The Flight of the BaddiMaga

16D - it came to be. I am not talking about a Canon D-SLR; It was the seat which would finally see me through my maiden flight aboard an airplane - a childhood fascination coming of age. It had been a pleasant day all throughout. The pizza in the afternoon was quietly being digested; the birds were chirping; the sun was setting- all in all it was a pleasant evening - much to my dismay. Life stuck to being a stubborn, normal curve without much eccentricity. Gunshots! anybody? I quietly settled down at 16D - not drawing much attention.

Now, this too wasn't spared of the last minute tensions. Nature came-a-calling in her full glory - reminiscent of the mood largely prevalent just before the commencement of an exam during the VTU-era. After I had washed away my sins and surpluses, I began my brief journey back to 16D. I say this because, when I looked down the walk-way - straight down, at the long row of seats with dimly lit interiors, and gradually fading figurines, it seemed like a pretty long way back to 16D. Sigh!

After a couple of paces, the Mr. Hyde in me took over the formalities. He slid his hand into the pocket and began to wonder how it would be to draw out his single-barreled Walther at this point of time and announce to the ignoramuses, "This plane has been hijacked!". I could sense my heart pumping at this point of time. The kind of feeling that you get preceding something important. Reality bites, but. It soon dawned upon Mr. Hyde, as he was groping in futility for the phantom, single-barreled Walther, that all he had with him was a lousy, harmless, single-barreled Reynold's roller ball pen with 047 scribbled on it. Damn!

It is sometimes sad how things turn out to be sometimes. The way out of this misery is to eat a nice little pastry preferably with a blood-red, round cherry on top. You are assured of an even better feeling if the pastry came free of cost.

I tried hard to hide the all-assailing smirk that had begun to shape my countenance by this time. I could no longer hold it back. So I hurried to dear ol' 16D and settled down with a jerk, giggling softly. I covered my face with fingers and looked through the gaps to make sure that I was not being noticed. It's an old habit - being conscious of the effect of your presence on others. (even though I now know that I am no star celebrity; I still feel a little conscious about how I come across to others. But that’s another entirely different boring story)

Mr. Hyde was being quite persuasive. He had other Shakespearean plots conjuring in his mind. The emergency exit window looked rather tempting. The red lever arrangement which called out loud "Pull me!", looked tempting. If it hadn't been for the pretty young air-hostess in her enticing, perfectly groomed frame who had interrupted me in my flights of fantasy, I would have probably gone ahead and booked my date with the judiciary. "Sir! Are you willing to take the responsibility of pulling the red-lever in case of an emergency?" she asked in her conditioned to-be-polite tone. "Yeah baby! Anytime for you!”, I thought to myself. And then I was shown the red-lever which her French manicured finger nail polished with crimson red nail polish were pointing at. "Damn, that one". I was disappointed, to say the least.

I had visualized this a hundred times in my head - the phenomena of an airplane taking off. I made sure that the puke-dump-bag was in its place. People had warned me in general of the things that could go awry. Mother, too, had warned me about the take-off blues. "Cotton buds in the ear and gum in your mouth" were the last few wistful words of hers before I left home. Keeping that in mind and other things, I had bought myself a 10-pack orange flavored mentos chewing gum pack. I popped one into my mouth and began the age old phenomena of chewing the gum (and what exactly did you expect me to say?)

It felt strange and a somewhat fleeting feeling of security came with the cotton buds in my ear - like one of those Gandhian monkeys.

By this time the plane had made its way through to the take-off strip/lane. There were assortments of light blinking on either sides - resembling a Bollywood wedding.

It happened quite quickly. After having gained considerable speed - a momentary jerk and we were off. Finally flying at 35,000 ft above sea level.

Umm, wait a minute. Did we miss anything here? Wasn't this supposed to be a little more dramatic? A little more exciting than this? This! a lousy momentary jerk! A tora-tora gives me a better high for 20 bucks, dammit! Is this what I get after having waited for an hour in the Q? A shake of the head brought me back to 16D. Damn!

It took a while to settle down. To get a hold of my inner-demanding-child. It was then that I looked out of my window without having anywhere else to look. The sight was worth all the monetary pain that money could buy. The confluence of the colors of dusk in all their shades was a sight which put me into the awe-mode.

How lucky am I that I wasn't born as a bird. For I would have flown these skies day after day, dusk to dusk, night after night without having the slightest idea of the beauty that I was bearing a witness to. At least I can now, as a human, sit in this aluminum contraption at 35,000 ft above sea level and sigh at the marvel that is flying, and many other things small and beautiful; with a slowly conquering buddha-smile, I showed the finger to the bird. For I know, and they don't.