Flights of Fantasy

Ever since they stopped in-flight service of meals, air travel has really become boring. Not that the food was great, but you had a great time guessing which was the starter, entrée and the dessert. After the meal, if the lady who served you was pretty, you could always have an engaging debate with her on whether the hot liquid in your cup was tea or coffee. However, the low-cost airlines changed the rules of the game. These days you have neither meals nor pretty ladies serving them. On an outbound flight last week, I found that the entire cabin crew was male. I was wondering if they were trying to celebrate International Men’s Day or something. All of them appeared supremely irritable. I imagined that it was because they were asked to report for an early morning flight after late night romp over beer and Euro 2012 matches. I did not dare to even ask them water. 

The return flight was equally uneventful. Same aircraft. Same crew. Same irritability. And again I decided to not even ask them water. The extreme depressive state ushered in my mind a list of acts that could make my travel livelier. However, I did not indulge in any of them since my mother was accompanying me. Not that she believes in my genteelness, but she is tired of being embarrassed by my antics. If anyone of you has managed to free himself from the shackles of societal propriety, here are a few tips to make your travel eternally etched in memories of your fellow travelers and cabin crew.

• If you are seated near the emergency exit, after listening to the additional safety instructions, hold the lever of the door and ask if you can have a dry run.

• Ask for drinking water and pour it into the air sicknesses bag to check if it would leak. Promptly hand over the bag and empty bottle to purser who brought you the water.

• Ask the flight attendant to repeat safety instructions in the local language. Wave her a copy of the official gazette notification of three language formula if she refuses.

• After takeoff, pull out the life vest under the seat. Walk up to the cabin crew and ask where the trial room is.

• If you are passing through turbulent weather, offer to read tarot cards free for all the passengers to know who will land alive.

• Collect boarding cards of all passengers and then invite them for a game of rummy.

• Go to the cockpit and pester the pilot to help you identify cloud number nine.

• When the cabin crew asks if you would like to buy anything onboard, ask how much the trolley would cost. Don't try on Kingfisher. They might actually sell you.

• If you buy any stuff onboard, pay in one rupee coins.

• When they come to collect trash, throw in the in-flight magazine. Tell them this is your way of writing letters to the editor.

• And finally, before landing, request the captain to talk to the ATC and find out what offers are available on car rentals.

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In Pursuit of Better Times

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. 

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Who moved his cheese?

Last Sunday, I decided to break the tradition of spending weekends in bars and pubs. So, I decided that we would lunch at a restaurant. I pulled along three other friends, AC, PK and GV, and headed to an Italian restaurant in an upmarket area. It was brimming with people. Since, the owner was a good friend of my dad, we jumped the queue and found ourselves comfortably seated within a few minutes of our arrival. The first thing that we noticed was the gorgeous girl seated in the adjacent table. Tall, slender and with fine features, she looked like one of those characters from television serials, eternally beautifully irrespective of the time and place. We later noticed that across the table there was a guy too. He appeared too lost into the conversation with his date to notice our presence, which was good for us.

We got ourselves Mojitos and began our usual banter. Just then we heard a thud. GV, who was dragged from his bed, petulantly asked what it was. “The balloons. Today, is Valentine’s Day”, I replied. He sighed indifferently. All four of us were single since day we were born and do not see much hope in the near future either. Therefore, Valentine’s Day never meant much to us. We continued our banter. Suddenly, one of those moments when all of us were busy munching and none of us spoke, we were interrupted by loud plea from the adjacent table.

“Can’t there be a reason for a relationship other than marriage?”, the guy asked in a pitch that was difficult to ignore. I almost replied “Yes, there can be. Sex” But luckily, it was those rare moments where my sanity was in control of my mind and a situation that could have left the couple, my friends and owner of the restaurant in utter embarrassment was successfully averted. But the question, which appeared straight from a television chat show claiming to discuss serious problems confronting the nation, inadvertently got us hooked to the conversation.

