By: Krishna Modi
KOLKATA: Travelling abroad for the first time is a significant moment for an Indian. Mothers are worried about the availability of proper food abroad. Fathers begin to charter sermons of do’s and don’ts. The siblings get busy making lists of gifts they expect. The grandparents start praying all to 360 million Indian gods for the safety of the traveler.
A few months back, I was travelling to Johannesburg to visit my sister . With loads of advice and buckets of tears,I was promptly dropped at the airport five hours prior to the flight (flight guidelines require arrival three hours prior). When I reached the counter, (patting myself for early arrival), the counter was yet to open.
Finally “three hours” prior the counter opened and we lined up. We,Indians believe in the benefits of the first come first served. I stood in the queue with fingers crossed. I was sleep deprived with endless phone calls and visitors graciously equipping me with all the know-how of foreign travel.I felt any moment I would drop off to sleep.One man, perhaps a frequent flier, standing in front of me, amused at my obviously tensed countenance swapped places .
At the counter was the first hurdle – the weighing scale. They say although we can never measure the volume of love; the airlines surely can. A fellow heaved an audible sigh of relief when his luggage weighed a hundred grams short of the permitted limit. A typical Indian mother visiting her son was in tears when told that she was carrying excess and had to leave behind a huge box of Indian spices.
When asked to choose the seat,I carefully assessed the aesthetics of the seat. I had to choose between the aisle and the window seat. The centre seat was an absolute no. The aisle seats would provide the freedom of movement. The windows seats would provide a glimpse of the new world and a cosy sleep corner. I valued my freedom more; therefore I chose the aisle seat.
Now came the final step, Immigration. The official, who was to decide whether I deserved to fly abroad seemed a harmless middle aged officer. He was however Hermes (Greek God of Travel) for me. He squinted at the passport, then peered at me through his glasses probably trying to gauge how harmless or not so I was.
I tried to put on a mask of gentle goodness and responded to his queries. I carefully articulated the purpose of my visit and duration of the same,keeping my expression as pleasant as possible.Finally came the stamp and the flash and I set off to unravel the mysteries of a new land.
