Waiting endlessly in the terminal building, I kept hearing announcements of, “regret delay because of late arrival of aircraft.” Funny. Maybe our airports are such that airplanes are just naturally tardy at landing there, what with dogs and cows on the runway, and sundry other uncouth animals in the terminals.

At New Delhi Airport, the bus taking us from the terminal building to the plane stopped as an Air Deccan plane taxied across. A man standing next to me remarked, “That was Air Duckhan!” Couldn’t have expressed it better.

In-flight entertainment was dubious. The man in the aisle seat next to me went for the lozenges, grabbing fistfuls from the tray. The guy in the window seat kept poking me, asking what is this and what is that. And why the hawai jahaj was flying so slowly! If only the windows were openable, I would have pushed his head out. Then he’d know how slow it really is.

The food served on board tasted like, well, nothing on earth. But looked rather familiar. The bread-roll bulged within a tight sheath of plastic. I peeled it off like in those HIV AIDS and family planning pictures. They even had balls, four small brown laddoos, looking uncomfortable and tasteless in the casserole. Next to them lay a cylindrical object! Perhaps they were trying to remind us of anatomical parts we were in danger of forgetting in the presence of matronly stewardesses. I remembered joint family days, when austere, buxom aunties kept a watchful eye on us. Or, maybe, just maybe, it was an aphrodisiac meal.

The desert looked nice. There was a tiny card on it with the word: “TajChef”. It turned out more like taj s***! You guessed it.

Now for the best part. The changing monsoon cloudscape, the earth stretching away to the horizon, the setting sun flinging out brilliant rays in a spectacular display. And, lower down in the distance, another little aircraft sprinting across.

What’s the hurry? Aircrafts are supposed to arrive late.

July 3, 2007, 7.30 pm, on board a flight to Kolkatta.