Foggy memories

Khaleej Times (Life) / 16 February 2013

IT IS ONE thing to cherish wintry mornings and another to confront foggy conditions.

Fog can be a nasty thing, especially if you are on a snarled up highway and you can almost hear the driver behind breathing down your neck in pointless exasperation. It is worse if you are at the airport waiting for a flight on a foggy day, biding your time between dumb display monitors and clueless duty managers.

Airports are chaotic places, but the eagerness to reach a destination often makes the difficulties of modern-day international travel seem rather trivial. Everything is taken in the stride – security checks, snaky lines, knocks from trolleys behind, baggage woes etc. But what we do not bargain for is an indefinite delay. 

It can make the waiting lounge look like a tin of sardines. The air conditioner suddenly seems ineffective and soon the boarding pass doubles as hand fan. The man at the counter asks us to wait for the elusive announcement.

“Can you please tell what the whole thing is about?” we ask him politely.

The fog, he says, while pointing at the clear, mid-noon light outside. He doesn’t deem it necessary to divulge the details, but we try to gather information from other sources. We eavesdrop a bit and learn that incoming flights are delayed. But the arrival board reads that our flight has landed, which means that it logically has to take off on its return journey soon.

I approach an airport staff member with my queries and he says that the flights that have come in are being diverted elsewhere. This is not fair — this jumping the queue business, I fume inwardly. Moreover, do pilots on the Indian route know the aerial path to Aleppo or Alexandria? Won’t they lose their way and land somewhere else, I wonder aloud. My husband gives me a glare  that expresses his annoyance.

There aren’t enough chairs to seat all the passengers and some are beginning to squat on the floor. We are lucky to find two seats, but one latte and fifteen minutes later, I feel a need to go to the restroom. I shun the sensation and glue myself to the chair. But you can’t ignore nature’s calls for long, so I risk losing my seat and rush. The restroom staff is livid over the massive footfall in the facility and grumbles that people are flocking there because they have little else to do. I return to see my man struggling to keep my seat safe from the onslaught of chair hunters. Now he needs to go too. I have an obligation to guard his place. “Make it fast,” I say. He glares again and mumbles. Indefinite delays can make devils out of saints too. Patience is running out and tempers are flaring at some distance. I crane my neck to know what’s transpiring, but the argument is in Arabic. I rue not having learned the language in all these years. I miss the action unfolding there.

We are three hours behind schedule. I am bored. I try not to fall asleep for the fear of tilting and spraining my neck. The elderly gentleman next to me strikes up a conversation. He is hanging his boots and going home leaving a working wife behind. Isn’t she going with him, I ask. “The secret of a happy marriage is separation,” he quips. I grin at the wisecrack and ask, “Especially after retirement?” He is chatty, but I don’t mind. We spend an hour in conversation. He tells us many interesting things. He is a man who has seen and known life. Listening to people like him is like viewing through a kaleidoscope.

The plane to our hometown is finally ready. We take leave thanking each other for the company. I may never see him again, but the thoughts he shared with us in that final hour of our waiting will stay with me forever. Foggy arrivals can sometimes end in happy departures.