The first 'one a week' blog post, a little over a week late. For someone who calls themselves deadline-driven, I certainly am lax with personal deadlines!
Anyway, I suggested to Ma that she and I write at least once a week (hopefully the frequency will increase) through this year. I think it will be a good way to motivate each other to write more frequently and also stay in better touch. We'll see but no harm trying :)
Warning as you (my precious few readers) start to read this: this is yet another travel-related post. It's about lost and found and messed-up passports. As I stood in the security check line before boarding my flight to India, chatting on the phone with my husband, telling him (in great detail) about the snaking queue, I was only half-paying attention to anything else.
So, when the ground crew came by asking that we check our belongings for someone else's passport, I was pretty sure that that didn't apply to me. I remembered collecting my own passport at the check in counter and made sure it was in my hand. Since I knew I couldn't have picked up anyone else's passport at the counter or anywhere else, I only gave my bag a cursory glance through. Security check done, mad rush to the plane since I was among the last few to board and I settled down for the 14-odd hour flight home.
A little over midway into the journey and after chatting about Indian politics at length with my seat neighbor, I decided to fill out the immigration forms and dug for my passport. I can't even begin to describe my horror when I opened it and saw someone else's face staring up at me. I flipped through the pages in the hope that I was seeing things and my face would appear when I came back to the bio page. Naturally, that didn't happen. So, I dug in my bag again fervently praying that I would find my own passport. Thankfully, the next passport I pulled out was indeed mine.
Since my seat neighbors were fast asleep, I buzzed for the attendant and waited. After three attempts, one of the flight attendants stopped by and I explained to him that I had found someone else's passport in my bag. He looked confused and then alarmed even as (I am sure) I looked horrified at the thought of how the owner of the passport must be feeling. He took the passport from me and went to consult with the team. By now, my neighbor was wide awake and very curious about what was going on. I repeated what I had said to the attendant and he tried to console me saying that I had done the right thing by returning it. One of the lead attendants came by and asked me to step to the back of the plane with her. Once again, I explained the situation to her as she incredulously asked me how this had happened. As I sadly (and patiently) explained to her that it was impossible to find anything in my bag, I had visions of Ma's blue-black travel handbag which would bring forth the most amazing treasures as soon as we needed them--from paper napkins to water bottles to Vicks. As an adult, I had definitely succeeded in packing a world into my travel handbag but was far from being able to make things appear magically!
Anyway, end of this story, the airline took my name and that was that. Fast forward to the end of a very relaxed vacation with my family and a six-hour halt at Delhi airport before boarding the flight back to the US. After practically hugging a phone booth at the domestic terminal for most of that time and then sauntering into the international section a couple of hours before my flight, when I stood in the final security check queue at the departure gate, I was in for another shock.
I heard the airline/airport personnel announce my name. When I identified myself, the person who was calling my name asked me to step out of the line and show him my passport and other travel documents. As I took those out of my bag, the episode from the inward journey flashed into my mind and I sent a quick prayer up for help.
But unlike the person who's passport I had brought with me, I had a knight in shining armour who had a phone with a broken screen--Avneet Singh Matta. Mr. Matta was the airport security person who had announced for me and who kicked off a series of phone calls to set things right. In between calls, he told me that the dunderhead airline official who had checked me in (extremely unwillingly) at my original port of entry, had entered an incorrect passport number. As a result, the international travel security system was throwing up an error. After about 40 minutes of some serious negotiating, he was finally able to get me and my bags on that flight.
As I was about to board the flight, I asked if I could recommend him to anyone for his amazing help and he said that there was no need. Desperate to show some sign of gratitude to this unbelievably low-key individual, I dug into my bag for a bar of chocolate I knew I had. Of course, this was my bag that we are talking about. It swallows passports, so a chocolate is no big deal. So, I had to let Mr. Matta go without even being able to thank him properly.
I arrived at my seat and settled in, continuing to dig, just in case the chocolate magically appeared. And I guess I was nearing Ma's handbag magic, because this time, it did. The plane was still being held for another passenger who was receiving medical attention, so I rushed to the front and asked if Mr. Matta was still around. He wasn't but thankfully, one of his colleagues who had talked to us earlier, was. So, I explained what had happened and asked him to give the chocolate to Mr. Matta. After an initial refusal (I can only imagine how puzzled he was by my insistence), he finally accepted, smiled and said he would give it to Mr. Matta.
As I walked back to my seat, feeling a little happier and extremely relieved, one of the attendants laughingly said to the colleague that Mr. Matta should go on the airport and airline's ads. I agree, my knight in shining armour would be a good partner for the Maharaja!
