Wind Beneath My Wings

The time is 3:38am. Yes, that's 3:38 in the middle of a dark night. You are blissfully asleep (what else do you expect?). Someone taps violently on your shoulder. You wake up with a start (sic) and drearily open your eyes. You see a food tray - filled with raajma chaawal, chana masala, pickle & a stiff dry roti thrust onto your, bed sheet covered, lap. As you look sideways, you notice, you are not alone in this. A couple, also draped from head to toe with bed sheets, are propped up next to you. They too are rubbing their sleep deprived eyes & staring blankly at the food trays in front of them. What's happening?, you wonder. A threesome in middle of night, with some food thrown in to make things bit raunchy?? Is this real? Is this really happening?

How are you supposed to react, faced with situation like this?

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Reaction - A
Scream your guts off and wake up the entire neighbourhood.

Reaction - B
Stay Calm. Dismiss this as just another of those weird nonsensical dreams and go promptly back to sleep. Perhaps during the day time, you met a comely Punjabi gal. Thanks to some deep seated psychological cravings for the aforementioned lass, you have woken up dreaming of Punjabi food in middle of night.

Reaction - C
Sob gently & start eating the food, unmindful of the tears dropping into the food tray. They say food is a great comforter (perhaps not as great as sex, but still).Someone knows that you have been depressed lately over your work life, love life, sex life, social life or perhaps just "life life". That's the reason you are being fed a 5000 calorie comforting meal in middle of night.
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I truly had not bargained for a scene like this when I confirmed my 2-way tickets to Shanghai. I was flying Singapore Airlines and I had instructed my ticketing agent that I would need Indian vegetarian food on the flight. What had totally slipped my mind, was that, my return flight was scheduled for a midnight take-off. After a breezy 1 week stay in Shanghai, I find myself heading back to Sg'pore. I arrive at Pudong airport - sleep deprived, tired & with a cacophony of hungry crows crowing in my belly, eagerly awaiting Indian vegetarian food on the flight.

As I board and quickly settle in my window seat, the usual rigmarole starts :

[ Hot Towels, for you sir ? ]
[ Juice.. Juice.. Juice.. ]
[ Fasten your seat belts ]
[ All cabin crew to their stations, we are about to take off ]
[ Tinnnng, the seat belts signs are off, for your own safety we recommend you keep your seatbelts fastened throughout the journey ]

After hearing the Captain's reassuring words, I unfasten my seatbelt & start counting down the time, waiting for the Air Hostess (AH) to push the dinner cart along the alley. As if reading my mind, one of the AH glides along the alley with a big chocolate cake balanced expertly on her hands (Pastries for starters ? who cares!). I whistle softly & wait for her to stop and offer me a bite. Before I could latch down the dining tray in front of me, I see her walk right past the economy class and into the business & 1st class cabins. Damn those business travellers ! Human Rights fella's are you reading this ?

I wait for her to return with leftovers, I am sure those business travellers are kind enough to share the cake with their fellow (lowly ?) economy class brethren. Ten minutes of anxious interval passes. The AH returns back with a smiling face and an empty tray. The whole bloody cake had been polished off by those effing business travellers, leaving me to lick my dry parched lips & nibble onto my economy class boarding pass. Before I could request for a glass of water to moisturize my dry lips, the lights go off. (And) with it, diminish any hopes of me being served dinner (Indian vegetarian or otherwise).

I reluctantly tear open the plastic bag containing the bed sheet, cover myself from head to toe, recline my seat and doze off. Three hours and thirty minutes into the flight, the AH wakes me up with her professional fake smile, and delivers the promised Indian vegetarian meal. Needless to say, the quintessential non-grumbling middle-class person that I am, I react by opting for “Reaction - C” .

The after effects of this seemingly (ab)normal turn of events is to be felt much later when the flight lands and I find myself standing in the baggage collection area. I fix my gaze on the belt & watch it churn out bags of all shapes and sizes. The slow rhythmic motion of the belt triggers some kind of parasympathetic reaction inside my body. (And) then, without any warning, it happens.

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It's too late, I turn around and watch in horror as the girl standing behind me crinkles her nose and scurries to the opposite direction from where I am standing. Thankfully, I notice my bag inching closer towards me on the belt. I quickly snatch it and make a hasty exit through the green channel of Customs. I've got nothing to declare, except for some highly voluble & volatile gases. As I take a cab back home from Changi Airport, I request the cabbie to switch off the air-con and instead roll down the windows to let some fresh air in. The cool early morning breeze does the trick and I fall asleep once again to the accompaniment of Bette Midler's melodious voice wafting over FM waves.

Oh, the wind beneath my wings.
You, you, you, you are the wind beneath my wings.
Fly, fly, fly away. You let me fly so high.
Oh, you, you, you, the wind beneath my wings.
Oh, you, you, you, the wind beneath my wings.

Fly, fly, fly high against the sky,
so high I almost touch the sky.
Thank you, thank you,
thank God for you, the wind beneath my wings.