You lot, yes, you, standing around with your monkey caps and mufflers and sweaters in 25 degree Celsius plus temperatures, can you not see a woman struggling with a trolley bearing two heavy suitcases and two equally heavy bags, trying to get it get up a damn slope which has cracked at the base and therefore getting the wheel stuck. I dont appreciate being the floorshow or were you are taking bets on how long it would take before I could finally unwedge the trolley and get it moving. I wanted to check which size bangles you all were wearing. The almost 50 of you who stood around, looking on and not bothering to offer a hand to help. Give me my gruff, non intellectual macho North Indian anyday. At least I can be assured that when he is around, no woman will struggle with a stuck trolley or even have to push the damn trolley.
You distinguished silver haired gentleman with the muffler around your neck and the knitted waistcoat, I would expect some restraint from you. That is my foot your loaded trolley is on, and yelling at me to get out of the way is counterproductive since you have literally pinned me to the spot. It takes my friend, who has an infant in a sling to push the trolley off my foot, and give you a talking too before I free myself. And then you bang the trolley into the backs of my knees right again. I think I now need to see an orthopedic surgeon.
And you little miss you, in your short skirt, showing off legs I would have camouflaged for the milkbottle ankles you displayed, grumbling loudly about “These people …” kindly note we were managing two hyperactive brats, tonnes of luggage and a tired infant in a very crowded airport with neverending lines for everything from baggage check through check in through security. I’m hoping karma comes to bite you on your ungainly butt some years down the line when you have your own hyperactive brats to chase down in manicly packed airports.
Sirjee, we are all in queue. We are all waiting in line for check in. Ramming your trolley into the back of my knees or my friends knees, or yelling at our kids to get out the way to give you two inches of space further towards check in will not get you first onto the airplane. You know. I just so tempted to start unravelling your monkeycap and tie you up in it. And I might stuff the baggage tags into your mouth if you dare yell at our kids again for just being, well, kids. Go shout at your own grandkids.
Yes, you have a connecting flight to catch, but pushing us and our children aside will not make you reach there any faster. It just shows us your class and upbringing, never mind the damn suit and fancy tie.
What is this mad scramble for the bus, or is this, er, a local train that is camouflaged as a bus? Do you honestly think you will left standing on the tarmac? Can you not see women managing children, is elbowing women to one side part of the curriculum in your childhood education?
Have travelled a fair bit, I must confess, and me and my friend agreed unanimously that the populace at Kolkata airport were appallingly behaved. Next time I go there, I will wear knucklebusters and spiked wristbands. I swear.