Driving in the right lane - Chapter 1

Virgin? Not anymore!

This wait was too long and unbearable. The thought of boarding the airplane was giving me an adrenaline rush. My folks gave me the customary blessings and unending advice on how to “stay out of trouble”. They were clearly concerned. Their image of America was marred by conversations with relatives, continuously bitching about food, culture - the lack of it all. Top that up with visuals of big breasted bikini clad women running on the beach (or on the streets, as far as they are concerned), and the resulting concoction is not too pleasing from where they stand. After all, I am their only single son.

The cab driver watched as I dragged myself and my luggage into the city cab. He didn’t care. It was just another day in his life, like the hundreds that had gone by, without anyone noticing but him. I dint have time to notice either. He accelerated the cab and I waved back at my parents as I got a few inches closer to the USA.

I had exactly 5 experiences at the Bangalore airport before this – all of them during domestic travel. Those couldn’t possibly do me any good here. “Can these people stop me from flying because I haven’t flown international before?”, I asked myself. I was carrying a suitcase, a large bag, a bag which was smaller than the large bag but larger than my laptop bag, the laptop bag and a suit inside a suit hanger. This pretty much covered everything I owned.

I put the suitcase and the large bag through the security x-ray machine. I wondered if the men behind the security machine thought of themselves as being psychics - looking at people’s luggage and having the ability to determine their past, present and future. Or as critics – comparing and commenting on people’s tastes in clothing, electronics and people. Or were they mere silent spectators like most of us - watching the birth of bags at one end of the belt, and their death at the other? “Now…that can’t be a boring job”, I said to myself as I started to walk towards the airline counter, thinking about things in people’s baggage which would make me laugh if I was behind the x-ray machine. “The ‘just-in-case’ air pillow put into the bag by a mother who still has the railways hangover…A pair of wigs, each of different color, owned by a 30 year old baldy who wants to date a few American women…The ‘Java bible’ carried by the software engineer who is too scared to leave home without it…And the harmless dildo?”. That did bring me a chuckle.

“Hello sir.”, said the airline agent, with a big smile on her face. I did not realize that I had reached the counter.

“Hi”, I replied with a smile of my own. Not that I had a very photogenic face or a beautiful smile. I just didn’t want her to know this is my first trip outside of India.
“Here is my ticket and passport. I have already checked in through the web.” I said with assertiveness hoping that she will buy my web-technology gimmick.

“Oh. That’s great sir. Ill just print your boarding pass then. Which bags are you going to check in sir?”

“This suitcase and large bag please…I will carry the small bag, the laptop bag and the suit as cabin baggage.”

“Sir, security rules allow you to carry only 2 bags as cabin baggage. I advise you to check in one more bag.”

“This is just a suit on a hanger. I mean shouldn’t that not count as baggage anyways.”

“Well you can take a chance and go to the security check with 3 bags. But if they don’t allow it, you’ll have to come back and check it in here again.”

It was clear that she knew this was my first time. I had to save face somehow. It was one of the most difficult decisions of my life. On one hand I could give in to the rules of the airline society and accept I had no experience in this game or on the other I could carry the 3 bags and make a statement. I didn’t know if I was indeed a rebel. I did get goose bumps every time I watched RDB, but is that a strong enough piece of evidence. I decided that I owe at least this much to the trinity - Mr. Mehra, Mr Joshi and Rehman sir.

“I will take my chance”, I said to the smiling face at the counter and walked off. I was a man on a mission. I reached a new high, called ‘the first floor’, when the escalator ended another journey. The line at the security check meandered like a 15 foot long snake. Now all I had to do is calculate the probability of catching the flight if I stood in line – security rejected the third bag – I went down to check it in at the counter – came back to the security check – stood in line again and board the flight unless they found a bomb or a pack of shampoo in my bag.

I was never good at probability. Even in my CAT paper I figured I had a higher probability of clearing the exam if I don’t sit around and waste time on the probability questions. I thought of doing the same again. I had a better probability if I took a decision based on whatever data was available – like a manager. The low-risk ‘Tam Bram’ mentality didn’t help either. After a full 73 seconds of deep contemplation, I came up with a plan. I decided to wear the suit, stuff the suit hanger into the small bag and join the tail of the snake. “There goes the rebel”, I thought to myself in disappointment. “No Khalbali. No Roobaru roshani. Just plain Main aisa kyon hoon?”

I didn’t face any problems at the security check. How could I? I wasn’t carrying any liquids, had shaved just before coming, and was dressed totally ‘not-to-kill’.

While I sat there and waited for the flight I couldn’t help but notice the group composition. 50% French, 35% Telugus, 10% Americans and 5% rest of the world, which included me. For the first time in my life I knew what it felt like being the odd one out. And suddenly I sympathized with the firangs who have to put up with the never ending stares from us - the curious Indians.

The PA system roared with the announcement of my flight’s departure. Nothing exciting happened from then on. I stood in the line, the tags of my bags got checked again and it was confirmed that I was not a terrorist. I entered the airplane and was greeted in English by a French airhostess. Man...That was the sexiest ‘Good evening’ I ever got! I got comfortable in what was going to be my seat for the next 10 hours.

I was a virgin of sorts – the first time flying outside of India. “When I wake up tomorrow morning, I will not be one anymore”, I thought. It was a nice feeling. And when the seatbelt sign was turned on, I joked to myself, “And now…I have protection”.