This month I flew from New Delhi to Bagdogra. It was a clear, beautiful day. The flight was close to capacity, as most domestic flights are these days, after a dramatic decade in which a series of low-cost carriers brought regular air travel within reach of India's burgeoning middle class. I couldn't get my preferred window seat and cursed my luck when, midway through the journey, the captain alerted passengers on the left side of the plane to the rare view of the great Himalayan mountains Kangchenjunga and Mount Everest. My fellow passengers graciously invited me to lean across them and take a few pictures.
When we touched the ground, though, everything changed. Land rules came into force again. Seat belts clanked open en masse, and the flight attendants had to warn some passengers against getting up while the plane was still taxiing. Even those still seated were trembling in a state of high alert.
As soon as the plane stopped, the aisle was stormed by those nearest to it. They whisked their bags down from the overhead bins, knocking them against the heads of others trying to squeeze past them. Many passengers got stuck mid-move; the line had faces pointing in all directions. Yet all held fast to their positions, not to be denied their rights or rewards. There, they all stood uncomfortably for three or four minutes, getting ever more impatient. Finally, when the time came to deplane, a war broke out between those in the aisle and those in the seats. What could have been so simple, we pointlessly made so complicated, because we all had to get onto the same bus anyway to get to the terminal.
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