Soon words like blood, heart, soul, love, feelings etc flowed with scant respect to logical possibility and grammatical correctness. While the words individually made sense, the sentences, depending on your level of artistic and scientific perceptibility, were either surreal or outright obscurant. Considering the Spartan intellectual capabilities that I am endowed with and my usual inability to put them to use, I decided, very wisely, to avoid any attempt to decipher them. It was the guy who mostly spoke and occasionally when we glanced at the girl, she had the standard expression of an air hostess; smile and nod, even when you say that the restroom is soiled.

The heat of the monologue soared. GV, who was till then utterly nonchalant, partly due to insufficient sleep and partly due to the mediocrity of the pasta, got alarmed. He bent across the table and in a grave voice confessed that he feared that he is likely to be a victim of collateral damage if the lady decides to respond to the diabolical rant with some physical action like splashing the cocktail or tossing the pasta on the guy’s face. I reassured him that the girl looked too genteel for such reaction. But deep inside, I knew that his fears were perfectly genuine and entirely within the realm of reality. I fervently prayed that even if GV had to be atoned for his sins, which were infinite in number and unpardonable in nature, let it be with the cocktail as the pasta was fresh from the pan. But, I guess, that was not his day of reckoning. The monologue tapered off and we heaved a sigh of relief.

The girl got up to order some pizzas from one of the live counters. She gave instructions to the chef with such an authority that she could easily pass off as a native Italian who binged on pizzas ever since her teeth erupted. When her dictation on the topping ended, she sharply instructed, “No Cheese, Please.” She turned to the guy and declared like a benevolent dictator, “You had too much of cheese.” The guy faintly protested with supreme humility in a whisper that was as silent as his own breath, “But, how can they make pizzas without cheese?”. Her reply began with an air of obviousness and ended in a condescending note. “Just spread the toppings without the cheese and bake. Simple. “ “ You could as well go to Paris and come back without seeing the Eiffel Tower ”, I told myself.

The guy was bewildered. For a moment I could see Edvard Munch’s The Scream etched out on his face. And just like the celebrated painting, this one, too, was muted. Conscious of the dangers that lied ahead if he continued the expression, he made desperate attempts to transform the instinctive countenance to the one that beamed gratitude and piety. His facial dexterity would have left even Kamal Hassan spellbound. I, With great difficulty, restrained myself from giving him a standing ovation.

Pizza without cheese? I was shocked by this blatant atrocity being committed in broad daylight. It was akin to watching Basic Instinct on Star Movies when you actually have the Director’s Cut DVD stashed away in your draw. I was wondering what could be the potential consequences of having a spouse with such fertile proclivity towards torture. The first thing that flashed on my mind was, “ You may go the pub but you shall have only mocktails and be home by nine”. It scared me so much that I decided to stop thinking further and concentrate on my pizza. It, thankfully, had a generous topping of cheese. At that moment I realized that, henceforth, I must thank the Father in heaven for giving me not just my daily bread, but also for having cheese on top of the bread.

Needless, to say, the guy feasted on the cheeseless pizza with same fervor the starving African children eat their occasional meal. The girl watched him triumphantly as if cheeseless pizza was gift to mankind which ranked next only to fire and wheel. By the time the guy finished it off, tears welled in my eyes. As they rose to head towards the dessert section, I could no longer contain myself. I left to get myself another drink. The dessert session, expectedly, did not last long. The calorie intake, I am sure, would have been calculated till the seventh decimal.

When they finally left, we unanimously concluded that staying single, though might sound insipid, is still the best prescription for a safe and healthy life. As we finished and rose to leave, another couple walked in. The innocent smile on the guy’s face evoked deep sympathy among us. However, we were emotionally drained and couldn’t bear to see another guy in misery. Even without waiting for the elevator, we fled the place taking the emergency exit stairs.

