On the return flight to Delhi, I am alone. Bins has gone off to visit Pondicherry in order to sneer at all the changes that have occurred since he was a boy, growing up there. “There are ghosts everywhere,” he tells me, in SMS texts. “But they are friendly ghosts. Happy to see me.” I wish him happy hauntings as I get ready to board my flight.

This is my second time on Vistara. The flight crew are friendly without seeming fake. I settle into my aisle seat, then get up at once as an elderly couple arrive to occupy their window and middle seats. I say “elderly” but really, we might well be the same age! What makes them seem infinitely older is that they’re clearly not used to air travel. This may be their first time.

The lady is wearing a parrot-green silk sari and heavy earrings with tiny chains to anchor them firmly to her hair. She turns to me after a little hesitation, pointing to the two ends of her seat belt. “How to do this?” she asks. I don’t speak Tamil but of course I know what she means. So I click the ends of the buckle into place for her. The husband, who wears a carefully pressed cream-white tunic-shirt and pants, then asks her to ask me if I speak the language. I smile as I shake my head. I realise that they will be in my care now for the rest of the flight.

I am reminded several times over of how much I take for granted when travelling. For instance, during the meal service, we are handed veg meals by default. But I heard the announcement in Hindi and English about the choices. So I know I can request the non-veg selection. When they see me do that, they ask to change theirs too.

Then the drama of opening various containers. They watch closely as I split open the clear plastic packet of my cutlery-kit by pulling the two sides apart. But I don’t use utensils on my chicken kathi roll. Instead I wrap it in my paper napkin and munch directly. They follow suit. But when it comes to the tiny sachets of powdered milk for coffee? I do that for them without being asked. Those sachets require a Master’s degree in breaking and entering! First locate the miniature notch in the sealed end. Apply Herculean strength to tear just the corner. Then revert to Tinker-Bell strength to avoid spraying the whole cabin with fine white powder.

When we deplane, they hand me their cellphone to speak to their relative in Delhi. A very grateful young man asks politely in English if I can guide them to the baggage retrieval. Of course, before that, we must run the moving-platform race! Leaping on and off at just the right speed! In the end it all works out. We retrieve our baggage. Approach the exit. Then smile and wave goodbye forever.

Manjula Padmanabhan, author and artist, writes of her life in the fictional town of Elsewhere, US, in this weekly column

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