UP IN THE SKY 

The ATRs are two engine turboprop short haul planes. Air India flies them on the Calcutta-Ranchi- Patna sector. Given an option, I would never board them. Ok, you don't have to make an undignified entry, like a military plane,  through its ass. . But its flight was never smooth. A week ago , my coffee cup flew up as the plane dipped suddenly in an air pocket- the ride is actually the nearest thing in air akin to surfing on choppy waters. I almost always resolve never to travel in these ATRs, but end up flying in these birds.

People have different strategies to tide over flying woes -  some chew toffees, some  stuff cotton balls, if not bales, in their ears, yet some maintain a pin drop silence. Invocation of the Almighty is also one of them- from a Dugga Dugga murmur to even a session of rosary beads with nervous, almost trembling, fingers. Some try to sleep off while some, though admittedly very few,  seek to fight the blues by talking to the passenger seated next.

A few months ago,  I happened to sit next to a person who belonged to last mentioned category. Insensitively loud, hirsute at the ears and the eyebrows, bald on  head,  betel stained teeth, and hugely curious fingers that seeked different parts of his anatomy with vigorous energy. After giving instructions, in Maithili, to his driver in Patna to keep the car in shade and not in the scorching Parking Zone, the details which were unsportingly cut short by the snappy order of the air hostess to switch off his cellphone, he turned his attention towards me. 

"Kalkatta mein rehtein hain? Ki Patna mei? Now keep  watching, this plane will dive and soar. But don't worry, it is safe. Twin engine hai, bhai. " I informed him that I, too, have flown in these birds and faithfully reminded him that my coffee cup had flown from my hands  when I had  occupied  the seat which was his now - just the week before.. He asked me to describe it, and after listening, decided not order coffee! 

Then he turned towards the book I was reading- Amit Chaudhuri's "Calcutta: Two years in the city". A page from the chapter 'Universal suffrage' . He craned his neck, leaned sideways, over my left shoulder, towards the book. I respectfully moved away to let him have the better view. Mine was a conditioned response- in the Bihar I had grown up in, the newspaper or an Enid Blyton book or a Phantom/ Mandrake comic is never the person's who has bought it. Striking the standard chemistry with my Calcutta connection, he inquired whether this was a "Communist book' and on being disappointed at my negative reply, he joked whether I had invested in any of the chit funds that had been rocking Bengal of late.

Then the air hostess showed around a tray of biscuits. I declined, but he picked two  packets of two biscuits each- and kept them in his breast-pocket. An expert mind reader, he immediately caught  my bemusement. So probably to assure me, or probably to apologise , he broke into a sheepish but toothy smile and announced, " taking them for my grandsons. They always expect something from me whenever I reach home after an air journey." Thinking that his example was not  enough to justify pouching free biscuits by elderly people ,  he regaled me with stories of Jagannath Mishra, the ex Chief minister of Bihar, whom he had seen during air journeys shamelessly pick up toffees with both hands and  stuff them in his kurta pockets for his grandchildren.

Frankly, I had not been very chuffed with his constant yappings, though not very pleased either.But this taking home a few biscuits for grandchildren did stir up very fond childhood memories. Of this very unique grandfather- grandchildren bond,  or rather 'the moment'  in this bond.I remember, when we were very small,  whenever my grandfather would return from High Court, his big, multi tiered, stainless steel tiffinbox would be grabbed by the tiny tot cousins. The top dabba would always have a piece of a cake or a cutlet or something equally savoury, not very substantial - and I am sure the excess food was pre planned- but the joy of sharing Dada's meal was an ultimate high for us.This was our moment - because soon after, his time would be poached by his wife or his clients or friends or his children. I thanked my stars for giving me company of this loquacious passenger- and a slice of my childhood.