him: “Hallo”
Her: “Hi”
Him (instant recognition, voice stiffens): “Hey, how’ve you been?”
Her (distant, icy tone): “Good, and you?”
Him: “Good too! It’s been a while hasn’t it?”
Her: “You know what your problem is?”
Him: “Umm… I don’t think I want…”
Her: “You’re so brilliant that you find yourself inadequate. You then transpose these inadequacies onto the people around you and then find them inadequate. You will never be happy until you accept people for what they are and not what you think they are capable of being”
Him: “You think of that yourself?”

* click *

She, to herself: “Bastard! Hope he rots in hell!”
He, to himself: “She thinks I’m brilliant…”

* fade out *

Mayday Mayday!!

Current Location: 37,000 feet above sea level, somewhere over the Bay of Bengal in an Indian Airlines Airbus A320 en route to Singapore

This is my 18^th flight to Singapore since June 1998; the 19^th time that my folks dropped me to the airport (twice on one occasion thanks to a bird hit on a stationary, grounded aircraft); the 19^th time that Ma wept. According to Yann Martel, humans can get used to anything. He should meet Ma.

I’ve hated flying for as long as I can remember. I hate taking off. I hate landing. I hate everything in between. I hate the meals. I hate the smells in the cabin. I hate aerosol. I hate the voice of the captain. I hate the fact that I have never had anyone remotely interesting or good-looking sitting next to me. I hate the fact that everytime I’ve asked to be seated next to someone interesting or good-looking, I’ve been promptly given the seat next to the lavatory. I hate the wailing of the less-than-attractive baby sitting behind me. I hate turbulence. I hate the changing drones of the engines. I hate “We are experiencing high tail wind” announcements. In a nutshell, I am a hateful person with airplanes, airports and everything related to them riding high on the loathe-list. Stewardesses are occasionally excused depending on age, airline and seam length.

Hate stems from a myriad different sources. The source of this particular abhorrence is simply, fear. The first air-pocket sows the seeds of doubt. By the time the aircraft reaches peak altitude my thoughts have raced from first memories of childhood, God, family, bright lights and ends of tunnels, relationships, wishes, disaster movies involving plane crashes, uninhabited islands, heroic fantasies with me as the protagonist saving damsels in distress, reincarnation, remorse….

I can’t remember the last time I hadn't made an attempt to approximate the total number of flights through the sands of history and the number of crashes to calculate the probability of this flight crashing. Thinking of what if it really did? How people – family, friends, acquaintances, strangers would react. It’s a perverse chain of thoughts, but one I find myself indulging in subconsciously. A call for pity? Deriving oodles of joy in their pathos, a sick, masochistic orgasm.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we have started our descent in preparation for landing, please make sure your seatbelts are fastened and tray tables are in their full upright position. Please turn off all electronic devices until the aircraft comes to a complete stop… “.

I hate her damn voice...