Most people attribute drinking to
their problems. I am no different from others. I have got so many problems to
ponder upon that I find seven nights a week absolutely insufficient to give each
problem its due contemplation. Some problems are so complex that I have a
problem in understanding the problem. Nevertheless, I try to strike a healthy
balance between the sensibilities of my heart and the capabilities of my liver.
One such problem that has been
troubling me for quite sometime is the fate of a dying airline. I have never
understood why the King of Good Times got into aviation. The only thing that is
common between liquor and aviation is that both promise you to get a high. But
the similarity ends there. Liquor is an easy business. Just like Cigarette, Pan
Masala, Beedi, Ghutka etc. They are all built on weakness of men. You don’t
need to try too hard to convince them buy your product. Just make someone feel that
he is jobless, worthless or useless, he would pick one or all of the above. And
we have one billion people in this country in the guise of parents, teachers,
bosses, leaders, friends, neighbours, journalists, TV anchors etc to make every
other person feel guilty about his biological existence. No wonder you find
half the population at a pan shop, wine shop or at a bar and the other half
searching for one. Therefore, every person from the manufacturer to the retailer
invariably makes profit on intoxicants.
But aviation is a serious
business, where history tells us that loss making is the norm and profit is an
exception. It is a serious business where the likes of self-anointed kings and
me shouldn’t be getting into. He was better off making beer and I was better
off buying it. He did not stop there. He changed what we saw and redefined what
one could show. He made calendars where one looked for everything other than
the date. He launched satellite channel that made FTV look like channel for the
grannies and taught that Bikini was the new blouse. He made dropping cloths not
just fashionable but a way of life. In
fact, at times, some of the brand ambassadors started to even forget wearing
them. He empowered thousands of women by giving them a career which provided
them with mindboggling salaries with negligible expenses since they lived on
minimal food and cloth and often slept on beaches. They were singularly
responsible for increasing the savings rate and the healthy CASA ratios boasted
by our banks.
After the success of such a
revolutionary business model which generated wealth by selling wine and women,
the obvious way to grow would be on the same lines. An astute move in this
direction would be to go for a forward integration by starting a chain of
premium dance bars. With both liquor and ladies already in place, all that
would have been needed was the real estate, which is definitely much cheaper
than those Airbuses that are as helplessly grounded as the passengers they
ought to been carrying. Unfortunately, instead of a gradual progression into a
related sector, there was a tectonic shift whose tremors are yet to subside. I
feel really sad at the thought that the beer which gave me, and an entire
generation, its first sip of forbidden pleasure would no longer be available.
Life wouldn’t be same if we allow the group to collapse. We will be forced to
go back to the grey hues of FTV and stay contended with the sepulchral marches
of anorexic women with deadpan expressions. Calendars would be back as sheets
of paper that record your missed deadlines and miserable appointments. Bikini
will be a chapter in South Pacific Handbook and Bagpiper will be a member of
the ceremonial music bands. A socio-economic revolutionary who redefined Roti,
Kapda aur Makan as Beer, Bikini and Beach would be a martyr on the altar of
stupidity.
With recession and inflation
already looming large, tragedy of such epic propositions would be too cruel for
a generation which is as clueless as the Deccan Chargers team. However, I still
think that all is not lost. The forward integration can still be pursued. All
those planes which stranded in the hangars could be converted into Flamenco Lounges.
Well, “dance bars” sound so Udipi restaurant-ish, which our King of Good Times
wouldn’t like even in his not-so-good times. The svelte flight attendants, who
are wasting time reading morose letters explaining why their salary cannot be
credited, could be gainfully reemployed as bartenders. For these poor ladies,
whose sizes have gone from zero to sub-zero ever since the in-flight meals got
reduced to water and fermented sandwich, this would be the best poverty
alleviation scheme they could dream of. Further, for an efficient and
competitive service, just announce that the whole thing is actually a part of
the reality show, Model Hunt. Considering the scarcity of real estate in
metros, having ready 200-seater place is a bonanza. The no-frills Red planes
could be parked at non-metros and even district headquarters. Occasionally, if
their turbines are still not rusted and the pilots not poached by other
airlines, they could take off and you have new product – Sky Bar. Trust me, the
airports would be raking in more moolah from parking and valet charges of
customers than the UDF.
Please don’t dismiss this as a compulsive
rambling of a mind woefully entangled in the affinities of ale. If the same
thing was put across by a MNC consulting firm, whose consultants charge
millions to state the obvious, it would be treated as a recipe for redemption. The
stock values would soar and venture capitalists would appear like the ants after
rains. Sadly, it is the natural order that anything that comes unsolicited and without a price tag is never valued.
However, it is difficult to rein in your prattles when you find your earliest
enchantress slipping away into the mists of oblivion.