For me, the biggest blow of Covid has been that it has brutally introduced the solar plexus of my travel plans. Come on How I yearn to descend into the welcoming skies again.
Below, in no particular order, are all the things I miss a lot.
I remember waking up four hours earlier (my bowels need cajoling, right?) at the airport two hours earlier (I’m a stickler, right?) I remember showing my ID to the Hindi-speaking security guard namm The Chennai that never convinced me it was me in the photo, but it makes me think anyway, bah, what can this do. I remember the man behind me in the check-in queue banging his giant stroller into my leg repeatedly until the skin came off my ankle. When I am made to stand like Shah Rukh by (again, North Indian) Frisker, I remember taking off my belt for safety and putting on my pants with all willpower.
I remember the man sitting next to me on the phone, eyes closed, uncensored to anyone, as the director removed his anesthesia-free hemorrhage. I missed going to the airport loo one last time to be in a safe place and get neither mugs nor toilet paper and things I would need medical attention to. i miss eating Samosa Bought at the food court and watched a small family of rodents happily exit from behind the stall.
I remember Hi And the smile of the flight attendant who says ‘I’ll kick you in the crotch if you call me more than once.’ I miss the big guy who gets up as soon as I get into the aisle seat (for which I’ve paid extra) to get me the middle seat. I remember the old man who comes to get the window seat after the two of us have sat down. I miss his steps on my feet like Sunny Paddy In yaar o man Because they go to the loo twice in an hour’s flight.
I miss the family that sits behind me who uses my backrest to sit and get up, rolling my head against the back of the seat in front of me every time they let it go. I miss his undeclared knuckle-sandwich in my cranium (reminiscent of Pattu Miss) kottu) in their attempts to sit. I miss the man who sits in front of me who has to bow down while sitting and remains like this for eternity.
i miss two minutes analogy It costs ₹300 which is apparently manufactured by Madras Cements. I remember fighting for half of the arm rest that’s my right with a guy who looks like he eats puppies for breakfast. I miss trying to guess whether it’s the guy next to me or the guy in front of me who’s gone through the air four times in rapid succession. I somehow missed trying to quietly tell everyone else on the plane that the wind-passer was not me. I remember being brainwashed as I was walking away from a bag that suddenly needed someone six seats away from the overhead locker above me. I miss the guy who talks on his phone while we’re flying and doesn’t stop until we land. I remember everyone getting up in unison, as the national anthem is being played, as the first wheel touches the runway on landing.
Ah, to travel again.
Krishna Sastri Devulapalli is a satirist. He has written four books and edited one anthology.
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