How many times have we vowed never to fly Air India again But a budget traveller always comes crawling back to her tormentor. This time, the pilots struck work immediately after I booked my ticket to Newark. Despite my fond hopes of a speedy resolution, my flight was cancelled, and I caught one a week later, to JFK.
Last time I flew Air India, I was struck by the gloves-off approach of the crew. Instead of breathy twenty-somethings, we were kept in line by what looked like a retired headmistress ordering us to hand in our empties and keep our seat pockets clean. I liked her. This time, crew seemed squishier, but there were fewer slender maidens and more burly men. I relaxed, even decided, for the first time in my flying career, to watch a movie.
It was An Affair to Remember, and I got as far as Deborah Kerr packing to disembark when we had a surprise at Paris. Authorities at Charles de Gaulle airport off-loaded us all for a spot search of the plane. The elderly and families with small children were exempt, but many shuffled off anyway, as crew looked on. We were bused to the terminus, run through security and bused back.
When I got back to my seat, nearly two hours later, my screen was blank. For the rest of the flight the crew politely pretended to reset our screens, which stayed blank. So instead we all watched a loud and persistent argument between an old man and his wife. In spite of pleas from fellow passengers and crew, and three stewards looming over their seats, they battled on till we landed at JFK.
I can&rsquot stand hearing a half-told story. If Cary Grant and Deborah Kerr are still on my return flight, I&rsquoll find out how their love ends. As for the unfinished marital pow-wow, I&rsquoll hold that one against Air India for years.
