Love is in the air

Part 1: Let’s play a game

Whoever said that being an air-hostess was a glamorous job must've been high, Sonia thought. It might’ve been so thirty years ago when flying was still an elite indulgence. When only the most talented, well-read and good-looking women got to become air-hostesses. When air-hostesses won beauty pageants, not Roadies.

Six months into the job and the sheen had worn off for Sonia. She found nothing remotely glamorous or appealing about serving rice and gravy to pot-bellied, ill-mannered, Indian uncles, who’d pretend they mistook the flight-attendant switch for the reading light.

She was tired of the same routine every morning. Under slept corporate slaves fighting for baggage space. Wiggly-fat, butt-brushing her while passing through. Deprived eyes ogling at her as she bent over to get their coke. Grey, blue, black hopeful elbows sticking out into the aisle. Men. Playing the same games and thinking they’d invented it.

And all the same men at that.

Travel weary consultants. Lugging their suits in one hand and ThinkPads in another. Smug I-Bankers. With their crisp white shirts, Rolex watches and hollow eyes. Chatty BD guys who somehow seemed to always travel in pairs and talked throughout the flight. A few government officials. Starched khadi, gold chains and a distinct air of ineptitude about them. And those S&M folks. Glib-talking denim-clad egotists. All in love with their own voice.

Yup. She’d definitely seen them all and they were all that she got to see. And that’d started getting to her.

But this small town girl hadn't come this far to see her dream job fade into drudgery. These passengers might’ve lost it long ago, but it was her flight and Sonia still had game left. A special one of her own making, infact.

She called it Spot-Check. Every flight, she’d pick one interesting looking passenger and begin decoding him. She’d seen so many men behave so similarly that a few minutes of observation and she had them all figured out. Who they were, what they did, where they came from and how they’d behave when put in a spot. Her game then, was to devise a ‘spot’, put them in it and confirm her hypothesis.

Quirkier the subject, bigger the challenge.

It was on a Wednesday, the only day when she did afternoons, that she first saw him. Aboard the 2pm Hyderabad-Delhi flight.

One look at this medium-built, kurta-clad, dark, spectacled fellow climbing up the stairs, and she knew he’d be the one today. Who wore Indian formals over denims in the middle of a workday, she wondered. And with sandals! Sure, it was the in thing to mix Indian and western wear. But for college kids! This guy looked at-least twenty-five and was carrying one of those depressing, black, HP laptop bags that anyone with any sense of personal style wouldn't be caught dead with. Not to mention, some 6 baggage tags hanging from as many places all over his bag. No, Sonia concluded, definitely not a student. Yet his attire seemed to suggest that he wasn't an office-guy either. What office guy would travel mid-day on such a well connected sector?

Normally, by this time, she’d have guessed her subject’s profession atleast. But with him she was drawing a blank.

Alright then. 20C. Aisle. Her part of the plane. Game on.

The captain announced take-off and Sonia started making her security check round. Perhaps the part that baffled her most. Three simple instructions — seat-belts fastened, window shades open, seat-back upright — and yet there’d be atleast one defaulter per row. Dozing off with the shade down or the seat reclined and the belt nowhere in sight. She enjoyed it though — the saliva-coated, dumbfounded look on their face when she shook them out of their stupor. In the process, on some good days, someone would knock the glass of water off the table and onto their pants. That helped enforce the fourth instruction. Tray tables closed.

But today she wasn’t looking for these cheap thrills. As she got closer to row 20, her gaze was fixed on her mystery man. He’d neatly kept his laptop bag under the seat in front. Office work, deadlines to meet, wants to pull out the laptop as soon we’re airborne, she figured. Eyes closed, white Apple earphones plugged in, he had a calm, placid, non-expression on his face. As if in deep thought, yet still aware of his surroundings. No foot tapping, no lip syncing. She wondered if he was even listening to anything.

Twenty minutes into the flight and Sonia began preparing for service. She looked over to where he was seated and could see him hunched over his laptop. A Macbook, no less, had emerged from that hideous bag. More conflicting evidence — but she had to take a call on the guy now. Service was her only chance to then put him in a spot and have fun as he confirmed her analysis and his stereotype.

OK, I'm going to go with coder, works in a start-up, can work out of anywhere, is trying to look cool by copying a teenage fad. If so, then he’s a shy guy, perhaps a nerd, who’s never had a girl approach him and start a conversation. If one ever does, he’ll probably choke on his words, mumble, and then stammer out something nonsensical. That’s his spot. Let’s check.

So she walked right up to his seat and turned facing him, her leg gently brushing his elbow.

“Sir, you requested for a diet meal?”

He swiftly looked down at his slightly protruding tummy, looked up at her, and smiled.

“Does it look like I did?”

Wow, Sonia thought. That didn't go as expected.

Standing next to him now, she could observe him very closely. Large pimpled forehead, two-day beard, carelessly cropped short hair, crumpled kurta. No regard for his looks. And yet that beautiful, woody perfume. A few complicated excel sheets were open on his Mac. An iPhone sat next to it. And an Apple Watch blinked on his wrist.

Decently well off. Not a coder. Not geeky either. An MBA then? Or does he come from money and is too rich to care for his looks? Does his work have something to do with food? Why else would he be reading a book about Starbucks?

She was aware that she’d been staring at him for a while now. He was staring back at her quite intently too. But he wasn't letching. No. There was something playful about the way he was looking at her. It suddenly occurred to Sonia that the tables had turned. She was the one who had gone silent ever since he spoke. But she didn’t care. She had to know. She had never not known. From the corner of her eye, she saw his fingers move on the keyboard. She looked back at the screen, but the excel sheets were gone. There was just a word doc with this written in bold

Lets play a game, Sonia.

Click here to read Part 2: The Game

If you liked what you read, pls do hit the Heart sign below and let me know. I've planned this as a multi-part story and your love will push me to pen down the next chapters.