So I have arrived in the land of smells and heat and people looking at you funny. It feels like coming home, in an odd way. There's so much I love about this country. However, before I eulogise, a few whimsical observations.
As we taxied around Chhatrapati Shivaji airport, to our stand, a man across the aisle from me was fiddling with his mobile. I figured that he was changing the time in flight safe mode, something I had done previously. Nothing untoward there, I supposed. Sat in front of him were the two attendants for our cabin, waiting to be able to get up and do that Doors to Manual & Cross Check thing. Then he received a text. How do I know this, you might ask? His phone, at the loudest possible volume, beeped out SMS in morse code.
If you going to be a bit of a numpty, do it subtly, at least.
I was standing in the line for passport control, and, as is the wont of Indians, there wasn't really a line. It was about three abreast, with a wheelchair or two thrown in for good measure. There was an elderly looking Indian gentleman behind me, with his wife vying for my place in the queue. Now, had they asked, I probably would have let them go - I'm a genial kind of chap. However, the intention was clearly not to ask, but to jostle. Thankfully, the inspector beckoned me first. I felt I had the moral victory. But really, the question has to be asked - the British spent far too many years here, presuming that our imperial rule was justified by our generous sharing of architecture and engineering. And in all that time we, the British, didn't teach them how to queue?
A trick missed, I feel.
There are a few other things which I noticed/found amusing. But then, I'm here two weeks. I'll leave you dangling.