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Idiot and I

If traffic is something people have to fight everyday in metros, it is boredom in smaller towns. More often than not, you are miserably alone. You wouldn’t have too many friends of your age and those who are older have families to go back to. Having got used to always-on internet connectivity for around half a decade, browsing on a USB modem is not an entirely pleasurable experience. All these have pushed me into a forced wedlock with the idiot box. It is boring and utterly irritating. Yet, I go back to it every evening and it is the first thing I see when I wake up each morning. That is why I call it wedlock.

So let me give you a glimpse of my marital bliss. Frankly, I don’t watch anything in particular. I just keep surfing the channels. Today, when my better half was turned on (no pun intended) it was showing one of those soaps. It was a close-up shot of a couple who were holding each other. The teary-eyed lady looked deep into the man’s eyes. I waited for ten minutes but neither of them even batted their eyelids, leave alone indulging in any other motion. The camera showed them in two dozen angles with jarring vocals playing endlessly in the background. I shifted to the next channel.

The enterprising channel was interviewing a maid who supposedly worked in the same neighbourhood where Shiny Ahuja lived. I immediately ran down to the one-room temple below my guest house and thanked God that dogs still do not speak a language the news channels can understand. When I returned, the programme was drawing to a close. The anchor signed off saying, “There is a glaring difference between the on-screen and off-screen images of stars.” What a revelation! Thanks dude. But for you I would have still remained under the belief that Tobey Maguire could actually jump from one skyscraper to another.

My next pit stop was MTV, which more than makes up for the unavailability of FTV. As usual, a bunch of girls were flaunting their long sun-tanned legs performing acts on which even those with abnormally low IQ would have second thoughts. Seeing them being so jobless, wandering without proper cloths or food (they seem to survive on Papayas and Watermelons), I am convinced that recession is for real. I don’t understand why those creative brains that run the ticker refuse to rename roadies and splitsvilla as leggies and stripsvilla. If you try to listen what they speak, it would something like this: “What the *beep*. I know I am the most deserving. This *beep* is trying *beep* me off. Just *beep* off, OK? “

At the succeeding English news channel, after discussing India’s loss at T-20 for more than 20 hours since the loss, the newsreader remarked that a 360 degree coverage of the loss would follow. Can’t we have a 20-20 version of news? When we can have a nano car and nano houses, why not nano news channels? Any business house which starts such a channel can claim to have delivered the biggest CSR.

An aspirin and a few clicks later, I found myself watching Gemini Music. It made me nostalgic. A lot has changed in the last three years, including the name of the channel, but the husky beauty has stuck on. Nothing has changed. Neither her voice nor her wardrobe. Who says that change is the only thing which is constant?

The following 38 channels had the same programme. People of all ages and genders were dancing or singing or doing both. Kids displayed undesirable precociousness in garments and gesticulations. And the judges were those whom people wanted neither to sing nor to dance. Even better if they stayed at home. If not singing and dancing, they set upon narrating jokes on which only the judges laughed and the studio audience clapped. Captive audience in every sense of the term.

At the next click, I returned to where I began. The lady was still looking deeply into the guys’ eyes. The camera must have zoomed in from 845 different angles. Tears, which welled up in her eyes, still did not roll down. I think I must revisit my high school physics and relearn surface tension lessons. I am sure if I can understand this, the Income-tax act would be a cake walk.

I disinterestedly set upon the next round of surfing.......

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Lessons @ LBSNAA

I am back !!!

Ever since I joined the Foundation Course at the Lal Bahadur Shastri National Academy of Administration (LBSNAA), I have been suffering from intense pangs of anomie and laziness. Added to that are the various explicit and implicit restrictions that come with the status of being a civil servant. The conduct rules places a restraint on our freedom of expression under the clause of “criticizing the Government”. So probably there wouldn’t be much criticism of Government in this blog henceforth. But, I guess that the restrictions would be a challenge too. Anyways, it feels good to have a disclaimer on my blog. I finally feel usefully and gainfully employed.

