Turn calendars to August – check
Empty perishables from fridge – check
Close sink and bathroom drain holes – check
Wash towels – check
Check if any laundry is left in the washing machine –
check
Pack toothbrushes – check
Turn on the lights which have to be left on – check
Turn off gas – check
Count number of check-in bags and make list of contents
– check
Carry drinking water and light snacks – check
...
We wave goodbye to our house on the desert hill, and
dream of green coastal landscapes laced with curtains of rain.
A police car followed us on the highway and refused to budge. When
they flashed lights, we stopped.
“Why so much stuff in the boot?” the policeman asks. We
have purchased gifts for immediate family and some of them are bulky. As usual,
we had decided to purchase chocolates and dates from the duty free shops at the
airport.
“We are going to the airport. We are on our way to our
home country” we replied.
“Okay” he said and cleared our path.
...
Friday morning. School summer holidays. Mass exodus to
home countries.
At the airport there is a mad rush at the Departure doors.
Flights to various destinations are leaving around the same time. We stand in
the line with our two trolleys and several pieces of baggage.
We think it would be a better idea to have our baggage
cling-wrapped because it is raining heavily in Mumbai. So we wait in another queue.
Then we load our baggage onto the trolleys again and
head for the Silver Member queue which is much shorter than the regular queues.
Oman Air has bestowed us with Silver Membership for being loyal passengers.
We have arrived much earlier than we were required to,
but our queue moves slowly. There is an online check-in queue next to ours. A
friendly man in a red t-shirt asks if we are going to Mumbai. We say yes and
chat a bit about the rain etcetera. Everybody is in the holiday mood and the
collective happiness quotient is higher than normal.
A couple of families move into our queue without so
much as “Excuse me”.
We ignore their intrusion though time seems to be
running out for us.
A short stocky Oman Air personnel comes around asking
“Mumbai, anyone?”
Mr Red T-shirt and my husband raise their hands.
“Okay” said the Oman Air personnel and vanished in the crowd.
Mr Red T-shirt zooms ahead of us as a big family leaves
his queue after completing their formalities.
We look at the front of our queue while throwing a
panicky look at our watches. A woman in stilettos has climbed onto the check-in
belt along with her luggage for some reason. We ponder about HSE issues
regarding such an action. The girl at the counter, who has been apparently
fasting as it is Ramadan, goes about printing boarding passes.
Finally it is our turn.
We hand over our documents and load our baggage onto
the belt. The girl enters our details and waits to print our boarding passes.
But it is not to be.
The system is locked.
She pities us and tells her supervisor.
He raises his hands to indicate “No go!” and refuses to
look at our pleading faces.
“Sir, we were at the airport much before reporting
time. This queue moved too slowly.”
We chose not to mention the families who had barged in
ahead of us in the line.
“Nothing doing. The gate is closed now” he said,
avoiding our eyes.
The thought of going back to our sun-baked desert home, buying milk on the way,
and so on...didn’t seem very attractive.
We simply looked at each other in desperation.
Then the stocky Oman Air personnel, who had asked us earlier
if we were bound for Mumbai, appeared from somewhere. He was holding a
walkie-talkie.
We explained our plight.
He made a few calls.
“I am escorting three passengers. Please hold on for a
few minutes” he said to someone with authority.
Our boarding passes were printed at super speed; we
breezed through immigration, and entered the plane with a big sigh of relief.
“Welcome onboard. Have a happy journey” said the flight
attendant with a bright red lipsticky smile.
Oman Air WY 203 soon took off.
Our holiday seems to have started on the right note. Such is life.
