Flight to India

 A truly anxiety-filled tale- , trapped in the skies in a typhoon! Left on the Tarmac without a pilot, food, or relief!

It had been three years since our Covid adventure to India. Now we were returning for another month to visit and lounge around my In-Laws at their farm. By now Nalini and I had been married for five years, and despite cultural and language differences others had predicted we were getting along great! I felt as close to the Chattiverdi's as I do to my own family and was really looking forward to leaving the increasing political atmosphere of the states.

XXXX Nalini and I would prove ourselves planning, booking, and packing as we prepared for had all grown very close, what was to begin well long before its boring 17-hour droning slog overseas, ice fields, and foreign countries. Those dramatic mountains below were clearly tall enough to hold Mount Everest. This adventure would again take us half way across the globe to the magical land of Hindus, mysteries well beyond the bland hights and bland contrasts of our home in Santa Fe, New Mexico. Only to survive a drunken Lyft ride weaving aimlessly home to Pasadena from LAX.

Our adventure only after two connecting flights dashing across half of the United States on a lopsided 'V' shaped route from Santa Fe to Dallas, and then Dallas to JFK. Each leg being accompanied by their own mandatory two and three hour lay overs. We were well wearied when we finally settled into the seats of our well populated American Airlines 777.

THE VERY LONG DAY

Now, with the twenty-three-hour flight to India behind us, and our final approach to New Delhi being just over a half-an-hour before us, folks were already flinging open overhead compartments and lifting heavy suitcases to the cabin floor while altogether ignoring the ever-heavier rain and flashing lightning just beyond our windows.

Over the past hour repeated cautions had been issued from the cockpit. Now the cabin crew was earnestly pressing the same certain occupants' to return to their seats, and others to return luggage to the overhead bins. Everyone was told firmly to remain seated and belted to their seats. The crew received a sullen and reluctant response.

The seatbelt light had been turning on and off for most of the flight. It seemed to be the regular "Sorry folks, but we may be experiencing some turbulence up ahead so please return to your" blah blah routine we hear so often when flying. The current edition did seem somewhat more urgent. The overhead light had been on for too long. Some people began to talk until...

A violent crack of lightning and a solid punch of thunder violently lashed at our plane.

Passengers were instantly scared, frightened, terror struck.. There were palpable gasps of distress everywhere inside our aircraft. Others literally cried out in fear. Every baby on the plane instantly began to violently scream, and then cry furiously.

Then we were told, rather than moving on to our destination, we would rather join a small group of planes already in holding patters and bouncing in circles above Jaipur (India). For a while this seemed tolerably troublesome to some, and simply annoying to those disinclined to terror. Conditions slowly worsened, but we could only sit and ride this thing out.

Thus, side by side, row to row, everyone struggled to keep cool alongside and nearby three hundred odd close strangers. Some set themselves the task of soothing and comforting the crying, tired, and hungry babies, others kept an eye of the children who were scared or else thought it was all for fun. Others, mostly women and teens, clutched airsick bags to their faces, gently attempting to vomit in some unperceptive way. Others, mostly faux stoic men, seated some rows behind us and also in business class, were simply carrying on like college kids being loud and drunken fools. Many simply tried to covered themselves and act to sleep.

It seemed as if the majority of people, as people do everywhere, were poking at, or staring into their phones. Others stared blankly at movies they viewed on the seatback screens. Some could only speak very loudly at their phones, repeating "what, I can't hear you" and "can you speak louder" over and over in a variety of colorful languages trying to overcome the poor conditions and intermittent Wi-Fi.

Having awkwardly just provided food service prior to the captains announced change of flight plan our overtaxed cabin personnel were themselves to looking haggard as they now walked the two aisles trying to answer the same nervous and anxious, sometimes shrill and angry questions from passengers who all really only needed something more than a nap or sedatives.

For three more hours the engines droned though the night, engulfed in lightening and pounding rain as we and the cockpit crew awaited permission to advance to New Delhi and eventually land. New Delhi, where ninety planes were already stacked up and holding high in conditions even worse than ours. This was becoming more than an adventure, but becoming a rueful joke to my wife and I. Our true destination was just a thousands of feet below us, in Jaipur, where loving family awaited, unaware of our delay.

Our Captain, as he periodically did, crackled through the loudspeaker yet again, perhaps to reassure us, or to direct the cabin attendants to perform additional duties. All around us faces rose with hope, ears straining, only to hear an apology from the flight deck informing us that our aircraft was low on fuel, and that despite ground conditions, we would soon be landing at Jaipur's small, barely international airport. An airport which was in no way prepared to receive a jumbo jet carrying 300 people at 10:30 in the night

The city of Jaipur had essentially closed for the evening around eight PM. The airport remained open with a skeletal crew to direct mostly only private aviation until morning.  Most employees had already reached home to families or bars. Now they were being recalled and had to scramble back to their posts.  Even the ground crew assigned to fuel our plane had to be recalled to the airport. 

We sat in that plane, on the tarmac, waiting.. Some less than patiently than others. We remained in that plane for 3 more hours. Passengers and personnel, all becoming progressively more agitated, aggravated, and edgy.

