I saw a guy sitting next to me at Doha Airport, writing, rather texting in Arabic from right to left. I knew that unlike most languages in the world which are written from left to right, Arabic script is written from right to left. It felt bit odd and interesting to see some on type on phone so fast from right to left.
Got reminded of trip eventful trip to Delhi last year. While taking a cat nap, I was suddenly interrupted when a Sardarjee (Sikh) senior citizen in bright brown turban and flowing white beard sitting behind tapped me, gasping heavily, talking in a very thick Punjabi accented Hindi, complaining of breathing difficulties. I immediately alerted an Air Hostess. She tried to communicate with the poor man, but was having trouble as she knew only English and French, whereas our Sikh gentleman could speak neither, for he only spoke Punjabi and a very thick accented Hindi I could barely decipher.
So I became an in-flight translator and managed to figure out that the man was having breathing issues from his words "Sans" (breath), "Taqlif" (difficulties) which started from his connecting flight from Canada to Paris which still persisted. The cabin crew made an announcement looking for a doctor. In minutes walked in a lady Doctor who was travelling from Virginia. The issue again was the Doctor, born in Kenya and settled in USA spoke only English and some Gujarati. Glad I could translate the man's feeble Hindi, explaining his problem to the doctor in English. She measured his BP. It was much higher than normal. She suspected "Sleep Apnea" and suggested putting the patient on an Oxygen mask. It certainly helped as after sometime the Sikh gentleman uttered "Wahe Guru", announcing feeling better. Glad I could help. All the cabin crews, the Sikh man and not to mention the doctor thanked me for my cooperation. Reminded me of Tom Hanks from the movie FOREST GUMP - "Life is like a box of chocolates, you never know what you are going to get".
The flight to Delhi from Doha lasted just 4 hours, too short by international flight standard to be eventful. My sole solace was sitting close to the screen separating between economy and business class which offered me occasional glimpse of business class service and derive a vicarious pleasure out of it. Felt extremely relieved, when the aircraft started to descend over New Delhi with the pilot's voice announced - "Welcome to New Delhi's Indira Gandhi International Airport. It's 2 O'clock in morning, hazy, 31C (close to 90° Fahrenheit) outside.
During one of my earlier trips just before landing at the Delhi Airport came abruptly the voice of an exalted teen sitting close to me exclaiming to his buddy next row, "OI UTTH, BAIN**OD DILLI A GAYEE" (Get up, So and So the sister slammer, Delhi has arrived). More than the pilot, I found the teen's welcome far more enthusiast and the most appropriate way of welcoming to Delhi. As "Jai Maharastra" goes with Mumbai, Oh' Calcutta to Kolkata, "Jay Jagannath" to Odisha, Behn**od (sister slammer) fits well to Delhi. It was a grandest of grand standing Welcome to Delhi, Punjabi style, where a sentence can start with Bain**od (occasionally sounds as Pain**od, interspersed with a few liberal dosages of Bai**od and ends with Bai**od. It is how the self proclaimed Dill walle (Big Hearted) Dilli walle (Delhites) often greet each other. Reminded of a Delhi limerick -
ASMAAN MEIN CHAAND HAI,
AUR HAI KITNE TAARE,
YAHA KISI SE BHAROSA MAT KARO,
BAIN**OD HAI SAARE
Roughly transliterated.
"Moon is in the sky,
And also so many stars
Don't trust anyone here,
For everyone is a slammer of sister".
At the IGI Airport in Delhi I breezed through the immigration which was a shoo in for me. The Terminal 3 is quite impressive. Restrooms (toilets) were maintained nice and clean. No strong smell of ubiquitous Phenyle and dark brown betel stains at corners of walls. Our International Airports can now be considered truly world class. I saw a digital bill board proudly displaying Mahatma Gandhi's picture, followed by a visual of Chivas Regal Scotch. Ironically our Father of Nation was never a fan of consumerism, nor he ever extolled us to drink Chivas Regal. Many streets in big cities in India bustling with consumerism are named as M.G. Road, after a man who preached simple living and abhorred consumerism.
I remember that in the year 1998, more than quarter century ago when I was bit excited as I was coming to India to get married, no sooner I came out of the IGI Airport in the middle of night than I was treated like a hapless hare amid hounds baying for my blood in form of haranguing touts. I was forced to do an about turn and beat a hasty retreat, only to come out at break of the dawn to be ragged again. It was not unusual then for hapless passengers like me to dish out a $20 note (Bill) to buy themselves out of harassment at the Customs department. Such things are long passe.
Throughout the journey I watched folks drooling over their smartphones. All heads down like Ostrich, they were busy fingering over the glaring screens of their devices. I have seen this in America, not unusual and unexpected in a nation where individualism rules the roost. But I have observed the same in Europe, Middle East, Singapore and in India. Asian culture is more social and group oriented, where people enjoy a tete-a-tete, even with strangers. I saw many, including Airline crew busy dragging bag in one hand and texting using the other, clinging to their phones and baby sitting their devices. At Delhj Airport while waiting to catch my connecting flight to Bhubaneswar, the guy next to me was watching some reel where a guy in thick Barhampur accent in full volume on speaker was yelling - "KI KEYLEE AU GAMAATA KARUCHA HEY (So much fun and jokes you are doing) caring a hoot about others sitting close to them. Why can't he use headphones !
Growing up back in the days in India, we use to chat about anything and everything under the sun, covering topics ranging from "NANA BAHA GHARA RU, NANI BAHA GHAR PARYANTA" (From Dad's marriage to Sister's marriage). Perhaps we have gone electronic doing e-Khatti (chit chat) on social media. In the year 1979, barely a 10 year old, I accompanied my Uncle to a play at his Alma Mater Vani Bihar of Utkal University, Bhubaneswar. It was a symbolic Odia play which I could hardly understand, but still remember those lines by an actor on stage.
OTA PAKHI PARI JIBA BHAI
NAHI NAHI HOIRE,
JIBARE MANISHA SABU
OTA PAKHI HEI JIBARE.
Roughly transliterated,
You all will become a Ostrich,
Uttering no no,
Humans will become Ostrich as days go.
We have become Ostriches burying our heads inside our phones, the way an Ostrich buries its head inside sand. The same drama is now enacted in another era more than 40 years later. The nondescript person who wrote this Odia Drama (play) in 1970s was so prophetic and was certainly way ahead of his time. More later...
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