Monday, September 8, 2008

Of Elbows and Turf...

What is it about airline travel, that tends to bring out the human craving of conquest and warfare to the fore!

The dash to the airline check in counter often resembles the charge of the light brigade, with the soldiers out here being well heeled ladies and gentlemen in bespoke attire. The blue school pedigree and millions invested in finishing schools gives way to the last mile dash reminiscent of the runners in the "Chariots of Fire", only this time around the prize is a seat that has already been pre- allotted.

I've been told that the dash to get into the aircraft is to ensure that the check in baggage receives its due space in the over head storage and the suit closet finds sufficient space for your jacket to reside in. Well does that still justify running over polished shoes at 6 am in the morning...perhaps not.

Now that you've successfully manouvered the early morning smiles of the air-hostesses and narrow aisle to your pre-allotted seat, you await in peril those anxious moments, wondering who your neighbours would be for the next couple of hours. Would it be a blossoming damsel who shall instigate extramarital thoughts or an ex, who you wished had migrated to another planet, or even worse, a chap with bad breath and arm pits that have never been initiated into the fascinating world of deodrants.

Every passing passenger is reviewed politely, exchanging awkward smiles and blank expressionless gazes. Should you smile and exchange a gracious nod, or should you merely dive deep into the newspaper and pretend that you're above it all? After a rollercoaster of emotions, the passenger to your left arrives. Dressed in formal blacks (seems a consultant types), the gentleman has semi-shattered the hopes of an inflight romoantic tryst. The chap takes his seat and immediately thrusts his blackberry, mobile phone, PDA, navigator and ipod from his pockets....leaving you wondering...where's the glucometer? Its at times like these that one often feels relatively less technically endowed ( if you know what I mean?)

Having captured the seat in the centre, the desire for a vacant seat to the right becomes overwhelming, as one could never take the plight of another suit as your other neighbour. The moments pass by excruciatingly, as the rationing of women assume seats at a safe distance away. I have a theory that there is an invisible mysterious formula applied by airlines in which only a fraction of the passengers are allowed to be of the fairer sex. It must be about raising the mystique and randomness of flying.

Lo and behold, an extremely healthy gentleman in his late forties appears on the scene and crashes into the next seat. The trauma has commenced....

The inflight announcement welcomes you to their fine hospitality and the gourmet menu handpicked by the finest chefs that can be hired at mimimum wage. The in flight entertainment system is activated and the safety instructions video melodiously unleashes the secrets to survival in case of exigencies. Why do airlines insist on having the most gorgeous creatures explaining the functioning of a life jacket? Do you think we are really focussing on the nuances of blowing into a sheet of inflatable plastic? If they really cared for our lives, they would have had Hannibal Lecter squeaking out instructions from behind his mask.

The flight takes off and the blank exchanges with the neighbours prevail. Who's going to break the silence? Who's going to make the first move? Who's going to commence the shallow interrogation? The consultant type to my right appears extremely uncomfortable with all his devices switched off. Is there something called silicon withdrawal syndrome?

The chap to the right has chosen to dive into the crummy in-flight magazine, and has commenced the battle of the elbow. Yup, that's right, the hallowed cushioned space that separates two seats in the cattle class. That piece of real estate is in greater demand than a penthouse off Central Park in those claustrophobic hours.

I've always been intrigued about the ergonomic rationale and principles adopted in the design of airline seating. Airlines go overboard, proclaiming the additional inches in leg room, but what of those much forgotten unelegant elbows. Why don't we have airlines that just simply have distinct elbow resting spaces for each passenger. Have no consumers in billions of research interactions ever indicated that they crave for a firm and dedicated resting space on which they can claim their solemn right for the period of transit?

The chap to the right has made the first move, wherein he has anchored the elbow in the central spot. Not to the left nor the right, but precisely in the centre. He must be a geometry and physics major. I commence my sideward glances from the corner of my eye. Should I be patient and wait for the opportune moment to seize advantage, or should I adopt my Atilla the Hun strategy and thrust the side of my arm into his in a momentary accidental rush, and then apologise profusely for the intrusion. The frustration of being seated between two male co-passengers has now given way to a new found mission and purpose in life, to claim my right on the arm rest.

I shall not compromise. This shall be a crusade for all those downtrodden and beleagured elbows flying in commercial aircraft across the world. The elbow assumes the rear position that pushes the shoulder to an angle that is not truly sustainable. However a slight but uncomfortable touch is established with the neighbouring arm in the process. These are awkward moments.....

Will he take the hint or will he just ignore...or even more worrying...will he perceive an advance. In this age of metro sexuality, one must proceed with steadfast confident resolution but yet tread carefully. The assumed position is getting increasingly daunting and the plight has found expression in my frown. Does this man have no travel etiquette? Does he not have the other arm rest to leverage and exploit?

The moments extend into minutes and yet the fellow elbow prevails. And then a brainwave. I drop the newspaper towards his feet, and await a gentlemenly gesture in which he shall stoop down and pick up the broadsheet. I prevailed. The central position on the arm rest was surrendered and my elbow claimed the sweet spot. And thus was won the first round!

The battle of the arm rest played out for the rest of the flight, and I believe the final score was thirteen all. Was that a lucky number to conclude on?

The announcement of the flight's descent was a truce knell of sorts. Both arms eased off and found their resting position within the boundaries cast by the arm rests. Was this a temporary bout of courtesy, or was there one more grand and final rush that was being schemed by both warriors?

The seat belt light came on and the passengers commenced buckling up. To my horror I found myself exchanging side glances with my opponent. We were both eyeing the sweet spot again. This was the final draw. Drops of moisture creeped down my palms. What would his strategy be? Would it be uncouth and forceful or suave and smooth? I guessed the latter and adopted the former. In one rapid thrust, I swung my arm in a rapid and smooth movement and hurtled towards the holy ground.

As luck would have it, the flight encountered an air pocket and resounding turbulence. The trajectory of the arm was distracted temporarily and my neighbour prevailed. This just was'nt my day. Rocky wins 14-13.

Here's to the next flight, awaiting in anguish....

1 comment:

Mahendra said...

ha ha !! very refreshing dada..simply hilarious..!! remids me of Dilip Bobb ..the trauma of an economy class passenger simply gets better (or worsened?)if you travel by the cheapy-cheap airlines (Spice, Goair, KF Red (!! wow!), and others) - where one has better adventures when it comes to seating, airhostesses, food, and of course, your co-passengers..! he he !!