The best minds in the world wouldn't describe Hamish Joy as a travel consultant. And that's not entirely because they've never heard of me, though that's probably a big factor. The more compelling reason is that I have never travelled much. With the exception of one family trip to the country's capital, I have always maintained as minimal a tourist instinct as possible. I had set most of my life within Cochin, stayed within Kerala for 22 years, moved to Bangalore only to pursue an MBA degree and a research job.

But when the company sent me away for a two week training, I thought I might as well write about it. The place in question, is Mumbai. Derived from the Sanskrit word 'mum' meaning 'Mother', and the Urdu word 'bai', meaning 'brother', the city had a family atmosphere to it. I was nervous, though, because knowledgeable and experienced friends, as well as my family had given roughly two and a half hours of lecture on how difficult it would be in Mumbai. The contents of the two-and-a-half-hours talk can be summarized as –

a. The trains are fast, silent, and dangerous
b. Pickpockets are a dime a dozen
c. The trains are silent, fast, and dangerous
d. The cost of living is very high
e. The trains are dangerous, fast, and silent
f. Criminal activities and violence are perpetually high
and…
g. The trains are fast, dangerous, and silent


It was one bright hot sunny afternoon when I reached Mumbai, and I was paranoid about theft. Time to time, I'd 'sense' some unknown hand in my pocket, get startled, and clear my head only to realize that the hand in question was not unknown at all, but my own.

I got to stay with an old friend of mine, Dr. Visakh Varma, at IIT Powai, a beautiful place. It was the next bright hot sunny morning when he graciously accompanied me all the way to my office, on my first day of training. He, like so many others before him, had long since come to the conclusion that Hamish Joy is to be spoon fed; that leaving me to get to office by myself would result in my starring in the 'missing persons' report the following day. He also introduced me to the dreaded Mumbai metro, where, according to sources wide and numerous, danger lurks in every corner.

The Mumbai train experience was quite a pleasant one. Don't get me wrong. I do not mean that the ideal fun time would be to pack a bag of chips, take your family to the nearest station, climb aboard, and go 'whee' aboard the speeding train. I meant it was much better than what I had thought it would be. Of course, I have to factor in the facts that I used only the first class compartments, and with the aid of my friend's useful tip, had developed the habit of not hanging around the entrance.

These precautions robbed the train ordeal of its danger and excitement. While safety is a key priority, I had a small sense of disappointment. I had heard so much about the perils of the Mumbai train journey, where the tidal wave of people rushing in and out of the trains in short periods of time had dictated the fates of the other people caught in the middle. And most of what I saw was tame. With one exeption.

My last day on the Mumbai train. It was a bright hot sunny Friday. By now you must have realized from whatever I have written that everything about Mumbai is bright, hot, and sunny. I was usually too tired to go out at night and check, but I wouldn't have been surprised if I found 'bright', 'hot' and 'sunny', to be capable adjectives to describe the Mumbai night as well.

Anyway, I'm straying from the point. Like I was saying, it was a bright hot sunny Friday. There was an unusually large number of people on board. Maybe I boarded the second class compartment by mistake. Whatever the cause, the rush was so intense that I was unable to go far enough into the compartment. I was directly in the path of the exit. After about 15 minutes of effort, which, by the way, is my limit, I figured "What the hell. I'm in the centre of the train anyway. So what if its in the exit path. I can't possibly be affected this far into the crowd." Famous last words.

The next major station that came my way, the legendary rush commenced. There was a steady rush of people out of the train, and I was swept away. When ordinary people say "I was swept away", you probably think, "Oh! That must have been some force", and leave it at that. But in my case, you have to consider that I weigh 87 kgs. Moving cars have sometimes been unable to shove me. I was lifted off the ground. For a moment, I felt like superman discovering he could fly. I held on to the overhead bar, and my hand felt like it'd be ripped off any moment then. The swarming passengers, meanwhile, thought I was doing all this for fun; that my intentions were solely to slow them down by standing in their way. They made very vocal signs of protest. The protests were made in advanced hindi, marathi, martian, or Swahili. In short, I had no idea what they were saying.

But I can understand that they were all thinking I was crazy. For the span of five minutes, when the most conservative of people would have willingly taken on a 50:1 bet that Hamish Joy would be unceremoniously launched out of the train, there was a misplaced, but faint smile on my face. For all the tension built up in the train; for all the angry people shouting what I think were obscenities at me; for all the pain my wrists had to endure while the rest of me was being tossed, all I could do was smile, thinking, "Aha! So THIS is the rush they were talking about!"

