And yo and push, and yo and push, and yo and push. There I squeeze my overstuffed handbag into the overstuffed overhead. All set and excited for my journey home. Outside it is snowing crazy. A winter storm, blizzard underway. Oh thanks! Planes may be grounded any minute. Am I glad? Worst snowfall in five years. Eight inches till now, all pure and white and frustrating. Frankly, I don't care as long as the plane takes off. I will be away in the sun for two months. But it had to happen this very day, the day when I am to leave for home. Gracias, Senor Almighty, you got some problem with me, huh? He always seems to have, always appears just in the nick of time to bungle my ideas. Earlier I had kept my fingers crossed. Hey Lord, I pleaded, don't ruin my flight, please... pleeeeeze. I've got two connections along the way and ruin one, ruin all, y'know... The Lord and me got along pretty well for some time, till the pilot suddenly realised that his hydraulic or something pumps were not working the way they were supposed to, and taxied back to square one from almost the point of takeoff. Two hours later, hydraulic pumps repaired, snow blown off, the plane taxies for takeoff, and the pilot realises that his wind-chill metres aren't working. And the plane returns to tarmac. The ways of the Lord! Goodness Gracious, Mr Lord, we've got some serious problem over here. C'mon, have a heart, I am going home! Four hours delayed, the plane taxies again and, thankfully, takes off. Yippee! Arrives in the city of smog, Bombay, to know that some of my bags are languishing at Amsterdam. A connection lost, a day lost of my hard-earned vacation! Fight jetlag in a smogless hotel (courtesy the awful carrier I flew in), and wait elbows over knees, weary-eyed for my lost baggage... Tsk, tsk... I can hear a laugh. Gawd, is that you? Make the connection home. The charming airhostesses of one of our primary carriers are certainly a welcome change from the wrinkle-veiling, hair-dyeing oldies of the West. I had planned to sleep in the carrier, but cannot manage even a wink. Courtesy the hostesses. How I wish I were a steward along with them! But, His blessings, y'know, they always interfere with what I want. So I land at the home airport. And I wait for my baggage. Through the glass partitions, I see my folks jumping and waving at me. I jump and wave back. And I wait for my baggage. But then, every time He sees to it that my baggage, if it arrives at all, is in a perfect shredded condition, which makes even the raddiwaalaas think thrice. And also that a tacit law always governs my baggage: Thou shalt not arrive amongst the first, nor thou shalt be amongst the middle nor the last few. Thou shalt always be the last on the conveyer. I fix my weary eyes on the conveyor. Sooner or later, I know, my shreds will arrive. I wait a full hour and then I jump. Far on the conveyer, I can see my blue-and-red shreds appearing, followed by the not-so-shredded black. I collect the baggage. I smile. I trolley it to the exit. I wink at Him and He winks back. We smile in our age-old camaraderie. Pratik Shah is back at work after his vacation. Tell us what you think of this diary
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