Learning the Art of being Unhappy - Part 4 (Finale)

(Please read Part 1/2/3 prior to reading this final Part) 

     

Sometime in the early 2000s ....it was the new millennium being ushered with millions of dollars having being spent on the Y2K bug – planes were supposed to crash, trains come to a standstill, computers were to malfunction - but nothing happened!! Life went on, as it has been for the past so many centuries!

In those years travel in India had transformed, with many private airline companies operating – Modiluft, Damania Airways, East – West ...to name a few, apart from the quintessential Indian Airlines. This meant that a lot of our travel was happening by air. The competition was cut throat – with each airline trying to outdo the other!! The cuisine had exquisite items you had never tried earlier; the cutlery was fit for a king and of course, liquor was being served to the ever thirsty Indians. Within months, there were news items of inebriated passengers letting their true colors show and the government had to step in, banning liquor in domestic flights, much to the relief of the air hostesses. The exceptions were those of Indian Airlines, where the passengers were (and are) terrified of the ladies in orange, and used to have a couple of pegs, to guarantee a nightmare free journey.

My career at that stage required me to travel – economy class for domestic travel and business for international. Soon I was caught up in the game of making apparent rapid progress in life – this was based on my status in the frequent flyer program which all airlines had introduced – blue, silver, gold and platinum!! And with that my expectations as a Privilege club member kept soaring – whether it was the separate queue at check in, the lounge on the first floor, the tele–check in .. all these privileges pampered my senses.

So much so, that there would be occasions that I would march to the check in counter and flashing my frequent flyer status, would demand an upgrade to business class, with the free voucher I had. The exhausted girl behind the counter would politely explain that business class is full and an upgrade would not be possible. I take umbrage at this rejection, my face contorts and I sarcastically comment that the vouchers are useless and the airlines never intended to provide this upgrade.

I am so unhappy that I did not get an upgrade to business class...forgetting that I had spent so many happy moments travelling in unreserved coaches or sitting in the foot board of the trains feeling the rush of the air.

I had reached late to the airport, having set out late from one of my factories. I need to go and have the privileged coffee in the lounge and smoke my last cigarettes, before the flight. But I find a long, serpentine queue at Security. I curse under my breath and wonder when Indian airports will improve! I am frustrated by the time I reach the x-ray counter. The vigilant security officer frisks me, bending down probably for the thousandth time on that day, but still with the alertness only a diligent officer can have. I collect my hand baggage and with a frown on my face walk on towards the departure gate.

My unhappiness grows with the fact I do not have time to go to the lounge for the complimentary snacks and last cigarette ...forgetting that I was always happy buying the tea in the platform amidst all other passengers and urchins, without a privilege card.

I settle down at the departure gate after having purchased a coffee. The lucid voice on the well designed PA system announces all flights but mine. Till I hear one, which I was dreading, that my flight is late by 30 minutes due to traffic congestion over the airport. My exasperation increases and I approach the ground staff belligerently, asking them for an explanation as to why I was not informed earlier through sms before I left for the airport.

I am so very upset with the delay now – that I want to scream ... forgetting that I used to be thrilled if the train reached within 60 minutes of its scheduled time. Even if it was delayed further, the time was well spent with family, friends or books.

My flight is announced, and the co passengers rush towards the gate, but form an orderly queue. I join in and glance at the adjoining gate where an Air Deccan Flight is boarding. In those early days, Air Deccan ticket cost was half the price of other airlines. Most of the passengers in that flight would be travelling for the first time, as Captain Gopinath had dreamt of. I look at them with disdain and feel good to belong to an upper strata and not the cattle class of the Air Deccan passengers. (A bit of digression here – I would urge all of you to read Captain Gopinath’s autobiography “Just Fly” – it will give you an insight on what an amazing person he is and how he has lived his dreams).

A couple of years later, after Shashi Tharoor’s commented that Economy is indeed the cattle class, I now crave for business class and feel totally dissatisfied travelling in economy class.... forgetting that I have travelled through all classes and had always been happy.

I board the flight and walk towards my seat. Since I was late, I have not got my preferred “emergency” row seat, with extra leg space. Worse still, I have 13 B – which is the middle seat. As luck would have it, on one side I have a man with hairy forearms twice mine which have already invaded quarter of my seat space. On the other side, there is this suave gentleman, who seems to have seen only success in his life and truly believes the world belongs to him – his elbow covered by his Armani suit has occupied the entire arm rest in between us. I try to nudge my elbows and seek a few inches on the arm rests, which I believe are legally mine – but of no avail. I seethe within and not wanting to create a scene, keep my arms on my lap and try to overcome the anger through meditation.

