Since the advent of low-cost flying, passengers who would otherwise feel out of place find themselves negotiating their presence inside flights. The hostesses, who, among themselves, speak English, Hindi and one regional language, parse the surprise and discomfort of said passengers and offer words of comfort in the latter's mother tongue. This is especially needed if the passenger is seated on an exit seat and has to be explained the all-important process of what to do when the flight, err, lands in the water.
Air hostesses, as part of their daily job, parrot the most deathly situations with a laughable lack of unease. A statement like "Please do not jump off the plane unless you have heard from us..." does not merely sound ludicrous; it is, too. Passengers' reactions vary from disinterest (yawn, I couldn't care less) to incredulity (will I have to do all that?).
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No sooner is this over than the demonstration begins. This transfixes me, every time. It's like watching a train crash, a greasy cliche but one that applies veritably to the situation. Having seen it umpteen times, I have no reason to watch how to pull out the life jacket from under the seat, or which way the handle of the exit door needs to be pulled. But I can't help watching - with undignified concentration. Where else in my staid life would I partake in an unseen, divine-sounding voice advocating steps that are enacted live before a captive audience? How can anyone with a heart turn their eyes away as the ladies move their limbs in perfect synchronisation?
It does not end there. Once the flight is on the runway, the hostesses stroll to and fro, checking for strapped seat belts, straightened seats and opened window shades. The overhead system announces repeatedly the absolute necessity of keeping mobile phones switched off, lest some unimaginable harm visit the passengers or, worse, the flight's communication system. The whole process is enough to make the most battle-hardened weary.
But not the air hostesses. They are perfectly at home dispensing advice from hell, inordinately delaying their own strapping. The passenger is forced to wonder whether this is out of concern for slow passengers or it is mere insouciance about something they do day after day.
The flight takes off, and the catering begins. A steel container with a gazillion shelves that hold everything from chicken sandwiches to sodas and juices is ferried through the aisle. Nothing special about it, except that thing again: the forced affability that marks the conversations. "Can I offer you anything, sir?" "Do you have a can of Coke?" "Most certainly, sir." The can exchanges hands with that studied smile in perfect shape and place.
Don't get me wrong. I find this focus on customer service most welcome. It is the enduring, unfettered nature of the smile that confounds me. Are air hostesses able to keep it up because they know that it's timed? That they merely have to do it for the next two hours until the flight lands? But what about the connecting flight and the flight after? I bet they look upon each flight as an experience that they tick-mark in their minds.
By now, their solicitousness is painful. When they come around later carrying bags to let people throw their junk in, I am ready to collect the waste from my row, and the two in front and back, so that they have a helping hand. There is a certain unevenness about the whole experience, a surreality. Maybe it's to do with the fact that we expect people who clean up after us to belong to another social class. I am not saying that makes it any better. It's just that it is at least more recognisable. But these prim air hostesses in plastic gloves lugging around a blue bag to collect wrappers flying out of people's hands - it takes some getting used to, and I am not sure I particularly want to get used to it.
The only option to relax is sleep. So I turn my head and, in spite of the impossibility, force myself to rest. It works. I am awakened an hour later by the captain's announcement. The descent has begun. The air hostesses are not to be seen. The curtain at the front is drawn.
Every now and then, though, they appear from behind the curtain to answer passenger requests. They look a little tired, and one can see in their eyes the glazed look that their natural, non-air hostess selves harbour. This is the closest one will see them at their most natural. As one of them passes me by, she looks in my direction. I smile at her, and she smiles back, her eyes bright, for the first time, with genuine affection.