Escape From Moscow

Thirty thousand feet above the Baltic Sea, Viswanath (Visu) sipping on his vodka gazed out of the window of the Boeing 767 barely making out the features of the islands that were clustered underneath. Nudging Rishi, he deliriously began,

“Dude! Why don’t you take a sip? We’ve been tricked until now, as this is real Vodka. Come on, we are in higher plane, close to the spiritual sky and laws of Karma don’t apply here.”

Rishi, a seeker, nodded no and resumed conversation with a plump businessmen from Oregon and asked,

“Since you worked once in Russia for five years, what was it like?”

“Man! You’ve ever watched the movie Ground Hog Day?”

Rishi and Visu were on their way to Mumbai and while Rishi eagerly anticipated a good Russian afternoon in the Sheremetyevo airport where they would be transit passengers, Visu was worried whether the airport will have smoking sections. The Boeing spiraled on its descent and they glimpsed Moscow that was capped with snow as chimneys in houses barely revealed themselves. Both exchanged glances when the Russian passengers clapped thunderously praising the captain for landing smoothly.

Rishi’s initial response was dismal, as he had anticipated the airport decor to be on par with O’Hare or Dulles but the airport was poorly furnished and Mumbai airport appeared superior. He despondently stood with Visu on a long line that ended in a kiosk where they examined passports and let you into the transit lounge.

At the transit lounge, Visu exclaimed, “Man! I don’t believe my eyes, look at them,” as three beauties in the store came to help them but soon figured they didn’t know English. Visu looked at the refrigerator and pointed to “Aqua Minerale,” and swore when the credit-card machine took 20 minutes to generate the receipt. Outside the shop, finding his thirst unbearable, Visu ripped off the bottle lid and consumed one-fourth the contents in a single gulp. His face contorted and he almost sprayed them all on Rishi’s face.

“Goddamn! It! This is aerated water.”

A saleswoman with green eyes and a velvet top glared at them and Visu flashed his teeth bringing his index finger gesturing that he needed toothpaste. The woman exclaimed,

“Go straight and take a right, you’ll find a drug store,” she said in fluent English.

“Jesus! It seems like there is only one restroom in the entire goddamn airport,” cried Visu as he was relieving himself, he turning right and smiled at a man whom he thought was a peasant and the man immediately turned away and Rishi felt as though he had ogled at his high school classmate. Perhaps nobody eyeballed in Russia, he wondered.

“See, I told you Moscow was a very expensive city, I would rate it in the top three, and perhaps it would even rival Tokyo in the years to come. Can you believe we paid 150 bucks for a stupid toothpaste? So much for their improvement from Communism to democracy,” said Visu sadly in a coffee shop

“You mean 150 rubles? That is hardly 4 Euros,” said a Britisher nearby who couldn’t help overhearing their conversation.

He joined in their conversation and they began recounting their JFK-Moscow flight by Air-India and told now they would be taking the Aeroflot to Mumbai.

“Aeroflot? He gasped, spraying coffee. Make sure they give you complementary parachutes. Guys, I wish you luck – farewell.”

They roamed through the transit lounge, and Rishi began worrying about his journey to Mumbai. On the other hand, Visu was at bliss as Russians didn’t care and smoked anywhere in the airport, even though there were only certain places you could smoke. At six p.m., they were at the Aeroflot counter to receive their board pass when two passengers were arguing.

Visu intervened to arbitrate and a Gujarati fat lady impatiently explained that they both were boarding the same aircraft to Mumbai but the departure times were printed different – 8.00 pm, and 10.00 pm. Visu examined and found his was 10.00 pm much to the delight of the other disputant, a malayalee. Soon, it was soon understood that Air India was in league with Aeroflot and there were two different ways to purchase the same ticket from either companies and Air India had not informed Rishi and similar passengers about the change in time from 10.00 to 8.00 p.m.

A huge line of Indian passengers gathered and the lady opened the kiosk and shooed them away calling them back at 7.00. The officials didn’t bother informing the passengers about a possible delay and their angry protests were easily subdued.

At 8.00, nothing was said but dinner coupons of 10 $ were handed over to all passengers who silently took it like prisoners. Inside the “Taj Mahal” restaurant, Visu peered through the menu that was like his organic chemistry book, huge with sides describing chicken, beef, lamb, vegetables, and rice and he hoped they gave generous portions, for their appetites were ravenous. The waitress interrupted his conversation and he opened page 54 and pointed to item 383. The stout Russian waitress, who was already stressed out, said, “Only chicken pizza, vegetarian pizza, and French fries,” and Visu looked shocked.

Dismayed with the bad quality and low proportions of served dinner, the passengers flocked to the counter hoping to get their boarding passes and enjoy quality food up high on the skies.

The Malayalee wailed, “I em the gest of aanar for the coanvention at 9.00 and we haven’t even taken off,” and the Gujrati lady screamed, “ I must attend the wedding at Rajkot tomorrow evening.”

Rishi noted a natty tamilian on his double-breasted suit, who almost singled out as a paragon of CEO virtues but for his shining white Nike sneakers. He approached Visu and lamented,

“Seeeee… This is what they lack…Character,” in a strong tamil accent and Visu bit his collar stifling himself from explosive laughter.

A Russian official appeared and handed out 3-minute free calling cards to passengers for them to inform home about the imminent delay and the Gujarati yelled at her, “I don’t want this, but my boarding pass.”

The harassment continued and the Russians tormented them mercilessly by giving them no information on when the flight would take off but asked them to return to the counter sometime later. Some were nearly in tears and all they cared was to reach home. It was quite a sight for other passengers to see them all distraught and sitting in a single file up to nearly a mile away from the counter. Leagues were being formed amongst the passengers to deal with the situation and many voiced their expert opinions. A Canadian marwadi lady was cursing her husband for not paying a couple hundred more and travel by British Airways.

Visu said, “I wonder if British Airways flies into Russia. They won’t meet any of their regulations.”

The announcement finally happened and all were too weary even to get up. 200 passengers after being examined their boarding passes were hoarded into a bus and Visu couldn’t help getting the feeling as though he was being sent to Riga or some ghetto. The bus was overcrowded by Indian standards and the pig-tailed Bengali swore asking all the passengers to sign on a sheet of paper that she would send high officials and have Aeroflot grounded permanently.

The ghetto fortunately turned out to be a Tupolev as mighty as the Boeing from the exterior but the interior was dismal. The seats were folded and had to be unfolded as though they were in a seedy cinema hall. Visu noted a lady with horn-rimmed spectacles sitting on 16 B and he politely asked her to give him his seat when she chattered in Russian and showed him 28C. Someone at the back screamed, “Hey! The rows end with 27.”

Hell broke loose in the aircraft and the stewardess nearly pleaded with folded hands, the Indian way, and tried to provide seating arrangements to everyone while Rishi hoped they don’t entertain standing travel. The seats were crammed and there was no television and the overhead bins could hardly fit in a pillow. No announcements were made and they were stranded in a desolate runway. Was the flight ill fated?

At last the mighty Tupolev aircraft pulled into the main runway while Visu peered to catch sight of a possible air traffic control tower. Detecting none, he prayed not wanting to hear a final whistle from the stewardess to the captain. He remembered the movie “The Final Destination,” but it was too late, the Russian Jumbo Jet had met with the skies.

For all the ruckus Visu’s co-passengers made and the racket that was created at the Sheremetyevo airport, the flight landed in Mumbai at 8.45 a.m., just one hour past the scheduled arrival time. The flight was very stable and the dinner was fantastic and they all exited the aircraft quietly without making any noise as they nodded at the stewardess bye.