Bangalore

A loud thump, for which the landing gear was probably not designed to withstand, announced that we had "touched down" in Bangalore. The stopover was nothing less than bizarre. I was surprised to see the ritual being practised by one of the stewards sauntering down the aisle with two aerosol cans held aloft, crossed like a pair of rapiers prior to "en garde". The reasons for the dispersion have long been forgotten along with the interior designer of the aircraft.

I was thankful that most of the passengers disembarked, leaving the adjacent row of seats empty. Perhaps slumber would not elude me after all! "Transit passengers, please remain seated while security checks your luggage" barked the instruction from overhead. I felt intimidated as uniformed guards paraded down the aisles making enquiries as to their owners.

The cleaning entourage replaced the guards. They plugged their vacuum cleaners into the sockets located in the door. "No need to get up, I will go around," assured the cleaner. The hot breath of the vacuum cleaner assaulted me as he moved to another aisle.

I drifted into a semi-conscious state while I waited for refuelling to finish. It wasn't long until a crowd chattering loudly in Hindi interrupted my respite and filled the vacant seats. It seemed that I was destined to remain conscious throughout this journey.