Omens in the sky

The delays at Delhi8217;s busy airports 8212; on account of the weather or, more often, the waits for landing clearance 8212; are leaving officials and passengers rather short-tempered.

The delays at Delhi8217;s busy airports 8212; on account of the weather or, more often, the waits for landing clearance 8212; are leaving officials and passengers rather short-tempered.

Some years back, my 8.15 pm flight from Delhi to Calcutta met a similar fate. Soon after I collected the boarding pass, there was the disquieting announcement of a two-hour delay. The passengers dispersed in different directions. Some made a beeline for a cup of coffee, others just sat like damp sparrows on plastic bucket seats, not knowing how to pass time.

At 9 pm dinner coupons were doled out and the passengers were taken to the nearby Hotel Centaur. That was the airline8217;s way of informing further delay in small doses. But soon after the dinner came the heartening announcement that the plane would take off at 12.30 am.

We finally landed at Calcutta at 2.30 am 8212; an unearthly hour. I was among the last to collect my baggage from the conveyor belt. I expected that an office car would be waiting for me and the driver would know the hotel. The visibly tired, overworked official at the enquiry counter checked his papers and wrote down on a slip the car number and the driver8217;s name.

The driver was Mustafa who was known to me. He always sported a welcome smile and invariably received me at the exit gate. But he was nowhere. Perhaps tired of waiting, he had fallen asleep in the car. I spent quite some time in trying to locate the car at various points, but drew a blank. It was also likely that, assuming the flight was cancelled, he had gone back.

Without wasting time, I approached a taxi and agreed to the high night charges. I directed him to proceed to the hotel where I normally stayed and expected my reservation. All other passengers had already left and the VIP Road was frightfully desolate. Then to my horror, I realised that another car with its blinding high beams and honking madly was chasing us. My premonition turned into a startling reality. The taxi driver was equally scared and dug his foot on the accelerator. But in no time the dreaded car overtook us and made us stop.

The man who came out of the car was none other than Mustafa, his face displaying all sorts of emotions 8212; discomfiture, embarrassment, apology but above all, pleasure. Well, better late than never!