The lounge and the short of it

Adventures at Mumbai’s  spiffy  (?) Santacruz airport 
 

Nervous travellers may feel less nervous at the  Santacruz domestic airport..but I haven’t cracked all of its codes. There are none of those mandatory signboards (or at least strongly visible ones) which tells an itinerant which terminal to head for.  

In the annexe wing, every time, I have to get to the Kingfisher check-in, I’m not sure what to head  for – must look out for those helpful boys in postal box red..maybe I’ll even get them to carry my pyramid luggage. After check-in, its lounge was just a leap away, now it’s underground, giving me a case of the subterannean blues. 

For sure, 100 per cent and all that, the domestic terminal is a quantum leap from the ones in the pre-Praful Patel era. But what to do? Being a sucker for perfection,I still feel a bit lost out there, an Alice in jetland.  

Okay, when I’m travelling Indian Airlines (only because of a more conveniently timed flight, to be honest), I get into this ochre-lit area where if I take a nano second to gather my bags from the taxi hold, I’m in the danger of being run over.. or in the peril of being surrounded by goons and touts straight out of a Ram Gopal Varma classic. 

Oxygen tanks

Once inside, if it’s peak traffic time, the X-ray machine takes loooong. If it’s a lazy hour, then, the loaders will work in slo-mo..fine by me because I tend to be early, hoping to people-watch. Not that I’ve discovered much, everyone looks either very tired, restless and if you’re not Indian, carries mineral water bottles as if they were oxygen tanks. 

Checked in by an amiable IA lady, I get into that lounge (on extravagant biz-class occasions) and find the scene no different from a railway platform’s. Crowded and bored unless there’s a kid whose demands need immediate attention, and become so much, that a family quarrel is in the offing. Flight announced, frisking done by friskers who would rather be drinking tea, and then I cut to an escalator paradise, up, down, mercifully here the signs are well positioned..though the callgiraphy could be cooler. Not jaggedy. 

That’s the IA scene..and Kingfisher too.  

At the Jet etc terminal, it’s quite futuristic. A James Bond gun showdown would look quite thrilling here..but there are corridors and lanes which still belong to another John Wayne-type of age..the elevator to the lounge (oh those lounges are another story) is straight out of a retro exhibition and the retiring rooms are hilarious..hospital-like. Very Lage Raho Munnabhai inspired. 

Some part is always being repaired of this terminal..rubble trouble..but hello there are many snack stalls to allure the kids..chocolates, ice-creams which would be nixed by any messianic dentist. 

Books nooks

Crosswords had an outlet here for a while, then poof it vanished. Actually, the old bookshop there had an awesome collection....it didn’t matter that the piles of book leant like the Pisa tower, the cramped moving space was an issue and the salesmen look at you suspiciously (his thought bubble read,“Chheee, saala aisech idhar firta hai..”). For unusual literary discoveries, this old airport shop topped. 

A little bit about the Jet Lounge. I walk in confidently..I am asked by a waiter whether I’ll have a thanda or garam. I hope for beer, the waiter’s jaw drops almost as if I’ve indicated that  I’m a man of easy virtue. Be it a man or a woman, any gender tanking alone is not acceptable..that’s why often I wish I could carry the mug inside the loo and drink it aaram se..indeed, if I still smoked, I might have also wanted to do that in the innards of the loo. Hey no video cams there.  

Noise level

Anyway now, the Jet business lounge is situated in the main terminal itself. Noisy as Diwali evenings. I missed a flight to Chennai as a result. The stewardess promised she would announce the flight, she didn’t. It was her word against mine. So guess who ended up wasting six hours of his life at that mela? Also I haven’t quite figured out what is Jet and what is Jet Lite. Will I be considered a cheapo if I travelled by the latter? Questions, questions. 

Sigh, I’m sounding terribly critical, aren’t I? Never mind, this is an honest man’s honest account of scenes from the Santacruz hawai adda. I love it..it’s home and all that, but a l’il bit of more finesse, and I’d send Mr Praful Patel a congratulatory…probably his first..or second..oof never mind.