Sunday, June 14, 2009

Plane stupid

Substantial airline travel is a work hazard that has plagued my existence for the last ten months. Airplanes have become a third-home of sorts, after my 600 sq foot 1BHK bachelor sty and the Hard Rock Café. (HRC? Why, you ask? ‘Cos there are very few things I’m balefully finicky about. My butter chicken – tender, high on cholesterol, high on guilt; my kaamwaali bais – unrelentingly mute, perennially inodorous, categorically incurious – NOT “itna paisa main itna-ich milenga”; and lastly my Friday night Long Island Ice Teas – not too strong, not too light, just right! Goldicocks is my well-grounded second-middle name. The first being danger of course.)

You know you’re getting more than a lion’s share of airborne suspension when - you exhibit clear signs of Pavlovian conditioning by sticking your arm out vertically and groping for a button every time you feel hungry; you involuntarily dig out your mobile and feel your back pocket for a boarding pass whenever you pass through a doorway; you’re disappointed that your WC ‘twirls rapidly’ versus ‘suck swooshingly’; you expect your boss’ secretary to dance out the minutes of the meeting in synchrony with members of her secretary sisterhood placed at equidistant spots along the aisle that leads up to your workstation; you remember duty-free locations by their geo-coordinates (Bangkok Duty Free - 13° 55' 0" Latitude, 100° 37' 0" Longitude; Singapore Duty Free - 1° 21' 38" Latitude, 103° 54' 33" Longitude; Jakarta Duty Free - -6° 10' 27" Latitude, 106° 49' 45" Longitude) but lose your way while coming home from the airport.

Evident by now, airline travel brings out the worst in me (only second to restraining myself from gagging suburbanite yuppies selectively screeching only the chorus of ‘Roke’ anthems in a voice that is clearly the bastard produce of my hangover headache in coitus with a banshee. “The summer of 69 might have been the best days of your life, but I couldn’t care less that Jimmy quit, Jodi got married and left you a miserable sexually confused virgin.”). However, the said pale in comparison to the effect a few fellow airline travelers have had on my sanity.

Munna Mobile: “Please turn your mobile phones and other electronic devices off” should not be interpreted as “Please engross your pathetic self in jargon laced corporate phone-talk in a last-ditch attempt to impress the 55 year old tone-deaf vestal spinster, seated at the tail end of the craft. We are hired exclusively to put up with the façade that conceals a lonesome man whose wife has taken to chronic lesbianism, son has spent the equivalent of Sierra Leone’s GDP to take up Post-modern Hindi at Yale and daughter has taken leave of her sex. But look on the bright side; you do have your Blackberry with a 6 month won’t-fuck-you-when-you’re-down-and-out warranty! Should I perhaps, in the meantime, warm your seat for you?”

Jesus said to him, “There are fat things which may not fly among all the beasts that are on the earth”

Protuberesh Motwani: There is a reasoned non-Darwinian rationale behind the Penguin’s inability to fly – the Bible. The Word of God forbids a beast with a well-rounded blubbery tush from flying. “Fatty, do you really want to risk antagonizing the Lord?” If your navel has the gravitational pull potent enough to send a mayfly into orbit around your paunch, completing but a single revolution in its entire lifetime, DRIVE! You are forewarned that your derrière trespassing on my seat will elicit counter-attack strategies like acupuncturesque butt-poking and puerile taunts like “Fatty! Fatty! Boombalatty!”

As a nation, we began by declaring that "all men are created equal." We now practically read it "all men are created equal, except negroes and stewardesses."
- Letter from Abraham Lincoln to Joshua Speed, 1855
P.S. How about tonight? Please, my lil Speedo-dido. I’ll make it quick Speedy.

Wtf! Men? Stewardesses? Bitchin mate! Oh… and btw free the Niggers.
- (unconfirmed anon. paraphrase) Speed to Lincoln, 1855
P.S. Oh Abe, my babe! Only if you come dressed as a stewardess?