It had not yet turned into The Lord of the Flies before motion seemed to be noticed beyond our wings through the deluge out there. Finally, after another seatbelt drill, the captain returned to his mic to announce that our plane was fueled and we would be taking off soon.

Spontaneous cheers and hoots rose inside the cabin.   The huge engines engaged and began winding up well beyond idle as we expected the aircraft to begin its laborious taxi and roll out to the runway. We might well soon make our escape through the clouds!

And then the Captain returned once more over the PA. This time with deep resignation bearing a solemn apology. He then announced that the crew now had to surrender the cockpit and abandon our flight. FAA rules specifically dictate and allot limited quantities of flight time to cockpit personnel. There time had run out. We were to remain stranded here in the pouring rain, on the tarmac of Jaipur International Airport. Indefinitely.

The mighty engines wound down to sleep again. 

With no pilots available on the ground or any within the operation areas of the airport, nor even known to be available in the greater Jaipur area, we were stranded this night, actually early morning, with no way to carry us on.  There were also no customs agents at immigration able to process 300 unexpected international travelers. Everything was closed.

We sat shocked, trapped in this 300-foot aluminum tube. A mass of ever more upset multi-national, multi-lingual strangers of assorted temperament, all growing more fidgety and tense, upset or angry, or simply unreasonable, while others began to become socially withdrawn.

A few stepped up to comfort others who needed to be calmed with soft words. A few became hope filled, positive and pleasant in this situation, internally blessing the conditions as is.

All of this, and many more challenges were left to our four flight attendants to face. Their job, after what was already nearly 30 hours serving this aircraft was to keep us secure, cool, and safe. The galley was bare. Before assistance could arrive they had the additional burden acquiring us food and water, to provide basic sustenance for from unknown sources beyond our plane.

Three cabin servers left the plane to go foraging. They returned in about thirty minutes, struggling up the gangway carrying as many loaves of bread and large bottles of water as they could manage bundled in their arms. It took them each four or five trips until thy could finally serve each of us a small, mostly filled plastic cup of water (or two) and a slice of white bread.

By this time no one, or very few, wished to visit the onboard restrooms anymore, as their awkward folding door opened into what resembled a long un-serviced Porta-potty. It seemed everything about the flight was on hold.

There was some hope. Shortly after our makeshift meal a couple of passengers in the rear reported our luggage was being offloaded from the belly of the plane. We watched through through the rain and starboard windows to see a couple of those train- like trucks rolling away with our packed prize posessions .

Maybe an hour later there were busses, somehow arranged for during the past 3 hours, finally enroute from town. They eventually arrived and stopped a short distance beyond the foot of the steep slippery gangway. We departed the aircraft in groups of sixty, each of us dragging our alotted carry on luggage behind us, managing as best we could.

The busses took us to the immigration area. Once inside this leaking, puddle filled hall we formed a typical Indian style line- a fan shaped mass of pushy people spreading open from the four passport agent's desks and turning into a small sea of arrivals. There four unhappy officials impatiantly checked I.D's, took our pictures, and collected handprints before finally stamping our books and setting us free.

Our next challenge was to wade across the lobby though water that increased in depth until it was over our ankles. The platform outside was already crowded with people waiting, all trying to keep out of the rain beneath an undersized overhang and to take their chance crossing between splashing cars to the busy two-lane pick up zone. Our busses were loading in the parking lot beyond.

Once aboard in our soaking clothes and with our wet carry-ons safely stowed, we could finally sit back and relax in wide, comfortable seats and whisked away to a couple of the most elegant hotels in Jaipur. Once checked we could finally actually rest in soft beds for a few hours.

Here it would seem our saga of inconvenient ordeals could end. Perhaps it for most. I presume they slept well, had a great breakfast, boarded busses or other transportation to the airport for a (mabe a special) to New Delhi. Perhaps they were bussed..

We created our own option and had a car sent from Nalini's parent's farm to whisk us across town to where we would spend the next month.

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This, and the sunrise, would seem to be the end our very long day. It was, but our problems continued with common delays and troubles endured by many average modern travelers. Our checked luggage with or clothes and my (most importantly) Diabetes meds had been lost. All of the phone calls and necessary and travel related to that. Dealing with uncooperative American Airline help-lines agents, and P.R. people burdened mostly my wife and father -in -law. Things like that.

It's now a week later (actually two) and it's still raining. Monsoon's are like that. But this is Rajasthan, where monsoons don't occur. The last unseasonal torrent like this occurred twenty five years ago. But this India, where everything remains in stride.

-dp-

30

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For those not yet tired of flood footage at home, there is a short video of the pickup area at the airport floating around somewhere on my Facebook.

-- Please like if you did, comment if you can, and consider following my currently  dysfunctional, barely beginning to operate blog at torncorners.com

Apologies for the coarseness of this story as it was written at many different times in several location with many interruptions in India.

This is our true story as first recounted in a much shorter reply to a friend on Messenger.

Also, please live a long and joyously.