So much has happened in the last two months that it would be difficult boring to chronicle them in a single post. Glimpses of life at LBSNAA can be had at blogs of my colleagues, Aunrag and Sundar.

Today, I would like to give some insights on the training that happens here. The importance of soft skills has been realized by the Government. And they have also realized that all lessons cannot be imparted in the conventional classroom-type teaching. So here are a few out-of-the-box and out-of-the-classroom techniques of imparting soft skills.

Auditorium

The enlightening lectures at the Sampoornanand auditorium is often a transcendental experience. The Officer Trainees (OTs) go into a different mental plane, which the course team and visiting faculty term as “sleeping’. It is here that the dreams and vision for the glorious future of our country take birth. OTs train themselves (You see we are also made adept in Self-learning), in Dr Kalam’s art of dreaming and developing a vision. The seeds of Vision 3030 are sown here.

Dispensary

The dispensary is the place where OTs hone their persuasive and negotiating skills. Every visitor tries his best to convince the Doctor that any activity other than walking, particularly the early morning Physical Training, is lethal. Previous records state that the OT who gets the maximum exemptions from attending the PT sessions inevitably wins the A. N. Sinha One Act play.

OT Lounge

The billiards table has more players than the number of balls. The place makes an excellent case study for successful implementation of principles of equity and inclusiveness. And way the game is played is an exposition on classical laissez faire at work. Such is the freedom that one ingenious OT revealed that he prefers reverse usage of cue as it is more convenient to hit the ball with the handle, which has bigger circumference. Who says bureaucrats are bookish, impractical and unimaginative?

Treks

It is necessary that public servants are polite, courteous and helpful. The weekend treks help in inculcating these much-valued traits. They bring out the chivalrous knights hidden inside the OTs. The extent of chivalry is directly proportional to slope of the path and the goodlooks of the OT. A couple of clarifications here:

1) Beauty is subjective and depends on the sole discretion of the beholder.

2) The second factor has ten times the weightage of the first one.

3) If the recipient belongs to a good cadre and the knight to the cadres that truly demand him to be a knight in a fighting armor, then chivalry is unconditional.

Officers’ Mess

The food is a symbol of national integration. You will never be able to distinguish a South Indian sambhar from a North Indian dal. Such is the cross-cultural culinary acclimatization that the Indian Foreign Service probationers who do not skip a single meal at the mess are the ones who feel at home in Côte d'Ivoire.

We have much more than this in our training. But let me save them for another post.

PS1: It is mandatory to leave a comment for all OTs reading this post.

PS2: Firefox users, please note that the LBSNAA website works well only with Internet Explorer.

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An IIT for Andhra Pradesh

The location of the new IIT in Andhra Pradesh has become a bone of contention. The CM has proposed the location at Medak, a neighboring district of Hyderabad which is being steadily encroached by Hyderabadi suburbs. However, Mr. Ramiah and others who have been at the forefront of the campaign for an IIT at AP, want it to be located at Basar in Nizamabad district as it has the famed temple of Goddess Saraswati.

Amidst the din of arguments from either side, it has been lost that AP already has an IIT. High school students from AP have silently accomplished what politicians and academicians could not do. If don’t believe me, see this. [Link via Abi]

“During a recent year under review 979 candidates from South Zone secured admission. Of them 769 were from AP, while TN accounted for 94 successful candidates, Karnataka, 84, and Kerala, for no more than 32 candidates.”

Since we live in an age of acquisitions and mergers, the IIT for AP can be established in the following manner with minimal investment and zero contention.

Rename IIT (Madras) as IIT (Hyderabad).

Rename Guindy as Gandipet Phase - II.

Incorporate the locality into the proposed Greater Hyderabad.

Appoint Mr. Ramiah as the director.

Don’t worry about the Tamilians. Give them an additional 100 million cubic feet of Krishna water and they would happily agree to this.

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