Anyway, I suggested to Ma that she and I write at least once a week (hopefully the frequency will increase) through this year. I think it will be a good way to motivate each other to write more frequently and also stay in better touch. We'll see but no harm trying :)
Warning as you (my precious few readers) start to read this: this is yet another travel-related post. It's about lost and found and messed-up passports. As I stood in the security check line before boarding my flight to India, chatting on the phone with my husband, telling him (in great detail) about the snaking queue, I was only half-paying attention to anything else.
So, when the ground crew came by asking that we check our belongings for someone else's passport, I was pretty sure that that didn't apply to me. I remembered collecting my own passport at the check in counter and made sure it was in my hand. Since I knew I couldn't have picked up anyone else's passport at the counter or anywhere else, I only gave my bag a cursory glance through. Security check done, mad rush to the plane since I was among the last few to board and I settled down for the 14-odd hour flight home.
A little over midway into the journey and after chatting about Indian politics at length with my seat neighbor, I decided to fill out the immigration forms and dug for my passport. I can't even begin to describe my horror when I opened it and saw someone else's face staring up at me. I flipped through the pages in the hope that I was seeing things and my face would appear when I came back to the bio page. Naturally, that didn't happen. So, I dug in my bag again fervently praying that I would find my own passport. Thankfully, the next passport I pulled out was indeed mine.
Since my seat neighbors were fast asleep, I buzzed for the attendant and waited. After three attempts, one of the flight attendants stopped by and I explained to him that I had found someone else's passport in my bag. He looked confused and then alarmed even as (I am sure) I looked horrified at the thought of how the owner of the passport must be feeling. He took the passport from me and went to consult with the team. By now, my neighbor was wide awake and very curious about what was going on. I repeated what I had said to the attendant and he tried to console me saying that I had done the right thing by returning it. One of the lead attendants came by and asked me to step to the back of the plane with her. Once again, I explained the situation to her as she incredulously asked me how this had happened. As I sadly (and patiently) explained to her that it was impossible to find anything in my bag, I had visions of Ma's blue-black travel handbag which would bring forth the most amazing treasures as soon as we needed them--from paper napkins to water bottles to Vicks. As an adult, I had definitely succeeded in packing a world into my travel handbag but was far from being able to make things appear magically!
Anyway, end of this story, the airline took my name and that was that. Fast forward to the end of a very relaxed vacation with my family and a six-hour halt at Delhi airport before boarding the flight back to the US. After practically hugging a phone booth at the domestic terminal for most of that time and then sauntering into the international section a couple of hours before my flight, when I stood in the final security check queue at the departure gate, I was in for another shock.
I heard the airline/airport personnel announce my name. When I identified myself, the person who was calling my name asked me to step out of the line and show him my passport and other travel documents. As I took those out of my bag, the episode from the inward journey flashed into my mind and I sent a quick prayer up for help.
But unlike the person who's passport I had brought with me, I had a knight in shining armour who had a phone with a broken screen--Avneet Singh Matta. Mr. Matta was the airport security person who had announced for me and who kicked off a series of phone calls to set things right. In between calls, he told me that the dunderhead airline official who had checked me in (extremely unwillingly) at my original port of entry, had entered an incorrect passport number. As a result, the international travel security system was throwing up an error. After about 40 minutes of some serious negotiating, he was finally able to get me and my bags on that flight.
As I was about to board the flight, I asked if I could recommend him to anyone for his amazing help and he said that there was no need. Desperate to show some sign of gratitude to this unbelievably low-key individual, I dug into my bag for a bar of chocolate I knew I had. Of course, this was my bag that we are talking about. It swallows passports, so a chocolate is no big deal. So, I had to let Mr. Matta go without even being able to thank him properly.
I arrived at my seat and settled in, continuing to dig, just in case the chocolate magically appeared. And I guess I was nearing Ma's handbag magic, because this time, it did. The plane was still being held for another passenger who was receiving medical attention, so I rushed to the front and asked if Mr. Matta was still around. He wasn't but thankfully, one of his colleagues who had talked to us earlier, was. So, I explained what had happened and asked him to give the chocolate to Mr. Matta. After an initial refusal (I can only imagine how puzzled he was by my insistence), he finally accepted, smiled and said he would give it to Mr. Matta.
As I walked back to my seat, feeling a little happier and extremely relieved, one of the attendants laughingly said to the colleague that Mr. Matta should go on the airport and airline's ads. I agree, my knight in shining armour would be a good partner for the Maharaja!
