Looking back from London, it seems incredible that we should have been offered more than a lakh of rupees not to take the Lufthansa flight from Kolkata’s not so sparkling Netaji Subhas Chandra Bose International Airport to Frankfurt. At the time, I thought only of touts who sidle up behind the New Market with whispered offerings of pirated CDs. Or pedlars outside the Jagannath temple in Puri who, running through the gamut of religious figures, open surreptitious fists to disclose a wealth of small erotic representations of every Khajuraho pose. Or even the Port Said vendor on a long-ago sea voyage to Britain whose sibilant hiss was the prelude to a display of “feelthy postcards” that may have been a prelude to something else that I was too young and too timid to explore.
But this was late evening at Kolkata airport, and the men and women who pounced on passengers trundling suitcases wore Lufthansa uniforms. Though we were all flying to Frankfurt, nobody was going there. Perhaps nobody ever does. Frankfurt is the hub from where everyone branches out to destinations across the world. A young man I spoke to was bound for Minnesota where the winters are so severe that covered balconies like the Bridge of Sighs link office blocks. Another anticipated the delights of Disneyland during his stay in Miami. My wife and I were en route to London.
So, it was entirely in order for Lufthansa’s ground staff to stop us. But there was a cloak-and-dagger touch about the interception, a hint of hushed secrecy as they whispered into passengers’ ears and waited anxiously for the response. Some received whatever they were told with a decisive shake of the head and marched on. Some hesitated and pondered. I watched a husband and wife halt, look at each other and break into a volley of Bengali. Clearly, they were in disagreement but over what I couldn’t tell. Whatever was happening?
Such conversations, little pockets of conspiracy all over the concourse, I thought, recalling fond memories of past flights. A Lufthansa manager had been a friend and he always stuck a red disc on my economy-class ticket. It worked like magic, giving me the entrée to Frankfurt airport’s luxurious first-class lounge with its array of drinks, hot and cold, soft and hard, substantial buffet, and copious resting places and shower rooms. I could happily have ended my journey there. Blessing was heaped on benediction when I took my 11-year-old son, Deep, on his first American adventure. Lufthansa upgraded us on the first lap so that we emerged from the comforts of business class in the clouds to the pleasures of the special lounge. Were such deals being offered, I wondered, as a young couple, ethnic Indian with British passports, was escorted out of the check-in queue, and their luggage taken off the conveyor belt.
It was our turn next. A smart young woman in Lufthansa uniform explained in whispers – blend of New Market, Jagannath temple and Port Said – that the flight was full and we might not get seats. “You mean you’ve overbooked?” I said accusingly. She flinched but didn’t deny the charge. Instead, she promised we could have confirmed seats of our choice if we flew the following night instead. We wouldn’t be upgraded but – and here was the tour de force – we would each receive 600 euros! Just think of that, she murmured, 1,200 euros, Rs 102,000 between the two of us!
Others repeated the offer as the evening wore on. Adding pressure to persuasion, they wouldn’t allot seats when we insisted on checking in. “Seat numbers will be given later” said the counter clerk, keeping my wife and I on tenterhooks until almost boarding time. It was a traumatic wait. We might have succumbed to the bribe save for the dismal prospect of going back to open up a locked flat just for one night, facing the ordeal of a return journey to the airport and probably having to compensate the club in London’s Pall Mall where we had booked a room. Those thoughts sustained us during the 11-hour nightmare in cramped seats with no service to speak of. When the promised “raat ki bhojan” appeared, I understood why the announcement was not repeated in English. One vegetarian pasty can’t be passed off as dinner or even supper.
I can’t say I am in sackcloth and ashes over Lufthansa’s threat to discontinue the Kolkata flight. It’s a fine airline but only for passengers it regards as worthy of its service.
