I was five minutes late. Just five minutes late. And the coach, obviously, was strictly on time!

Having run all the way from Victoria, I was panting for breath and half-dead by the time I reached the coach station. Yet, I was too late.

I was supposed to be on my way to from London to Leeds with a few of my friends. Unfortunately, the Underground Tube was out of service that very day. A five minute delay was all it took to leave me stranded in the land of the Queen.

As I stood there trying to catch my breath and deliberate over what to do next, I wondered: Why couldn't the buses in London run the way they do back in India? Why couldn't they just be made to wait? It was then that I remembered an incident that took place earlier this year...

I was returning to India from Singapore. The flight was late by a couple of hours. To make matters worse, it was a connecting flight from Mumbai to Delhi. The airline staff, unsure if I would be able to make it in time for the onward journey to the capital, refused to check me in all the way. As a result, I would have to claim my baggage at Mumbai airport, get customs' clearance, rush back to the departure hall, get a boarding pass issued and check-in the baggage again for my connecting flight. Did they actually think I would have time for all that, even if the flight reached on time?

To complicate the situation further, missing my connecting flight meant I'd have to transit in Mumbai which, in turn, meant missing an important assignment the following day in Delhi. My career was at stake here. I was feeling helpless and irritated, but knew somehow that things would work out when I landed in India. It is, after all, a country where miracles happen!

Exhausted and overwrought, I did not realise we had gained a couple of minutes while in air. The flight was landing at Mumbai airport at 0630 hours and I had a faint outside chance of boarding my connecting flight, which was scheduled to depart at 0700 hours. I prayed for a miracle.

As I disembarked the aircraft, I spotted an airline official. Not knowing what else to do, I approached him for assistance. But, given my tight time constraint, he barely wasted a second before shaking his head. I pleaded with him saying I would lose my job if I opted for a transit, but it didn't help.

While I stood there stranded, clueless and in despair, someone walked up to me and said, "Sir, I can help you!" Oh yeah, sure!

But I did not even have to explain my situation to this God-sent angel, who retrieved my luggage even as the rest of the passengers waited for the conveyor belt to start its usual slow grind. Next, he whisked me through the green channel, took me to the departure hall through some shortcut and deposited me in front of the check-in desk, where I requested for a boarding pass.

Time: 0650 hours!

I was stumped again.

The boarding passes were not being issued any more for that flight, the cargo was all in... leaving me with no chance of salvaging my career. Yet, I was full of hope. I was in the land of miracles after all! As dazed as I was, I couldn't help thanking the angel for his help. He, of course, accepted my gratitude in monetary terms. This entire miracle cost me 300 bucks (in Indian rupees) -- a paltry sum when compared to what lay at stake!

Then, my next miracle happened. The flight was being delayed and I was able to complete the required formalities!

As I ran through the gates, went through the entire rigmarole of security checks and finally entered the aircraft, I was happy but bewildered at what had transpired. Perspiring profusely despite the pleasant January temperature, I entered the cabin much like a dishevelled convict who's just been saved from a life sentence. As I strapped on my seat belt, the flight took off.

Time: 0720 hours!

The flight was rather uneventful. Later, though, I did have to encounter charges of corruption and irresponsible behaviour from friends and colleagues alike. In other circumstances, and at other times, I would have led such a demagogy myself. I was obviously at fault. My only defence was that I had acted pragmatically and had let my short-term gains take precedence over my high-held ideals!

The Coach Station at London, however, did not seem equipped to provide me with a similar service.

In India, I have never missed a bus, a train or a flight even when I was late! But London is not India. Here, minutes, if not seconds, clock the modes of public conveyance. Here, buses run even if they have no passengers. Here, buses stop only at bus stops. Here, no one pulls the chain in order to disembark directly into one's house. A lot of things just don't happen here.

Unfortunately, the efficiency of this system is not a matter of joy for us Indians! I don't want to be derogatory in my comments, but I wonder if it is the system, or our callous attitude, that makes us the way we are. Or is it an utter lack of respect for rules and by-laws? Or, perhaps, some sadistic pleasure that we get in breaking rules, and then boasting about it in front of people whom we know would respect us if we had kept them in ignorance.

I wonder how those same Indians start adhering to the system once they are in foreign lands. Why is it that they look for a dustbin to throw a Coke can when they are outside India, but just toss the cigarette butt on the street when they are in their own country?

I wonder what makes these miracles happen only in India...

Rishabh Bajpai is, as you might guess, looking forward to his next visit to India.

Illustration: Lynette Menezes

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