Books. Covers. Judging. And all the racket.

If I were to conduct a search of my blog for the most mis-haps that have happened, the highest hits would come for the "airport".  Then if I take it a step further, the next hybrid search would reveal that in most of them women have been the subject of causality or consequence.  As a tribute to these two subjects providing me with such considerable volumes to write on, am giving this post precedence over the other ideas brewing up inside my head right now as I sit idle in my defined cubicle for want of nothing better to do.

She seemed like just another pretty face in the crowd, getting attention from most of the 20-something guys hanging around trying to act cool, standing slightly slouched, hands in pockets, talking in some foreign accent better suited for the alley-ways of New York than Indira Gandhi Airport, New Delhi.   Neatly dressed in a sober top and skin-hugging jeans, she tip-toed to the boarding gate, the sound of her heels boring down into the sub-conscious like spokes driven through Pinhead in Hellraiser! There was nothing majestic about her yet she carried with her an air of sophistication that made you glance over your shoulder for that fraction of a second longer that divides the "oye hoye" chicks from the "Ay Carumba!" ones.   Having a penchant for luck screwing me over, the mere idea of her sitting in the next seat, let alone the same row, seemed a virtual impossibility.  I did not let my hopes up just to have them dashed all over again.

As I nestled into my aisle seat, stretching my legs, twisting to the left, to the right, bending forward, to ready myself for the hour long siesta ahead, I got tapped on the shoulder.  I looked up.  And I kept looking up. It must have been at least a minute's lag between my eyes blinking for the first time since crooning my neck to look up and the brain responding with "Holy Guacamole!!".  Impatience was evident on her face.  Now don't judge me as some horny perverted arse who drools at any girl that comes his way, but what I could not digest for that one minute was the fact that the Higher Power people brag about actually wanted "her" to sit next to me, ME!  The embarrassing moment passed.  Feeling ashamed at my immature departure from chivalry, I dug into the in-flight magazine reading up on the latest mango fondue recipe, afraid lest I raise my head and our eyes meet to judge me into nothingness again.

The flight was cleared for take-off and as was customary, I took out my book, opened to the bookmarked leaf and started reading with utmost pleasure, the awkwardness of the past half hour behind me.  Unable to conjure the patience to strike up a conversation anymore as I stooped in even deeper every time she cleared her throat, I guess she also gave up as she dug into her abyss-of-a-purse to magically pull out a thin but seriously abused novel - it was in tatters!  Good table manners and as an extension in-flight manners deem it improper to peek into someone else's plate or book.  To smithereens with flight etiquette as I peered through the corner of my book to check what she was reading, all in vain.  Curiosity killed the cat, but it never did anything to people so why worry!

This is the part where I take a short break, crack my knuckles, bob my head left to right, forwards-backwards, sound out a clicking noise and wiggle my fingers ready to become my cynical rascal self as I get back to writing this post.  If you read a book, or at least "pretend" reading one, at least stay committed to it for 5 freaking minutes!  While I read 100 odd-pages into my 612 pager book, she appeared to have been half-way through her 100-150 mini-novel.  Having deserted all hope of even a casual conversation given the introductions we had, the novel took up my attention, well almost.  If it wasn't her squirming in the seat trying to make herself comfortable enough to read, it was her continued "chik-chik", wherein you make that VERY annoying audible "sigh" tugging hard at the handle as if that would make it disappear or turn into a gummi bear all of a sudden.  Having adjusted her butt firmly at an angle no less obscure than the one a beggar takes to attract maximum sympathy, she finally got to reading.  I don't remember how engrossed I was in my novel, but it seemed not much time had passed before the dreaded question came in the most insanely annoying chewing-gum-masticating, hair-twirling and high-pitched voice - "Watchyaaaaa readin'?"  I named the book and then got back to reading.  Was this the same girl I was almost drooling over some time ago?  And again, "Wazzzzit 'bout?" Its about a guy who wants to fucking read his book in peace woman!  I smiled politely giving her a brief synopsis of the enthralling journey the author takes you through the book.  Pop comes the reply, "Soooo basically its not like real or stuff yeah?" I am talking to an imbecile, OMFG!  Again, I smile "Yeah sort of".  I adjust the specs on my nose and with a slight shake of the head get back to reading.

Thankfully that was where the questions stopped, but not her antics.  Sensing a cold indifference in my curt replies she curls up again in her seat and gets back to her book.  The sighs start again.  The squeaking of her god-forsaken purse against the seat grows.  I could hold her by the arms and shake her up real bad.  I resist.  Bite my lip and continue on reading.  Half an hour later my attention is drawn to a scratching sound.  Rats? On a plane? Godammit!  I look down the aisle.  Nobody's panicking.  I look up the aisle.  Still nobody.  That's when against all hope I look to my right and there it is - that specimen from whatever planet the aliens wanted to flee from, picking dirt out of her nails with her bookmark, which once blunted at all four corners is forgone in favour of the boarding pass.  That still does not explain the scratching though so I continue to wonder.  Hardly a wait before I find out.  After blowing the picked out dirt clean, she takes the book tightly in her hand and rustles the pages to FILE HER NAILS! Such insolence.  No wonder the book looked old.  For the next 20 minutes she continued with the charade, and put an end to it once the pilot announced we'd be landing at Mumbai airport soon.  It took two reminders from the air hostess to get her to pull back her chair to upright position.

As we moved to collect baggage from the belt I spotted my trolley bag and moved forward to collect it.  As I pulled it off, the girl walked up right behind me, offering her hand to shake "Hi, Sheetal".  I replied in kind with a firm handshake and a smile, "Hi, not interested." and walked away glad to have rid myself of the nuisance.