Of passengers and intents

Thanks to Arghya, Aditi, and Abhinav!

Somewhere around 1:30 am on a Friday night at the backyard patio of Duke of York, and roughly 2 pitchers of high-priced Stella down the throat, out came some novel observations.

Story#1
Try catching an international flight to India from whenever to wherever. The waiting lounge, as you shall observe, brings out the essence of India. A polite airline staff serenades out an invitation for all the priority guests (aka people who do not want to compete) to board the flight. Nobody pays any attention. It takes them 2 full seconds before realizing that in India (i.e. for Indians) "priority is what you make of it". The mood swiftly changes; A cursory glance across the lounge reveals many faces. Don't be fooled by the looks; these are professional athletes when it comes to aircraft barging-in. They know that it is different from hopping onto a local train or a public bus in an Indian metro city. It's a different race track altogether. That's exactly where the difference ends though. The competition remains the same - a bulging middle class scared that resources might be scarce.
To bring a bit of light hearted giggles into this tense environment, we have a few naive foreigners double dreaming of Yoga n Kamasutra, who are about to be caught completely unaware .
The air goes quiet; you can see fathers clutching their child's hands and mothers holding on to the extra bulky carry-on luggage. Old Uncles firmly gripping their walking sticks. All nervously seated to the edge of the cold steely lounge seats. The staff takes a deep breath.
"We now request passengers.....seat # 22A - 34F...."
They might as well have politely requested passengers to demonstrate the meaning of Aakraman!
Off they go now. Trampling on everything that comes in their way; a single minded determination to barge-in through the gate, to a glorified finish line where a sweetly smiling Air-hostess is going to whisper a soft namaskaar....aapka swagat hai. We have paid for this ticket, damn it.  And we surely shall not be the last ones to enter.

Story#2
Domestic Indian flights (compared to international flights) are far better in terms of sheer diversity of intent. Broad categorization would allow 3 distinct families. First up, you meet the small number of suavely polished gentlemen and elegant ladies who constantly twitch their noses, and let out sighs of disgust. They are extremely irritated at seeing this huge population create havoc.
This brings us to family#2, the ire of family#1. Here you will find the typical train going family with tiffin boxes full of paranthas and pickles and anything and everything that will help them survive this physically demanding 2 hour flight. A fusion of smells of different cuisines takes to the air as soon as the pre-recorded voice lets you know that the seat belts may now be cut/slit/burnt/hammered. Family#2 can simply not live without each other. And it so cruelly happens, every single time, that the airline ticket gods try to sprinkle the family members across the breadth and width of the seating chart. The sheer delight at finding your family member, thousands of miles up above the earth, is a speechlessly divine feeling. And as soon as the needs of the stomach have been taken care of, they set out in search of their loved ones.
And finally, there's the third kind. Typified by a young hetro-sexual Indian male who is travelling alone. Prior to departure, as soon as this person gets to his seat, he starts praying with all earnestness. Wishing true, and wishing hard for the empty seat next to him to be occupied by none other than the most ravishing, hot lady in the passenger list. And more often than not, just when the wait is about to turn futile, and the flight is set to take off in a few minutes, in she walks. A la Pamela  Anderson, down the aisle, looking for her seat #. The prayers start banging on God's temple doors. She slows down as she nears the coveted seat, and then suddenly for no plausible reason she chooses to sit right next to the old toothless man 2 rows ahead. And as if that weren't painful enough, the dream of our hero is brought to a cruel end when a bulky, grumpy middle aged businessman decides that he cannot do without the company, and chooses the 'seat of desire'. Sleep time.