It is my nature, and indeed the strongest of my natures, to sit at home, chew on the popcorn family, watching TV with one eye and the computer screen with the other. The closest of friends would recognize me as the 'sit-at-home' type. Laze, it is often said, would be second nature to me ONLY if I can establish a stronger candidate to take the 'first nature' position. Indeed there was one time when a 'friend' made the observation that if I were locked up with a fridge in my room, it would be weeks before I realized that the room was locked.

So it would come as no surprise to learn that when my company told me to pack up and go to Mumbai, I cringed visibly. One whole day's worth of journey by train or bus - this wasn't a journey I would be looking forward to. The cringe, however, lasted only till I found out they were flying me there.

Hence began my tryst with Kingfisher Airlines. I was apprehensive at first. The last ime I had travelled by plane, the ordeal wasn't exactly picturesque. I vaguely remember accidentally knocking down the airhostess with my elbow. I had created a small flight plan on my own, sending her tray flying into the air, spraying what I hope was water onto the floor, covering her in some sort of soft drink, and covering myself blissfully with an assortment of candies.

Thankfully, there was no sordid outcome for that event. I was armed with certain qualities at the time, which prevented a sad ending to the anecdote. I was cute and cuddly back then. Air hostesses do NOT fight back at five year olds. I suppose it's some company rule. Air hostesses, I am sure, receive rigorous and critical training on handling/tolerating five year olds. It's not an easy task. Statistically, five year olds have caused more frustration aboard airlines than 6-megaton nuclear warheads. (I am basing this on the fact that there has been no airline damage due to 6-megaton nuclear warheads so far.)

But Air hostesses' training and instructions probably give them clear and complete understanding on how to tackle five year olds and other hazards. I'm sure if you take the Air hostesses' manual, go to the troubleshooting section, you can look up how to handle all kinds of situations. For example, if you were to look up situations like "The five year old kid tripped me up and spilled candy all over the front row", or "The five year old kid on aisle one threw goo all over the floor", or even "The five year old locked up the pilot in the toilet and is now flying the plane", a simple, clear, and easy to follow set of procedures would be given in the manual, serving as irrefutable guidelines on handling the situation. For example, in this case, the manual would suggest: "Look at the kid straight in the face, make eye contact, smile, and say thank you". Arguably, it may advice the same procedure for dealing with hijackers, turbulence, and fuel shortage.

In any case, I'm straying off the point. What I wanted to say was that I was a bit apprehensive, because, if you have seen me recently, you would know that 'cute and cuddly' are not my allies anymore. But as it turned out, the flight experience was a really pleasant one. Kingfisher Airlines was superb. It delivered what it promised to. Well, I wasn't talking literally, but yeah, even on literal terms, it delivered what it promised to; which was me; to Mumbai; and on time.

The hostesses were very helpful. Maybe it's because I've been watching too many airline commercials, but I kinda had the impression that air hostesses were stamped with perpetual smiles on their faces, bowing with folded hands at regular intervals. Nope. They were pleasant enough, and smiled at the right occasions, but they were pretty human and quite rational.

Takeoff was smooth. A bit too smooth, I'd say. I had expected some radical force at action, pushing me INTO the comfy seat; making me shout out loud "Thank God for the seatbelts." After all the detailed instructions on what to do, and how critical it is to wear the seatbelt, one naturally expects a force of powerful dimensions that would make him grit his teeth, close his eyes, rediscover God, and start praying. But there was no G force in action. The seatbelt simply felt like overkill. Yes, the mild take off was a slight disappointment. Hey, it's just my thought.

The seatbelt felt like overkill, but what I COULD have used was a little heads up on the ear-pressure thingy. For those of you who still don't know, when you board a plane, be sure to stuff your ears with cotton and/or chew candy during takeoff and landing. It's something to do with pressure, I don't remember what. The bottom line is, if you don't there is a good chance that your ears can get blocked and hurt like crazy. I had read about the phenomenon before, but it didn't register at the critical juncture. Cotton wasn't offered up front, and while my neighbour demanded for the earplugs, I was content simply looking out the window. Takeoff didn't bother me that much, but the landing sure did. My ears hurt like Mike Tyson had made a snack of it, and it felt so clogged that everything I heard for the rest of the day had the audio backdrop of a persistent and annoying hum.

All things considered, my experience with the KF Airlines was not unlike my experience with their beer. It got me high very fast, I soon lost sight of land, I began to see clouds, felt like I was dreaming, heard humming sounds with no logical source, wanted to have a hot snack in between, and in under two hours, the high wore off; I was back on earth. And I immediately wanted to do it again. Definitely a similar experience.