My vexation grew. Aerophobia spread and engulfed like a cancerous tumour. Everything was motionless until...
The pilot adjusted the throttle and we were off.
The journey was going smoothly until the food arrived. The food was transported efficiently across the mini corridors much to the delight of my fellow impatient passengers. The cabin people expertly placed the food onto my cabin station. Like many greedy passengers, I opened without any hesitation to fill my body with the “nutrients”. However, my short lived expectations of high classe cuisine were short lived as the meal was poorly presented. Like they say: you never judge a book by its cover! I endeavoured to tuck in the main course. Yet I must admit the rate at which I put the rice in was eclipsed by the rate it later came out. The rice was terribly overcooked. It lacked the flavours which you would associate with brilliant, fine Asian cuisine of high repute. This was a second class service from a so called pioneering, premier aircraft service. Not only was my appetite ruined, my mood had not improved since I stepped on the plane three tedious hours ago.
Five lingering hours prolonged my misery on this plane. Luckily for me, I survived my ordeal and we touched down at the palatial Islamabad airport with no delays. I breathed a huge exasperated sigh of relief.
My first step in the wilderness was met gratefully by sweltering rain. I was escorted to the airport by a benevolent member of staff who was wearing brown rags which were basically a shabby, shoddy and skimpy uniform. I sympathized with his impoverished state and paid him a chunky commission of 25 rupees (30p) which he graciously accepted, expressing his gratitude at my deed by offering countless “Mehrbani’s” and excessive prayers.
Moving swiftly on towards my destination, I picked up my luggage and was safeguarded by the moustached army of police who intensified their security because of the increasing risk to foreign travellers posed by extremist militants.
I arrived safely at a hotel in the outskirts of Rawalpindi in the twilight hours of 1:00am. I was escorted to my room, yet there was no workers who could my luggage. The room was alien and unsurprisingly stiflingly hot. I felt the urge to search for an Air conditioner. Instead of finding an air conditioner, I had to be content with a compact fan. Now I pitied the local poor people who faced these taxing energy sapping conditions, without much income to provide nourishing food. They scrounge around like opportunists waiting for a tantalising bite of mediocre left- overs. In addition, to be honest, I was looking to experience the richly flavoured spices which you struggle to get in England. These spices are enticing due to their illuminous colours and aromatic scents. The spices coupled with nose twitching fine Asian cuisine of high repute are usually the most useful cog in making Asian food so popular and an envy of the western world. The food lifts you and tingles your parched taste buds. They also pack a heavy punch. I reached for the room service button and duly ordered Chicken biryani (Pakistan’s very own speciality which rivals many). I was eagerly anticipating munching into what I thought should be fine scrumptious food cooked with love. Half an hour elapsed. I waited. Waited. No food arrived. I frantically searched for my boots when...
The knock came. On the opposite side of the colossal arched doorway stood a teen. He spoke in fluent urdu and I could sense that he was anxious.
“Sorry saab,no chicken”, he ushered.
“What do you mean no chicken? You should have told me 30 minutes ago”, I shouted. He dejectedly raced out.Once my hot anger cooled , I realised the poor customer satisfaction I experienced today reflected the dysfunctional society. I decided to spend the rest of my time scouring this once prosperous great country, but knew that I should expect the unexpected.