Died & Reborn, Courtesy Air-India!

 

Ramesh Kumar from Greater Noida

Have you experienced involuntary vertical drop? Am not talking about paragliding in Kulu with safety hatches. But your aircraft hits an air pocket multiple times in inclement weather: Rain. Lightning. Thunder shower. 

Well, I experienced it. "Lucky man! You will be flying by Dreamliner!" quipped Selvan Dasaraj while dropping me at the Sardar Vallabhai Patel International Airport, Ahmedabad after visiting the burnt rail bogies of Godhra of 2001 (More about that later.) on 23 September 2021.

Nothing to beat the Dreamliner experience. Traveled several times. Plus a deep connection with it because Selvan's spouse - a family friend - is an Air India senior cabin crew member and travels mostly Dreamliner. 

As we trooped into the waiting coach for boarding, my jaw dropped sighting ATR 600 instead of Dreamliner. ATR 600 is a baby plane with Less than 70 seats. Four seats per row multiplied by 18. It was the first shock or dampener.

I was allotted 18B the nearest seat to the single passenger entrance. I hate the last row even if it's the Dreamliner. No pushback. You invariably watch the full passenger parade to the "beauty room"! Because you occupy the strategic seat.  

Luckily the aircraft was not full and the considerate air hostess shifted me to 9A saying the vacant 9B will give more legroom. Who says AI cabin crew is passenger-unfriendly? 

Yes, I was disappointed. No Dreamliner but a bullock cart aircraft! Selvan short-sold. Grrr.

An hour into airborne, the plane hit an air pocket. Shaky. Like the Thanjavur doll 🪆, the pl lane began to oscillate. 

The seat belt sign came followed by an announcement from the flight deck. Suddenly a vertical drop. 

I was sitting cross-legged in the traditional Padmasana posture. Looked through the window. It was raining. Flashes of lightning. Thunder there ought to be. Except for aircraft noise, there was a deafening silence.

The buxom mid-thirties spectacled, earphone plugged lady in 8D shrieked. Very loudly. All eyes were on her. From my vantage 9A, I had a clear view of her. Like me, she had Vacant 8C. No visual obstruction.

She crouched forward and began to mumble. 

Another vertical drop from 18,000 feet above sea level. She let out another volley of screams. The rest of the passengers kept their cool.

None approached the shrieking lady. Not even the crew member. Maybe the protocol. Why add to the panic? maybe the drill. 

I  disentangled my Padmasana posture to hold the rear of The seat in front of me tightly after the vertical drop. What if ... You know the way one's mind works. 

What will be the fate of my fourth book, tentatively titled Endless Journey: 200,000km So Far  * 100,000 Drivers * 12 Years under process for possible January 2022 release? 

Is it the "end of the journey"? 

Forget the book. What about my other commitments to various stakeholders in my life? 

The only positive thought at this critical moment was I may join my pet Rambo who left a month ago. Instead of "Ram, Ram" chanting, I began muttering "Rambo, Rambo". Eyes welled up. Chest became heavy. Goodbye, family and friends. 

It may sound melodramatic. Though we carry our expiry date from birth, the "unknownness" of that date is an elixir. 

I told myself at least I lived longer than my parents. Dad passed away in his 40s. Mummy 50s. Me, solid 60s. Should I remain chained if the plane were to crash and disintegrate? All the Hollywood movies flashed through the mind screen. 

Wiping tears, I looked at the 8D lady. Her head bent, she was muttering and praying for life. Like the rest of us. Not demonstrating our anxiety publicly does not mean we are brave to face death. Each one has its formula to handle the crisis. 

Suddenly I noticed the laminated Safety Pamphlet in the holder in front of me. Plucked, began reading "what to do in such emergencies". Was it too late?

The death fear got intense. Where will my body land: Rajasthan? Haryana? Will my physical remains be in one piece? 

The turbulence stopped. The flight captain advised the crew to their landing station. The seat belt sign came on. 

8D sat upright and replugged her earphones. Switched on her mobile. Looked around. Our eyes met for a fleeting second. 

ATR 600 landed safely on the tarmac at the Indira Gandhi International Airport (T3) at 2145 hours. 

8D and 9A were the last to disembark. No one said anything to anybody. 

At the Belt 5 inside the concourse, a dozen pretty young things - my co-passengers - were giggling and sharing jokes while waiting to collect our belongings. As if nothing happened in mid-air an hour ago. The flight had more senior citizens than the bubbly youthfuls. 

8D's and my baggage came together. We trolleyed out to pick our respective cabs. She went her way. I did the same. 

Ex-Air India Cabin Crew Trainer Yellapantulu Raghuram Sharma, a friend and colleague in Transport Mitra, on hearing my experience, texted: "Sue!"

I was confused. Sue Air India? 

Or did Sharma mean Selvan, his co-brother, who sold the "Dreamliner" experience? No idea. 

Around Mid 1990, I wrote a Front-page story in Bombay Mid-Day. "If you spot Rajan Jetley inside any Air India flight, take it for granted that the flight will be delayed." 

The context was at that time AI engineers went on a splash strike demanding better working conditions. Jetley was AI Chairman and Managing Director then. Pressure tactics. 

Jitendra Bhargava, then the Corporate Communication Head of Air India, called on the landline to throw a volley of choicest abuses and ... threatened to sue me and my publication.   

Nothing happened then except an Air-India response in the Letters to Editor space. And my rejoinder, saying  "I stand by my story". Khatam.

This time also nothing happened. Did the AI 890 Captain offer an apology for the death-defying experience? I was deaf. So can't recollect. Or is it routine for the crew to ignore such passenger reactions to vertical drop adventure? 

Life is like that. I don't know about you. I firmly believe in rebirth! Any dispute?