Skip to main content

Strange Turbulence

The old man

A clap of thunder, rain pounding hard against the window of the plane. Turbulence, causing the entire plane to rock. I close my eyes. Please don't crash. The child next me has a disgruntled look on his face. I fear he might get sick next to me. It is bad enough that I have to weather this condition the flight is in. The thought of having to tolerate this child sitting next to me, impossible.

I hit the switch to call over the flight attendant. This skinny little thing comes over, a forced smile on her face. "Yes, sir?" "Are we going to crash?" I asked.  I was not afraid of the concept of death, but I was afraid of the form of dying. She smiles, it seems warm maybe even close to being genuine. She asks me not to worry,  asks me if she could get me anything to make me feel more comfortable and tries to convince me that turbulence while flying close to land during a thunderstorm was perfectly normal. This is the 4th time that i am calling her over, since the entire ordeal began. Maybe I should order another whiskey. Something to settle the nerves. But I have a meeting early tomorrow, better to avoid it. The thought of the meeting helped clear my mind. I will make it to the meeting tomorrow.

I ring the attendant switch again. The same skinny woman comes. "Do you need anything, sir?" There is that same forced smile. I ask her if it would be a bad idea if I order another whiskey. She smiles and asks me if it would help me with my nerves. I am not sure. So I decide against it. I wonder how she can be so calm in this situation, how she is walking through the halls of this rocky plane in those stilletoes. Suddenly, the oxygen masks drop, and there's panic. The skinny flight attendant is still standing calm and trying to instruct people. I panic, I can't move.

The flight Attendant

A clap of thunder, rain pounding hard against the window of the plane. Turbulence, causing the entire plane to rock. I close my eyes. Please don't crash. The passengers in front of me shouldn't see this face. I fear it might scare them. It is bad enough that I have to weather this condition the flight is in, without having to deal with people as panicked as I am. The thought of having to tolerate them as well, impossible.

I hit the switch to acknowledge the call that has come from seat 8 A. Best to keep myself busy during this time. This old man has called me 4 times already. He was a sweet old man, and I smiled gently at him  "Yes, sir?" "Are we going to crash?" He asks me.  I am not afraid of the concept of death, but fear is a contagious thing. My smile becomes forced as I ask him not to worry,  I want to make him feel more comfortable, his nervousness was inducing panic in me. I try to convince him, that turbulence while flying close to land during a thunderstorm was perfectly normal. I was just trying to convince myself. Maybe I should have a scotch. Something to settle the nerves. But I have so many people to attend to, better to avoid it. The thought of keeping busy cleared my mind. I have done this before many times. I will make it through the night.

He rings the attendant switch again. I really don't think I can help him anymore. "Do you need anything, sir?" I try to be positive and give him one of my best smiles.  He wants to know if a whiskey would help settle his nerves. I want to scream yes I want to give free booze to everyone on the flight, but that's not my place . He didn't place the order, so I walked slowly toward the rest of my crew. I wonder how so many people can be so calm in this situation, how they are sleeping through the storm outside. I nearly trip a few times impossible to walk with these heels on. Suddenly, the oxygen masks drop, and there's panic. I brace myself, cabin pressure has dropped. I try to stay calm and remember my training, I look over at this woman trying to put on her mask, I help her out. But I don't know what more to do, I look over at the old man. I want to help him, but now, I panic, I can't move.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The train

The T shirt The morning of my first train journey alone from the city of Bangalore to the huge city of Mumbai, had me seeing the interiors of a train for the first time in 25 years. The last time I traveled by train I was 5 years old. A lot had changed since then. Flights were frequent, my father had made huge amounts of money, and I never had to bother taking the train. But as a 30 year old unmarried woman, trying to prove herself in a patriarchal society, I had cut off from my family- financially and emotionally. I had my hand sanitiser, wet tissues, pepper spray,  packed food (enough for 3 days), and I was ready to fight the germs and the assholes that could be in the train. I was dressed in my ex boyfriend's t shirt which was a few sizes too big, so as to not "entice" the lewd remarks or actions. A woman shabbily clad in a Saree came and sat next to me with her 3 kids and her husband who smelled heavily of alcohol. They were jittery and excited. There was a stron...
Post a Comment
Read more

Adoptive Circumstances

Mother Today, I told her the truth. It was her 18 th birthday. She was old enough, wise enough, smart enough, and mature enough. Today, I told my daughter that I couldn’t conceive a child, and that she came from someone else. I told her that she is beautiful, she is amazing, I love her like I carried her, maybe even more, but she came from somewhere else. I haven’t seen her face fall as it did today. But that look, I would never forget it. It was the truth, and a necessity, a pain and a blessing. “Why don’t I have hair like yours and a nose like daddy’s?” The 10 year old girl had asked me. She was referring to the torrent of crazy curls that rose from my head, and the long pointed nose that was her dad’s. What lies I had told her while I had brushed her long straight hair. We gave her everything. We always wanted what was best for her. So, today, I told her; Remembering the first time I had held her, having glimpsed her birth mother’s longing to hold her child. We had closed...
Post a Comment
Read more

Father and Daughter

Daddy's Little Girl I could hear my dad grinding his teeth. Getting ready to shout at me for something I did not do. I pretend to ignore it. My dad had started to self-destruct a little while after my mother's death. I never understood why. It was not as if he had loved her, or respected her. They had gotten married as a business deal, like most marriages in India, a convenience, an unavoidable contract that had to be signed before a certain age had lapsed. But there my dad had been at the funeral; miserable, drunk and angry. So he had been for the days that followed. I was angry at the prospect of having to take care of this person who never saw love, who never felt love, but grieved at the loss of someone else's love. My mother had loved him; that had been her weakness. I remember the slaps that followed every time he ground his teeth. My mother had taken it, and stayed with him. Domestic abuse was not a term that was well echoed in society. Mental abuse was...
Post a Comment
Read more