My blood pressure has risen in trying to contain this anger - of being taken advantage and not getting my due.... forgetting the fact, that in so many train journeys, passengers have shared their seat with me and many a occasion I have let another sit on my berth – without any rancour or unhappiness.

Having reconciled to the fact that my hands will be restricted well within the confines of the armrests of 13B, my attention is drawn towards my legs – and I start comparing with Kingfisher – which has at least one and a half inch of more leg space. And I now wish I had chosen Kingfisher instead. Apart from the leg space, the “legs view” of the pretty air hostesses, in their tight red miniskirts makes me take an instant decision to ask my secretary to henceforth book my tickets only on KF. And then my mind starts to vacillate – I had seen some of the air hostesses of Indigo at the airport – they also had a sexy designer outfits. Or should it be Spicejet..?

My mind is confused, I am not sure which is better and which choice will make me happy.... forgetting the fact that in my early years, whether it was the Neelachal Express or Indian Airlines, there was no choice, but it never was a cause of unhappiness.

My confused mind is interrupted by the air hostess in blue – she hands over my tray, without the customary question of “veg or non-veg”. I notice that the aluminium foil on the main dish has a tiny green sticker, marked “veg”. I look up at her with astonishment and say that I would like to have a non-veg meal. She apologizes sweetly and regrets that they have run out of non veg meals on the flight. That was indeed the last straw on this terrible flight. I start creating a ruckus and demand that the senior flight attendant meets me. She is extremely sorry too, but I am in no mood to listen. I decide to make them feel guilty and decide to skip dinner. They try to appease me with special dessert and fruits – but the status of the privilege club member has been affronted and I remain firm.

I am hungry but refuse to have the veg meal or the fruits – making my anger emotions and hormones hyper active.... forgetting the fact that I had really enjoyed the oily, spicy, unhygienic meals served on the trains or the poori aloo sabji on the railway platforms.

The flight lands after circling over the airport for over 40 minutes. Before the safety belt sign goes off, passengers are on their feet and take their baggage from the overhead bins. The aisle is packed and I remain squashed between hairy arms and Armani elbow. The latter starts speaking on his mobile loudly enough for all to hear – telling his chauffer (probably in a Mercedes) that he has landed and he should be out in about seven minutes. Not to be outdone, Mr Hairy arms also pulls out his mobile and hollers to his terrified wife that he would be home in 50 minutes and would have dinner. I am so disgusted by the hurry of the people to disembark and the cacophony of the personal calls made in public.

The disgust, the anger, the fatigue all churn up in a different sickening emotion.... forgetting that in all the train journeys, people were always in a hurry to disembark and board – but that had a reason, because the train had a limited stop – a little bit of anxiety was inevitable and the little pushing and shoving was understandable and did not create any negative emotion.

I call my driver and wait for him amidst the humidity, din and dust of the city. It seems like eternity before he gets the car and I collapse into the A/c and its quiet comfort. It is already 10.00 pm, but there is so much traffic and I wonder how much time it will take to reach home. It takes me about an hour to cover the 10 kilometers – and I  feel I will pass away in the car from sheer exhaustion.

I feel so tired and weak, as if I have completed a marathon journey.... forgetting the fact, my train journeys of over 2 days used to normally end in a cycle rickshaw or an auto  to reach home – but I used to still have a whole lot of energy and exuberance left within me.

I reach home and head for the shower – feeling dirty inside and on the outside. But there is no black soot of the train engine being washed off. Instead, it is the coat of negativity which has enveloped me that I am attempting to take off. 

The journeys were short, with special privileges as a frequent flyer, and everyone trying to give the best service – yet I complained, got angry, frustrated, depressed....

Maybe my expectations had increased. Maybe I had grown older. Maybe my lifestyle had changed. Maybe I had grown softer from increased comforts. Maybe I had learnt that only dissatisfaction is the seed to success. Maybe I always yearned for what I did not have.

Maybe I have now learnt the Art of being Unhappy.

“Happiness is the feeling you're feeling when you want to keep feeling it”.  ~Author Unknown