On board BA 036- 24th August:
It has been a while that I have seen the night of day. Since the night of 23rd August, it has been a journey through day time and yet it seems that time has stood still. After almost a day of day light, my eyes have started to yearn for the darkness which soothes up the wounds of the day.
It started at 5 in the morning from Madras and now it is 11 in the day as I touch down in London. Leave aside the time zones, what difference do they make except for numbers? As the sun rays filter in through the layers of plexi-glass windows and the ultra-cumulous clouds beside me, I cannot help but wonder as to what exactly is conspiring? The announcement declares that the outside temperature at London is 15 degrees and the pilot had the audacity to call it pleasant? The shock and awe which I was warned of back home has perhaps set in.
At Heathrow – 24th August:
With plenty of domestic flying experience under my belt, I had expected my transit in London to be a cake walk. Unfortunately, I had put too much faith in myself or better still on the Airports Authority of India. What met me was a terminal with eight floors, two 4-coach trains chugging four floors beneath ground level just to carry your body and booty from one part of the terminal to the other. And it dropped meat an exit which opened up to one of the biggest shopping malls I have ever seen. (People who have seen better, please excuse my ignorance) Incidentally, I was in the terminal 5 of Heathrow. And it had it all. Dior, Chanel and CK were passé. The two burning red Ferraris did fill up a corner. But finally my eyes found what they were searching for. After all, if you are in London, a Chelsea store cannot be too far away.
An hour later and two hundred dollars poorer, I was the proud owner of a Chelsea jersey and a few other memorabilia. Next in line for me was the most important for every Indian flying out- Drop home a call. The calls were hurried and short thanks to the over-whelming call charges here. And finally it was time to give my tired legs a rest. The clock showed 1300 hours. It was still halfway through the 24th of August. My day light saga continued.
On board BA 0289 – 24th August:
The bright sunshine made its way inside again. Sleep in its entirety was a distant dream and the closest I could get to I was close my eyes. My third lunch of the day and still no dinner did not help my cause. They say a picture is worth a thousand words – if only I had my camera to show the state of me. The final call for landing was by far the most eventful thing to happen in this uneventful flight. More than the end of the journey, it meant that I would finally be able to see a night.
The latest hit ‘Inception’ dealt in dreams only, one embedded in another. For me, I was in a time warp. I have travelled for almost thirty-six hours now and have not got older by a day. Perhaps my age has stood still. What’s there in numbers? Get in touch Chris Nolan, I might have just presented you with the idea for your next flick!
It has been a while that I have seen the night of day. Since the night of 23rd August, it has been a journey through day time and yet it seems that time has stood still. After almost a day of day light, my eyes have started to yearn for the darkness which soothes up the wounds of the day.
It started at 5 in the morning from Madras and now it is 11 in the day as I touch down in London. Leave aside the time zones, what difference do they make except for numbers? As the sun rays filter in through the layers of plexi-glass windows and the ultra-cumulous clouds beside me, I cannot help but wonder as to what exactly is conspiring? The announcement declares that the outside temperature at London is 15 degrees and the pilot had the audacity to call it pleasant? The shock and awe which I was warned of back home has perhaps set in.
At Heathrow – 24th August:
With plenty of domestic flying experience under my belt, I had expected my transit in London to be a cake walk. Unfortunately, I had put too much faith in myself or better still on the Airports Authority of India. What met me was a terminal with eight floors, two 4-coach trains chugging four floors beneath ground level just to carry your body and booty from one part of the terminal to the other. And it dropped meat an exit which opened up to one of the biggest shopping malls I have ever seen. (People who have seen better, please excuse my ignorance) Incidentally, I was in the terminal 5 of Heathrow. And it had it all. Dior, Chanel and CK were passé. The two burning red Ferraris did fill up a corner. But finally my eyes found what they were searching for. After all, if you are in London, a Chelsea store cannot be too far away.
An hour later and two hundred dollars poorer, I was the proud owner of a Chelsea jersey and a few other memorabilia. Next in line for me was the most important for every Indian flying out- Drop home a call. The calls were hurried and short thanks to the over-whelming call charges here. And finally it was time to give my tired legs a rest. The clock showed 1300 hours. It was still halfway through the 24th of August. My day light saga continued.
On board BA 0289 – 24th August:
The bright sunshine made its way inside again. Sleep in its entirety was a distant dream and the closest I could get to I was close my eyes. My third lunch of the day and still no dinner did not help my cause. They say a picture is worth a thousand words – if only I had my camera to show the state of me. The final call for landing was by far the most eventful thing to happen in this uneventful flight. More than the end of the journey, it meant that I would finally be able to see a night.
The latest hit ‘Inception’ dealt in dreams only, one embedded in another. For me, I was in a time warp. I have travelled for almost thirty-six hours now and have not got older by a day. Perhaps my age has stood still. What’s there in numbers? Get in touch Chris Nolan, I might have just presented you with the idea for your next flick!
