Flying in Indian Skies

(Language and content warning.)

The first time I took a flight, or to be put more appropriately a wailing me was buckled down in the seat, was when I was in the 4th grade. Well, that was the first time I remember it at least.

It was Gulf Air, with pretty air hostesses in golden scarves who handed out toys to kids and took some of them along to the cockpit to meet the captain. This was of course before Laden and his cronies decided to fuck up everything and the chances of me ever getting to accomplish my wishes in this lifetime. (No, Not meeting the captain, the toys.)

Toys are now called collectibles when adults buy them. FYI. 

Flight 6E

The announcement was weird. The flight name was a play on the word "Sexy", which was shamelessly self patronizing. "Oh so Pretty..." their current ad campaign said and it was exactly what their hostesses looked liked. Leaving the Reds far behind, these chic looking ladies trotted around the airports in precise unison, and made him ponder if this was some kind of marketing gimmick. He never did like Red.

His attention was diverted by the guy shuffling back from the front to the back of the serpentine Que, a rare event in Indian Airports. He had missed his security stamp on the backpack, which meant going all the way back to security checking. These airports were full of characters, people from all parts of the country merging in large cold, heartless auditoriums, to be flown to different sister auditoriums. What broke the monotony, was either the shrill shriek of a baby, or a good book. In this case, in spite of both , his mind floated amongst the crowds of tops and short skirts, Skinny Jeans and tight T shirts with no purpose, with no intent.