Chindi Rani (fraternal twin of Chanda Rani, a household name among pimps): Over a hundred and fifty years since, but we still betray the promise of our forefathers (Well, technically not OUR forefathers. More like, forefathers of the Americans and a few Anglo-Indians). We’ve miserably failed at liberating Iraq, Afghanistan, Pakistan and the international skies from the shackles of slavery. One moment you’re using a credit card you stole from a doodhwalla (not to be confused with the Dudewallas of Zoroastrian pedigree who dispense their time and modest intellect inbreeding and formulating hideous caveats against outbreeding lest their dhansak-fed, in-bred Cusrow Baug daughters elope with the butter chicken-fed, ill-bred Hiranandani author) to book a ticket with a base fare lower than Jayalalitha’s sex appeal on a scale of one to a million. The next moment you’re stepping down from a cycle-rickshaw, reasoning with the ground staff that your potli and potlam are perfectly permissible hand baggage and children smaller than either potlam or potli should, in all fairness, be issued only half-tickets. However, as you set your bata appareled foot in the craft, imperial history is rewritten in haste, royal genealogy trees stage an impromptu collapse and you’re transmuted into a regal, familial focal point sprouting branches to intercept the King of Jordan - Hussein, the Queen of England – Elizabeth and the Prince of Gay Pride – Prince.

You demand that the captain prostrates himself along the aisle in an expression of consecrated servitude, the cabin crew break into a well-machinated lawani jig to the sedate in-flight remix of Dil Main Baji Guitar and your fellow passengers kneel before your bainess in inviolable obeisance. Your fiddling potli-baba and potlam-baby are sanctioned uninterrupted what-does-thiiiiiis-button-do cockpit-time while the plane taxies down the runway. The plane takes off at the snap of your fingers. You are Rani! Chindi Rani! The Queen of Cheap Times.

Mrs. Chatrina Pa-Tale: Post a frenetic Friday in the rustic underbelly of the bovine plagued landscape of India (underbelly = anywhere that is not Bombay), the sole scheme of my existence is to get back to Bombay before the Cinderfella within me turns into a grouchy, irritable, ill-tempered pumpkin. While striving to consummate the intended undertaking, I pamper myself with a game of hide and seek – hide from anything human and seek a few prized in-flight winks. However, I forget that the only genetic trait (rabid, unrestrained, loud, violent, unrelenting and intolerantly savage support for the Indian cricket team aside) ingrained in every Indian stem cell is that of the instant conversationalist.

Now, with the advent of low-cost airlines, your standard off-the-shelf long-haul share-your-sob-story-in-twenty-hours railway berthmate has taken shape beside you in seat 3-D with the herculean task of recounting the abridged version of My Whole Life (pun un-unintended) in two odd hours -
Chapter 1: When I was a baby
Chapter 2: Pubehurty
Chapter 3: Then I was his baby
Chapter 3.5: Married cradle-snatching bastard!
Chapter 4: God, no more PMS!
Chapter 5: My Boss’ Dick
Chapter 6: My Boss is a Dick
Chapter 7: My Life’s whole now
Chapter 8: My Life’s a Hole now
Chapter 9: God, no more PMS?
Chapter 10: My Vagina’s Monologue

After many a stillborn attempt at repelling overly chatty armrest sharers - by feigning death/ epilepsy/ orgasm(s)/ sterility, mumbling verses from the Koran, flittering my tongue in a viciously lustful fashion, pretending to be a chauvinist/ feminist/ existentialist/ nihilist/ misogynist/ misandrist/ sadist/ masochist/ sadomasochist – I decided to enroll myself in the uber-exclusive F.L.I.G.H.T. Club (Fuck! Lady, I Give a Hog’s Testicle! Club). Prerogatives of the F.L.I.G.H.T. Club include uninterrupted sleep, unopposed abusing and access to the ‘Repulse button’. When annoyed, a push of this cleverly concealed special access under-seat button deploys a screen that drops down before the assaulter. The screen reads –

“The extremely miffed individual seated alongside you, besides being a blood relative of Bappi-da (paternal), Altaf Raja (maternal), George W. Bush (cerebral) and Batman (conceivable), is an esteemed member of the Elite (official usage obviously pending Mayawati’s approval) F.L.I.G.H.T. Club. The rules for treating members of the club a.k.a. the FLIGHTERS are as follows –

The 1st Rule of FLIGHT CLUB is: You do not talk to a member of FLIGHT CLUB.

