by Marisha Pink
NINE
SETTLING himself into his seat, Aaron couldn’t help but to stare in awe at the other passengers boarding the early Jet Airways flight to Mumbai. He had never been surrounded by so many people of the same colour, his colour, and far from feeling out of place, for once he felt that he could actually blend in. Oblivious to his fascination, passengers were leisurely tucking their belongings into the overhead compartments, strapping in excited children and confused elderly family members, and requesting everything from extra pillows to different seats.
All about him loud conversations in tongue-twisting dialects were taking place, while the cabin crew desperately tried to usher the crowd into their seats so that the plane could depart. Men on opposite sides of the aircraft shouted across to one another, gesticulating wildly in what Aaron initially perceived to be aggression, until both fell about laughing jovially and he realised how crucial an understanding of the language and culture was going to be. There was a palpable buzz on-board the flight and the energy fed into Aaron’s own excitement, rendering him even more impatient to arrive at his final destination.
When the plane finally eased into the sky, Aaron felt a wave of fatigue wash over him. The restless night, the early start and the exchanges with Arthur and Aunt Ruby had exhausted him and, though he tried to fight it, within minutes he had drifted off into a deep sleep. He remained that way for the duration of the flight, stirring only when the attendant shook him awake for drinks, meals and snacks, his sleep consumed with vivid dreams of Catherine that he struggled to recall on awakening. He was a young boy and then a young man, but Catherine never seemed to age at all, remaining just as she had looked before he had left for Africa. In so many of the dreams she seemed close enough for him to touch her, but whenever he reached out she was always just beyond his grasp. The dreams left him feeling disorientated and physically pained on awakening and by the time the pilot announced that they were coming in to land at Mumbai’s Chhatrapati Shivaji Airport, Aaron was grateful of the opportunity to escape the confines of the aircraft.
The plane descended rapidly and Aaron felt his ears painfully begin to pop from the changing pressure. Wincing, he covered them with his hands and wriggled his jaw in an attempt to initiate a yawn.
‘Apane kana ko ahata kara rahe haim?’ said the elderly woman sitting across the aisle to his right, a genuine look of concern on her face.
‘I’m sorry?’ replied Aaron, utterly confused.
‘Maim pucha raha hum agara apane kana ko ahata kara rahe haim?’ she said again, this time nodding and smiling at him.
‘She’s asking if your ears are hurting?’ intervened the gentleman to his left.
He was a middle-aged, dark-skinned Indian man with a large belly that his shirt buttons were struggling to contain.
‘Oh, right,’ said Aaron, turning to nod in answer to the elderly woman’s question.
‘I take it you don’t speak Hindi?’ the gentleman chuckled good-naturedly.
‘No, not exactly.’
‘I’m Prakash,’ he said, extending his hand courteously.
‘Aaron,’ he replied, accepting Prakash’s sweaty palm.
‘So, what brings you to India? First time?’
‘Yes, it's my first time. I’m here to … visit family,’ he explained. The words sounded strange coming out of Aaron’s mouth, but Prakash seemed to accept them without question. ‘And you?’
‘Business trip. Trying to finalise a huge construction deal. Can’t say too much about it though; all very hush hush.’
By the time the plane touched down on the tarmac, Aaron had become entirely engrossed in his conversation with Prakash, listening intently while the well-groomed man offered him tips on surviving his time in India. It was refreshing to hear someone talk positively, yet frankly, about his native country, and a relief to enjoy a conversation whose topics did not include his mother, Arthur or Kalpana. There was a long delay whilst the plane taxied to the terminal building and waited for a stand to be made available, but once the seat belt sign had been switched off, the on-board chaos that had typified their departure quickly resumed.
It was a full hour before Aaron and Prakash were able to disembark from the plane and after a prolonged, yet agreeable conversation, they were finally forced to part ways inside the terminal building. Mumbai was Prakash’s final destination, whereas Aaron was in transit to Bhubaneswar, from where he would be able to catch a train on to Puri. The two men shook hands amicably, feeling more like old friends than strangers, and in a gesture of kindness Prakash offered Aaron his business card in case he ran into any troubles during his visit. Grateful to have at least one local contact, Aaron eagerly accepted it and when Prakash disappeared in the direction of passport control, he found himself alone once more.
He had been so caught up in the conversation that he hadn’t taken stock of where he was. Though he had not yet stepped outside of the airport, after weeks of planning he was finally in India and the thought filled him with a small sense of triumph. He followed the signs for passengers in transit and seemed to tour the whole airport complex before finally encountering a huge crowd of people, all vying for the attention of a single airline attendant. A formal queue seemed to be absent with people pushing and shoving their way to the front of the small airline stand, desperate to have their documents checked and to progress through security.
