The long flight

The long flight

                      Flying has its social status and other added attractions. But truly speaking, it is the most monotonous medium of travelling. All the charms of looking out through the window of a bus or train just vanish when you have an air ticket. Howsoever the tedium is compensated by other miscellaneous sidelines, the long flight lasting for about fourteen hours is not my cup of tea. Hours before I boarded this huge aircraft I happened to take a short journey by train. To me there is nothing comparable to a train. How cosy, how relaxed, how expansive it is! You may not view your favourite movie, you may not be served something of everything in a narrow tray which would overflow with smaller containers; still the train by its modest service suits me as the best mode of travel. If you are bored of sitting hours in a train, you could always choose to get up, stretch yourself, walk away to an unseen corner, look out through a door, get the wind on your face as long as you want and then when you had  had enough, come back refreshed to your seat. The joy of opening your snack bag which is ready to offer you home packed food is indeed matchless. On the pretext of washing your hand, you get away and remain standing as long as you please. One of my friends even managed to have a bath in the toilet which had provided him with homely comfort.The window view brings a series of pictures of greenery, hamlets, cattle lazing and dozing, babies waving, boys hooting and chasing their pets, old men and women open mouthed and chewing and watching the moving train philosophically, impatient drivers waiting for the train to disappear at the level crossings, passegers in the smaller stations wondering at the speed of the passing train and the innumerable visions that defy words and description.  Every second hour the train slows down to stop at a big station to offload some and to accommodate a few among the sea of people crowded there. Sometimes you meet different co-passengers too. You may also get down on the platform to breathe the local air, walk around, buy something and leisurely get in. I miss all these fun in the plane.  If you are on the wrong side of luck, your plea for an aisle seat would be smilingly  and sadistically negatived. Then, huddled in a row of three or four seats,  you are at the mercy of the stranger beside you. Only if he is inclined to entertain your longing look, he would let you get up and move to the restroom. If you have a corpulant and sleepy passenger on the aisle seat beside you, your fate for the next several hours is sealed. Sometimes you gamble with the limited choice of meal and would be terribly disappointed because the next man would be slurping every bit on his tray with visible pleasure thanks to his preference to the alternative meal. You cannot but curse your prudence of choice. And whoever designed the restroom in a plane! Every inch in that cubicle matters. And when I depressed the flush sign for the first time I was in a plane, the explosive sound it made nearly shook me out that I cautiously came out to see whether everything was alright. I was expecting the entire crew to survey the state of the mischief monger. The prospect of taking a long flight back home gives me the creeps and it is my prayer that I should get an aisle seat and a friendly passenger of medium frame beside me.