The reason I will be travelling by ship

It has been oh-so-long since I posted. But flying back home to India and travelling to four cities in three weeks is no mean task.

Yes, you read right. The trip back home was nothing to rave about (except for some yummylicious food), there I said it, so strike me down Lord with your Usain Bolt shaped thunderbolts.  A comedy of errors is what it was all about. Playwrights will henceforth look to my life for inspiration. Either, I have lived through horrible travel Karma or the people in the skies are sending me pretty strong messages about me not belonging there.

So it all began with my flight from Houston to Mumbai via Frankfurt. The days before the actual trip were choppy enough and that should have been a neon sign for me to read, but no, I suffer from selective blindness. Yes, I am being treated with a thump on my head twice a day, after meals for it. So Chuckles drops me off and I lug my suitcases to check in. My big red suitcase (which will play a big part in the trip) was unlocked which I noticed while standing in line behind other Indians all sufficiently endowed in the luggage department. Now owing to the extra large size of my suitcase, it was difficult for me to maneuver and actually lock it, so I let it be.

I believed in luck and Lufthansa and left my suitcase unlocked, finally checked in and stood in line behind a hundred people for security. Everything was going according to plan. Even after I sat in a nondescript, hostile, boarding room waiting for, ''Lufthansa will begin boarding economy passengers now, so scramble in line'' everything seemed fine. And then it happened. They cancelled boarding and asked us to await further information. Three quarters of an hour later, they delayed the flight saying some part was missing which they were trying to fly in from other states. We still held on to hope, though it seemed pretty stupid. 15 minutes later, the flight was cancelled. The part was definitely missing.

Almost three hours later (standing), two huge suitcases in tow and a worried Chuckles at home, I managed to get onto a flight which would take me to Doha in 15 hours. Since I had disobeyed all neon signs, the sky people had to teach me a lesson. Turbulence followed, the piercing shriek of a fellow passenger jolted me awake and forced me to remember oxygen mask drills and what I should do when we land in water. Fine, I got the picture. I am going to hell, there is no place for me in heaven.

I land in Doha, and am seated in another aircraft in 45 minutes. Three hours later I land in Mumbai.
The ordeal is not over.

A peaceful three days with the in-laws follows. A flight to Goa with Khabri and her umbrella, a wedding, so much rain, there was water flowing inside my brain and it was time to head to Bangalore. I reach the airport, I board. I wake up to us still on the tarmac, sweat dripping down my back and kids screaming. We get off and get some fresh Goa tarmac air, only to be shuttled off to the terminal. A free samosa and an hour later, some part is missing and the flight, you know it by now, is cancelled.

Two hours of negotiations, fighting and a whole lot of indian english later, I find myself with my two big suitcases in tow, in a shuttle, with strangers heading towards a hotel. Dinner and conversation with strangers later, I am woken up at 4.30 am to get ready for my flight. A shuttle ride to the airport, a wait for another three hours and our flight is finally ready to board. We take off to Bangalore at 9.30 am.

There is another visit planned to India next year. I have a whole year to recuperate.