Airport Lounging (Or Flight Delays)

When the girl at the check-in counter looked at my reservation and picked up the phone to make a call, I figured that something must be the matter. A couple of minutes later I asked if there was a problem.

“You’re flight’s been cancelled, sir,” she replied, looking more distraught than me. “We are working on putting you on another flight.”

“Great,” I said, not particularly happy but taking it in my stride. I’ve had more than my share of delayed and cancelled flights thanks to winter storms when I lived in the US. There was this one time my flight from Louisville to New York got cancelled and the next morning I was on a plane, with a stopover at Philadelphia. The funny thing is that I was supposed to be in Philly that evening for a party at my cousin’s. It took some effort but the airline finally agreed to let me get off at Philly and even though I had to make a stop at Banana Republic to buy clothes for the party, the cancellation absolutely worked in my favor. 

The next flight was 3 hours after my original one so I had about 4 hours to kill at the airport. I went and sat down at one of the seating areas, picking a row that was quiet so I could read my book. That lasted all of one minute as two couples decided that they liked the same row as me. I’m not against chatter - people traveling together of course will indulge in conversation. After a while though my attempts at ignoring them and reading the same sentence multiple times while listening to their plans of eating garlic butter prawns at The Taj in Goa (amongst other things), I decided to move a little further away. 

Fifteen minutes and one chapter later, I got bombarded with a loud phone talker. From his conversations I learnt that his wife was in Singapore attending a conference, he was on a flight to Mumbai and how his investments were doing in the stock market (amongst other things). Wearing a white shirt that was way too small for his flabby body, I wondered if his buttons might pop before he reached his destination. Most definitely not a sight for sore eyes and his conversations too loud and uninteresting, I figured that it was time to find myself a new location.

A restroom and water cooler stop later, coffee is what my brain suggested. 

“Black with some milk and sugar on the side,” I placed my order. 

Barely a minute had passed and the foursome were back. 

“I’ll have a green tea,” said the loudest one to nobody in particular and everybody around her.

The other lady didn’t want anything.

“You don’t want a green tea? Have a green tea,”. 

But the other one stood her ground and didn’t want green tea, which didn’t stop the first woman from rattling off the benefits of green tea and how she drinks a cup every morning and evening and has pretty much stopped drinking regular tea.”

Both couples actually seemed really nice and we had exchanged smiles and pleasantries a few times, so I don’t want to give the wrong impression here. It’s just that I couldn’t read with them around so I decided to give up on my book for a while. I posted something on Facebook about how hanging out at airports was inspiration for writing, spoke to a script writer friend on the phone who kept encouraging me to start my novel or script or whatever it is that’s been in my head for a while. 

“Once I’m done with this script, I’m going to travel like you,” she said.

“And once I’m done traveling, I’m going to write a script like you,” I replied and we both laughed.

“Just go to Goa and write,” she said sternly. “Mumbai Mantra is looking for story ideas. Do a synopsis and submit yours. I’m positive it will get accepted.”

If only I had as much faith in myself. And if only I could stop procrastinating.

After a disappointing hunt for a masala dosa, I had to settle for a less than mediocre plate of pav bhaji for lunch. Being used to consistently crappy food at airports across the world, I knew that Goa would more than make up for one bad meal. 

An hour later my flight was ready for boarding and in 55 minutes we had arrived at our destination. The last few minutes prior to landing, I looked down at the monsoon bathed, lush green views, the expanse of the Arabian Sea and I knew that a 4 hour wait at the airport was a small price to pay for what the next few days had in store for me.

Cavellosim Beach in Goa