The 2nd Rule of FLIGHT CLUB is: You DO NOT talk to a member of FLIGHT CLUB.

The 3rd Rule of FLIGHT CLUB: Someone yells stop, goes limp or taps out, you SHUT UP!

4th Rule: Only two warnings to a flight before you’re thrown off board.

5th Rule: One FLIGHTER at a time.

6th Rule: No gossip, no small talk.

7th Rule: Flights will go on as long as they have to, but if you’re seeing this message you SHUT UP!

And the 8th and final Rule: If this is your first time with a FLIGHTER, you HAVE to SHUT THE FUCK UP!

Violation of any of the above regulations will result in forced airborne deplaning faster than you can say “Look Ma! No wings.”


kamna said...

Finally u write!... and it was well worth the wait... Totally totally brilliant... I could actually picture u going into the entire monologue over a couple of beers... I fuckin loved the part about the fat airline travelers :-)

and boss btw why are u cribbing?... I do not remember the last time u flew economy, ANYWHERE! cribbing bitch :-)

entwined said...

Fire and Rain! Fire and Rain! Fire and Rain!

errormsg! said...

aaaaand you've lived!

muchly funny :)

notgogol said...

@kamna: tanku :)
Oh, this I get from someone who wears sunbloc everytime she steps outa home, even if its just from her door to her car. Kamna-ben not done! and wat rubbish.. stop exaggerating.. ure making me look like a byatch!

@prachi: auntiji, iska kya matlab hua?

@errormsg!: thanks..
don't worry.. i know me.. i'll be back to my hibernation in no time :) and btw the woman who needed a clarification about the pedicures is two comments above.

payal.k said...

Hellooo...Watsup?? Nice stuff...the frustration seeps out pretty well..hehe...u hav a pretty vivid imagination dude..u high while u write?? ;)

PS: I am extremely curious to kno what ya do? ur job sounds too much fun with all the travellin :)

kamna said...

Shh... u rn't supposed to disclose stuff like that on public formus taran!!!

@payal.k: good luck trying to understand what he does for a living :-) do let me know if you understand it tho.

entwined said...

@ taran
champ(u)/ hiranandani writer....dave mathews band!...and ur word verifications get awesomer by the day

Instinctivecuriosity said...

Taran Ji.. Gazab kar rahe ho. Sky high frust log meri weakness hain (I feel right at home, with them).

First things first, you dont even fly Economy??? You moron, you have no right writing this.

Second, now that you have, good job. I loved it.

Third, there's really no third. I just wanted to tell you my therapy. Drink more! ;-)

Poshgit said...

Dear God...

I've only flown four times my entire life. And you've convinced me a fifth time would kill me :)

Wow would be a seriously dangerous flight companion :)

notgogol said...

@payal: Nope man. This be my default mode :) And as to what I do; well I wont bore you with details - long story short - I pretend. pretend to be busy. pretend to work. pretend to be very smart. pretend to not receiving important emails. pretend to be very tired on friday. :)

@kamna: Ahem.. ahem.. well why not? Payal ko chamak jaega. Below sea level IQ nakko che re :P

@prachi: yeah i know.. like blog owner like blog :)

@nainy: tere weaknesses ka list kuch zyaada hi lamba hai :)
1) Rubbish. The person who made the very erroneous statement has gone mad after Nadal lost in the French open.
2) thanku :)
3) drink MORE? tu theek hai na! :)

@posh: ure lucky u know... (being sparrow and all and flying four times :P.. kadi joke na?) and yes! I'm sure of that. Hijacker is my contingency career plan :)

entwined said...

detere now....lovely!

errormsg! said...

yes. i noticed. and bonded :)

eavesdropped on the previous comments and figured you 'pretend' for a living. hence, 'look ma, no wings!' (since the world's a stage anyway)

ok, that was random.