Aaron politely joined what he thought was the back of the queue, but he was quick to realise that this strategy put him at a disadvantage. Passenger after passenger simply entered the fray wherever they could squeeze in and he found himself being forced further and further back towards the direction from which he’d come. He was hugely agitated by the disorganisation, but the agitation soon turned to anxiety when a cursory glance at his watch revealed that there were only two hours remaining before his next flight was due to depart. He had no idea what gate he needed to be at or what lay beyond the airline stand, to say nothing of the fact that it would take him at least an hour to reach the front of the ever-expanding crowd. Grudgingly he decided that he would have to be a little more ruthless, and a little less British, with his queuing strategy and surreptitiously he began to inch forward through the swarm.
Despite his best efforts, it was still almost an hour before he reached the desk. Friends and family members had appeared out of nowhere, joining their travelling companions ahead of him in the throng. Families with small children and wheelchair-bound passengers had been fast-tracked through, and a further three flights had landed adding their passenger haul to the commotion. It was a lot to contend with when he simply wanted to change planes, but there was nothing he could do to expedite the proceedings. When he finally reached the front of the congregation, the diminutive airline assistant issued him with a security tag, informed him of the gate number from which his plane would be departing and promptly sent him on his way without so much as blinking. Her efficiency was astounding and it left Aaron mystified as to why he’d had to queue for so long. He began to relax, feeling less panicked about catching his next flight, but the feeling was short-lived when he caught sight of the baggage scanners and metal detectors, and a second, equally dense, queue for security.
It took a further forty minutes for Aaron to pass through security. By the time he had done so the plane had reached its final call for boarding, forcing him to pull his clothes and shoes back on whilst simultaneously hurrying across the concourse towards the gate. Despite sleeping during the previous flight, the whole process of changing planes was so bothersome that Aaron dropped exhaustedly into his seat and instantly dozed off again. A little over two hours later, the same diminutive attendant that had managed his chaotic transit in Mumbai roused him from his sleep and in a thick Indian accent politely requested that he return his seat to the upright position. Sleepily he did as instructed and when he lifted the blind beside his seat, he was at once struck by the beauty of what lay beyond the window.
Delicate porcelain clouds, scattered in an otherwise uninterrupted sky, qui
ckly gave way to a verdant carpet of dense forest that stretched beyond the horizon. The lush greenery became interspersed with narrow winding rivers and murky brown lakes, until thin dry spines clawed their way into the landscape turning it into a sea of dusty terracotta coloured plots. High-rises and highways drifted into view as they swooped down over the city, superseded by smaller settlements of minute blue-roofed houses. Two sprawling bus depots claimed a vast expanse of land, their vehicles akin to multicoloured children’s toys embroiled in a traffic jam, and they were eclipsed only by waterlogged paddies when the black tarmac of the runway rose abruptly from the ground to meet the wheels of the plane.
The plane touched down softly and, as it taxied along the runway to its stand, a series of announcements, first in Hindi and then in an unintelligible English, came over the tannoy. Aaron could not understand either broadcast, but before the plane had come to a complete standstill, the other passengers were rising from their seats, retrieving their belongings and excitedly chattering amongst themselves while they prepared to leave the plane. He drew in a deep breath to settle the butterflies that had returned to his stomach and reached down to retrieve his rucksack from beneath the seat in front of him. Learning from his earlier experience, he jostled his way into the line of passengers waiting to exit the plane, gripping the straps of his bag tightly as the excitement and anticipation rapidly built in his chest.
Though it was only a few minutes, it felt like hours before the line finally began to advance and, bracing himself for the unknown, Aaron marched defiantly towards the door of the aircraft. Nearing the exit he felt the temperature dramatically escalate, his T-shirt and tracksuit bottoms both beginning to stick uncomfortably against his skin. Small beads of sweat collected along his brow and when he stepped over the threshold onto the airstairs, an impenetrable wall of heat greeted him. The bright sunshine beat down on his face, blinding his vision and making him sweat more and more profusely. The air tasted thick with moisture and a strong, spicy, musty odour invaded his nostrils without warning. It was an attack on the senses of the greatest magnitude and the whirring hubbub of his fellow passengers seemed to fade into the background whilst his mind and body struggled to adjust. He paused briefly, attempting to take it all in, but the sensory overload was too great and as he disembarked from the plane, the parting words of the diminutive flight attendant were very nearly lost on him.
‘Welcome to India, sir.’
