The Landing - My story of Airports, Customs & Immigrations

The Landing

“Travel makes a man wise”, said my grandmother – my own addition, after having experienced international travel, over the past several years is that the experience of Landing after international travel at the Chattrapati Shivaji Airport is a step better for it makes a man not just wise but an embodiment of all the virtues in the Indian scriptures.
Having floated in the air for several hours, I am brought to the ground with the thud of the aircraft landing on the ground. Soon there begins a jostling contest, a no holds barred battle for the exit, the Ultimate Prize being a 30 lead heading out of the aircraft door. Contestants, like WWE wrestlers, have mastered the “elb(l)ow”, the knee hit and the shoulder nudge. Others are blocking the path by placing their luggage (or their children) strategically in the aisle. And then the buzz begins – mobiles start ringing incessantly for the near and dear ones are anxious to know the exact timing of landing & where the passenger is at that very moment. This (con)fusion of language closely resembles the Tower of Babel and yet each passenger is able to comprehend his own communication clearly – had heard of Divine Vision but this is the first case of Divine Hearing that I have come across. Since international arrivals are often during the wee hours of midnight, most passengers are having a tough time staying awake –hence they arrive like zombies with slumber written wide on their eyes. And then the real fun begins, thereby shaking the passengers and refreshing them up!

Disembarkation forms are not given on the flight and the ground staff has just decided to ration these to devotedly support the cause of the Amazon rain forests. Hence there ensues an interesting night chat between the disgruntled passengers and the dedicated staff. World over, I have never seen forms not being available in the flight during the time of disembarkation or even on the ground on arrival – as the (other)wise say,” It happens only in India”. Well, mea culpa¸-the forms are available but for that, one has to walk 1 km (or atleast that’s what it seems to me at midnight). Passengers are unnecessarily getting irritated since walking is one of the best exercises after meals and the Airport Authorities is dedicated to the cause of a healthy nation; moreover, isn’t Mumbai famous for its night caps and night birds – so what’s wrong in a night walk (albeit at the airport?)

Standing in the immigration queue, I am at the receiving end of several ‘Q’ing techniques (ever wonder why James Bond’s weapon & devices expert was called Q?). A lady brushes past me, looking at me with sympathy (as if I was a Somalian refugee) and says,” Sorry, I am actually with my family which is standing ahead.” I have yet to see the invisible family. Another man breaks the queue directly and says, “Its an emergency – my wife called up”. I let him pass to see another woman in tow – now that is really an emergency. A third man walks past, barely recognizing my existence, and walks to the diplomatic channel – after all he is the third cousin of the chef of the Assistant Secretary of the Ministry of Plantations. When it finally my turn at immigration (yes, I do get that lucky!), the officer scrutinizes my mug shot on the passport trying to discern the similarities. Then I am asked to remove my glasses and smile (since the photo is smiling and I am not – for obvious reasons!). Then enlightenment dawns and a ‘match’ is struck.

After immigration clearance, comes the luggage retrieval part – there is already a crowd gathered at the conveyor belt waiting for their stuff – Imtihaan ho gayi, intezaar ki, aayi na kuch khabar mere samaan ki. Some have given up hope of seeing their luggage and are seen enquiring about the formalities of complaining etc. My eyes light up since my Little Precious (as Gollum would say) arrives – but ‘It’ has to be cleared through customs for which there is another queue. Although there are 4 X-ray machines in sight, only 1 is operational. Seeing the length of the queue, I innocently ask the officer,” Why don’t u start the other X-ray machine?” Pat comes the reply, “That one is reserved for Red Channel”. I persist and say, ”But nobody is going through Red Channel yet.” “But what if somebody has to? We are ready for all eventualities” (the man was obviously a Boy Scout with the Be Prepared motto). Then I ask him about the third X-ray machine – “Does not work and has not worked for the last year”. I give up and take my position in the line – tolerance is a great virtue but an even greater excuse, especially when one can’t change things for the better.

Finally, I get out of the airport and am cruising home – comparing my experience with what I have undergone at other airports globally. I am about to start cribbing about my country, the infrastructure, the attitude, the politics (yes, the usual blah blah) when a sanguine thought comes into my heart - with all its difficulties, my country is making great strides & is the envy of the globe (in fact, I am returning from one of the those India Shining conferences) – just imagine, if India were to break from these shackles of laz(y)ocracy, corruptocracy and excusocracy, we will truly become the world’s greatest democracy - Saare Jahaan se Accha, Hindustan Hamara..

Yes, like Pandora, the Landing gives me hope!