I like
flying. Yes, I do. I don’t like the food on flights, but I like flying. Early
morning, late night, mid afternoon, delays, missed connections, short haul,
long haul- no matter what, I like flying. To me, there is something special
about flying. Not quite sure what, but there is.
This is a
“fascination” that goes back some distance. I spent the first 8 years of my life
in a village called Jharbera. I “googled” the name tonight; there were no
returns found. Jharbera is right off a main highway and a 20 minutes scooter
ride from a town called Rajgangpur. Rajgangpur’s only claim to fame is a cement
factory that is owned by the Dalmias. Sensing a paucity of local managerial
talent, the Dalmias had shipped in managers from many parts of the country to
run the factory and to help the out of towners settle in, had also built a
school and a college. My mother taught in the school; my father taught in the
college. I also studied in the school for the first 8 to 9 years of my life.
Jharbera
is, or at least used to be, a singularly uninteresting place to be a kid.
Remember though that is rural Orissa in the 80s I am talking about. There
probably wasn’t much to do anywhere- Sam Pitroda (naturalized Oriya!) and the
communications revolution was still to come, TVs were black & white, Krishi
Darshan was considered entertainment and “ek chidiya, anek chidya” was a rage.
But even by those standards, Jharbera was desolate. Power cuts (load shedding)
were rampant, rendering whatever little TV programming was available (Sun
evening movie anyone?) moot.
One of our
enduring pass times was to sit by the side of the highway (opposite the bus
stand) and watch or wait for some traffic to pass by. Not that there was much
of it; the anticipation of the waiting provided the thrill. If you waited 2
hours, you might see one truck. If you were lucky, you got to see an
Ambassador. If you were really lucky, you got to see a Contessa! Simpler times.
Being a child, I wasn’t allowed to indulge in this excitement by myself but if
my older cousins were visiting, I could after seeking permission go down to the
highway and partake in the fun.
The one
plus side of the lack of entertainment options was that I read voraciously. The
college library had an excellent collection of books (I have no idea why they
had some much fiction!) and I had full access to it. The books I read then were
my first insights into this exciting world that existed outside of Jharbera and
Rajgangpur. And the two things that really fascinated me were lemonade (I had no
clue it was simple nimbu pani for a very long time!) and the thought of flying.
Anyway, one
year in school (I must have been 7 or 8 years old), we received an assignment
to write a letter to a friend inviting them to spend a holiday with you and
your family. As I reviewed the assignment with my father, he suggested that I
end the letter by offering to pick up my friend from the railway station when
he came visiting. Good suggestion I thought. Only, when I wrote the assignment,
I didn’t say railway station; I said I would be happy to pick my friend up from
the airport! Now that might be common place today but this was Jharbera, in the
late 80s. Forget being on an airplane, the closest any one in that class had
been to an airplane was a picture in a textbook. Orissa did not even have an
airport.
My little
airport reference was seized upon by the teacher who chose to read it out to
the class at large. Many laughed, as children are wont to do. Some ridiculed me
for having fanciful thoughts. But the heart wants what it wants. And I wanted
to pick my friend up from the airport!
I don’t
know what grade I got for the assignment but I remember telling my mum that I didn’t
think I would ever get to ride on an airplane, and so by connection never go to
an airport. But while I might not be able to experience it myself, I may as well
try and live through the thrill vicariously!!
Many years
later, I took my first ever flight after I started on my first job. Oh what an
experience! And the love affair continues with every flight I take!