Poshgit said...

ayyo...kadi joke is an understatement :)

notgogol said...

@prachi: ok. detering.

@errormsg: bonded? :O How? more importantly, Why?
Yup, that be random. So, be the world. random stage :)

@posh: U said the a-word on me blog. sacrilege woman. sacrilege!

Poshgit said...

sacrilege??!! you should be saying abishtu abishtu :)

entwined said...

it was ur word verification... n now its purist...phew..m convinced u have a part to play in them!

anoushka said...

1)No Kamu. He is no longer mummas little boy. No fancy business class for munna nemore.
2)Though though though he stilllll is reckless and irresponsible, but now its with his own money!
3)Also also also imagine how reckless he has to be to end up saving NOTHING at his income level babe.
4)Oh.. yeah.. taran.. tu logon ko dissect karna band kar. saala airplane passsengesr tak ko nahin chodta.
5)That said, I had a real fun time reading it :D :D I guess Kamu's right. This sounded exactly like one of your monologues :)

notgogol said...

@posh: No tam on me blog. Do you want me to cry. DO YOU NOW! (will read ur post today btw) :P
and i need update on me ..ahem... battletank bookmark? wat be status?

@prachi: i wish!

@anu: thank u :)
and, for the last time, please stop bitching about me on my own blog woman. u dont really get how these things work, do u? this be blog. not bitchin forum. technologically challenged woman!

P.S. ure right though :P

nilofer said...

joh fuck! Fuck! I lurved Chatrina Patel...the ten chapters were damn funny man...
but I think this post was a little risque.. not that its bad.. it just did not sound like most of your other posts.. just an observation.. it was good... but it doesn't sound like you at all..


Poshgit said...

ha ha ha! knew that would strike a chord :) but why not??! you who once sang an ode to should rejoice in every whisper of a tamil word you hear, no? :)

and bugs bunny you mean...he's still in foetal stages...thou shalt know when he is born :)

vira said...

'Inodorous bais'! Smelly Mumbai Bais? Is this y u had ur childhood bai mailed 2 ur place in bombay? :D:D:D

By the by, y dya pick on us gujjus in all ur pieces? I'm MAJORLY pissed u kno.

Carpe Diem said...

nice observation... interesting blog... keep up the good wrk...its when I come across such stuff that I feel compelled to write!

notgogol said...

@nilo: yeah man. i agree. the language is bold; but i was very frustrated after two hectic weeks :(

@posh: who? me? woman you're clearly hallucinating. me thinks the journalism making thou a lil cuckoo (pun intended) :P

Ahem.. ahem... Yes, yes. battletank!! (thumps chest, pumps fist and belches like a man!)

@vira: all explanation already given in person! :)

@carpe diem: thanks! but I obviously was not compelling enough :) your blog still stands un-updated :P

:| said...

Rotflmfao. :))

errormsg! said...

love your 'invisible' new post :P

kamna said...

Errormsg! Remember me? ... Don't expect any updates from the idiot anytime soon... He is out of office, out of reach and completely out of his mind... he's gone hiking in some remote part of Asia to live with some remote tribal people or something... he's gone nuts.

errormsg! said...

hey..hi..of course i remember you :) and WOW i envy his life!

notgogol said...

@soniya: :)
@errormsg!: Oye! I know the whole theory of size not mattering and all, but your last post in prose was in APRIL!!! When will the rains stop?
@kamu: Out of office - yes, out of mind - yes, out of reach - not particularly as I did keep getting SMSes and replied as well. You have got to see my roaming bill man - I hate Vodafone! Bloody pugs.

kamna said...

Hero... I know how much money you make... so stop complaining about huge phone bills :-) cribbing bitch :-)

errormsg! said...

hee hee

notgogol said...

@kamna: u bloody fixated on my job. please go ahead and do it for me. im ready to quit.

@errormsg: What does "hee hee" mean? Write na!

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