In transit

The whole idea of going abroad requires a metamorphosis of sorts. One has to get certain facts into ones head – long flights in a cattle car to a place where people don’t speak the same language and don’t look similar (not difficult in India) but still. Forms of such a metamorphosis can be seen in the departure areas of international flights at Indian airports, these areas are silent with airline personal using their lips to smile and welcome instead of warding of irate passengers as in the neighboring domestic terminal. The metamorphosis is very apparent at the international departure where passengers stand in line patiently and silently.

The plane enforces the capitalistic ideology of ‘if you have it we will help you flaunt it’. The first seats in the aircraft belong to those who can really afford -which means that other passengers are accosted by 6 lounge seats for those with exceptionally deep pockets– that’s why the number 6. The seats already have people in it sipping champagne. The frosty chill of the rarefied environs comes down a few notches as passengers move deeper into the plane, in the next cabin there are more chairs per row and therefore more people, but it is still rarefied enough for them to sip champagne and for others to look on in envy. However, there are clear indications of climate change as the number of rows in this area increase. After crossing this, one comes to a scene reminiscent of the early days when people got off the ships on Ellis Island. The image sears the mind - there are as many people sitting as standing trying to stuff their many bags into already stuffed luggage bins – the purser’s here have a look of consternation as they move bags all over the place.

I have a stop over in Paris, I use my French to great effect – everyone recognizes I am an Indian without me having to show my passport. The Charles De Gaulle Airport is swarming with soldiers in camouflage – the camouflage would have worked in the tropics. They don’t stand out because of their guns or fatigues, it is their beret that’s hard to ignore. These caps are really huge; they are large enough to create a brim like solar topi around the head. But they seem immune to what to me is a ridiculous piece of head gear. I don’t think anyone has tried to take them to a mirror and I don’t think any will - think of it like this - what state of mind is a person wearing a strange hat and carrying a gun? The soldier’s prowl the airport as if on a stroll in a park on Sunday, chatting with their buddies as they keep a keen eye on god knows who and what.

Sitting in the transit lounge I come across someone of my color sweeping the floor. Yes, there was a time when one knew one had arrived in Heathrow by the number of Indians sweeping, but at Charles De Gaulle? So I hand out a tentative smile and get one in return. Next I make the universal Indian greeting (no not How!) but saying ‘namaste’. This results in a question from her asking if I am from India ‘oui’ says I, then she floors me with ‘I no speak Hindi only Tamil’. This is nothing strange because one could be from Sri Lanka or she was from Tamil Nadu a state in southern India that has a history being averse to north Indian languages. So, even in a foreign place there is a possibility that when and if two Indian’s meet they are so culturally divided that they do not have a common language to communicate – unless of course it is French.