The westward flight from Schiphol airport gains us hours – we will reach by mid-day. It also brings us in touch with the American accent of the stewardess of Asian descent. It is interesting to see that she relates better with American passengers than she does with Asians. Clearly, nurture has a far greater influence on upbringing than nature. Other than in appearance, she’s American indeed!
The seating arrangement is 2+4+2. A family of five arrives. The youngest pre-teen, tries for the window seat, but he’s outmanoeuvred by his teenaged elders. He’s left in the middle, stuck in the company of parents.
Across the aisle, a very large man has the sole responsibility of caring for 2 very small children – the boy yet to walk, the girl only a little older, but really as good as gold. She watches Finding Nemo quietly as daddy deals with junior’s tantrums. Sometimes the fantasy is overwhelming, but I’m not scared, she tells me and herself, it’s only a movie. I agree and reach out to hold her hand. She smiles, clasps the assurance, and continues watching the animated exploits of the waterworld. We wonder where the mother went.
The onboard entertainment offers recent movies, among them Slumdog Millionaire. I notice it plays for several people including the teenagers. I tune in too. Of course the real stars of the film are the little children who can make fantasy real. But would the film have made such an impact worldwide if it were an Indian production rather than a British one?
As the plane begins its descent, we perceive the expanses of land and the small homesteads. Then suddenly the sky scrapers of New York occupy vision. We might easily reach out and touch, it seems! The Empire State Building is instantly recognizable with its ninety foot antennae. But we immediately feel the loss of the twin towers of WTC. Momentarily, the pain of a nation bereaved touches us.
Below we see the shimmering waters of the Hudson River. We’re reminded of the miracle with Cactus 1549 and smile at the image of the airplane gracefully skimming the waters to the astonishment of onlookers!
Within moments we have landed at Newark airport in New Jersey. The wheelchair handler is a woman, an Asian immigrant. She waits patiently for the senior citizen put in her charge. She speaks in vernacular with some of her colleagues, and the language seems familiar. I ask if she’s a Tamil from India. No, she shakes her head, from Sri Lanka. The war there is terrible, she says, referring to the mounting civilian casualties. She takes no sides, but she has a constant worry. Her sister remains in Kandy, and they have not heard from her in a while.
We need to retrieve our baggage. She escorts us there and asks how our bags are recognizable. I mention the travel tags provided by insurance. She helps to haul them off the carousal. Soon we are ready to step out to a bright and sunny morning. We’re in America, and ooh, it’s cold outside!
Cont’d…
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