Smoking room. Prayer room.
Said the two signs placed beside each other in the Delhi airport.
I am sure there was a bar close by.
One, or all of these, is where I would have headed in the past had I experienced the sort of 45 minutes that I just had back then.
I don’t smoke or drink anymore. I was too tired to pray. A cup of coffee was the poison I sought. A thought seconded by my brother who had just whatsapped me to say ‘anyway relax now and have a coffee… must have been harrowing.’
There was a Starbucks outlet to the right. We would have gone there if K was with me. The only thing I like about Starbucks is the cardboard packaging in which they send K’s takeaway cappuccino. I cut it and make plates when I feed Smol, Scooby, Snappy, Jugs and friends…my Kitty Blinders friends from around the corner.
I was a bit hungry. I went up to the food court. I saw the usual suspects McDonalds, Domino’s, Berco’s Karim, Biryani Blues… and then Carnatic Cafe.
Unlike the others, which were counters around the food court, Carnatic Cafe had a dedicated seating space. I decided to check it out. My other option being the Burger King beside the Starbucks downstairs. Not too inspiring an option.
I went through the Carnatic Cafe menu and got excited when I saw the words ‘Malleswaram Cross Road Dosa. Fluffy and crisp. With benne (butter) and podi.’ I couldn’t believe my eyes. I was looking for this ages but had never found it outside of Bengaluru and that too in select outlets. Not the five star hotel buffet dosa counter which dishes out the usual.
I went up to the counter and decided to try my luck by ordering one and would you believe it, the dosa turned out to be similar to the chubby and yet crisp dosas of Bengaluru that I love so much. Especially the dosas at CTR in the old Bengaluru suburb of Malleswaram. The podi and white butter paste applied on the inner surface of the dosa made it a heavy duty version of the Bengaluru benne dosa.
The dosa was served with three lip-smacking and robust chutneys – coconut, peanut and ‘green.’ And a slightly sweetish, vegetable packed sambar. A wholesome repast. Much needed after the trauma I’d just undergone.
I had a filter kaapi as well. Hot, frothy and strong. Better than anything I could hope to have at Starbucks. I had it without sugar which would get me a few minus points from an Amma from the from the south.
At least some good came out of missing my flight earlier that evening!
What? You missed your flight! When were you going to tell us about that? You were late again?
Come on. Why do you assume that I was late?
I know that I am usually the last person to enter a flight. After having huffed and puffed my way through the airport before settling down on my seat. Panting and yet looking triumphant. As if I’d run past five defenders at a scorching pace and then scored the deciding goal of the World Cup final.
Don’t generalise. I was well in time, I will have you know.
I got off from my cab earlier in the evening at Delhi’s T2 terminus. With not a worry in the world. I had plenty of time at my disposal. I walked towards the security gate. Took out my wallet and looked my driving license. It was not there. I searched and searched and searched. Nada.
I called up my brother as I’d spent the past few nights in his apartment at Gurugram.
Listen is my driving license in your house?
No.
Oh no. That’s my ID proof. How can I enter the airport without it?
Just show a pic of your Aadhar card. That will do, he said.
I found a photo in my phone and went up confidently to the security person.
This won’t work, he replied. Only MAdhaar downloaded on the phone. Or in a digilocker. Else the original.
I stepped out, stood in a corner and tried to download the card from the Aadhar app. The internet was slow. As was the app. I kept my calm. My fingers were frozen in the cold. I didn’t give up. Would Bruce Willis’ character in Die Hard movie get flustered while trying to defuse a bomb? Nah.
Enter Aadhar number, enter otp, the next otp. Congrats. You can download the Aadhar card. Press enter.
Congrats. You’ve downloaded the adhaar card.
That was simple. I felt like the cat that got the cream. Whoever had come up with this idiom had never come across Baby Loaf and little Nimki. Try feeding them cream and see!
I stood in the queue again and unlocked the phone screen to show it to the security folks.
Wait. Eff. Where’s the downloaded card???
I searched frantically in the files section of the phone. Nothing. I went back outside. After struggling with the Apple ID and the UPI ID, I finally managed to increase my iCloud storage. Still no sign of the Aadhar card.
I began to feel a bit tense for the first time that evening. My brother called. Have you got in.
I am trying. Talk to you later!
Click. Click. Click. Nothing. Airplane mode on. Off. Nothing. Phone off. On. Nothing.
I didn’t call K. She was in meetings at work and would freak if she heard this. And when has loosing one’s cool ever achieved anything?
I called Krishna. Not the God. My young friend with whom I’d collaborated for producing videos. He’d know where to find the downloaded files.
He dropped everything and tried. He had no solution. He tried to open the Aadhar portal at his end. We guided each other over a barely working speakerphone at my end. Nothing.
We kept trying. Each telling the other to stay calm. Nothing. Time was up. It was way past boarding time.
My phone rang.
Hello.
Hello, I barked back.
I didn’t have time for scamsters who wanted to know if I had a car to sell. Or wanted a personal loan. Or contribute to child welfare.
Main Vistara se bol raha hoon. Aap kaha hain.
6A ke bahar. ID card nahin mil raha hain.
Ok.
This was the miracle I’d hoped for. ‘Fingers crossed. I think I will make it’, I messaged everyone. My brother and Krishna to be precise.
5 minutes went by. Nothing.
I called back on the number.
Main 6A ke bahar hoon. Aap dikh nahin rahe hain.
I am outside 6A. I can’t see you.
Aaap ko 1A ke pass Vistara counter main jaiye.
You have to go to the Vistara counter near gate 1. Tell them your problem.
What? How about telling me that earlier? I wouldn’t have waited here.
I dragged my suitcase to the counter at the other end of the terminal. I explained my case to the young gentleman at the Vistara counter. He heard me out and then calmly offered to put me onto the next flight for a fee of Rs 2,605 which, all things considered, was a decent solution. I had reconciled myself by then to having to buy a new ticket.
My initial problem remained. How would I get in to the terminal without an ID proof?
That’s when my brother called to find out what was happening. I explained the situation to him.
My sis in law took charge of things on hearing what had happened. She downloaded my Aadhar card in a couple of minutes and sent it to me. I was ready to fly.
You should have called her in the beginning, said K when I called her up later and told her what had happened.
Instead of the three of you trying to solve it by yourselves.
My brother messaged me once I got my ticket, ‘it’s done for now. Don’t stress.’
I never stress, I replied.
They’re are more flights to Mumbai after all. At least I was not abroad. At the most I thought I’d have to buy another ticket.
Plus I have a brother who offered me his apartment to stay in. And a sister in law who managed to download the form. I will still get to see the Kitty Karmakars tonight. Nothing to stress about.
Between my mom, him and me, I am the most chilled one among us.
Anyway relax now and have a coffee… must have been harrowing, he replied
And that takes us back to the very beginning. A very good place to start.
