Tuesday Chaos

Let’s face it, my dear chapatis, India is not a country built for “what if.” It is barely held together for “what now.” We are a nation where jugaad is a national sport and contingency planning is left to the gods, astrologers, and the nearest WhatsApp group admin.

Every few weeks, nature sends us a little love letter .. sometimes with rain, sometimes with wind, and often with enough dust to exfoliate your ancestors. A thunderstorm rolls in, and suddenly, the airport looks like a refugee camp sponsored by Air India.

The moment a few raindrops fall, cities start gasping like they've been asked to recite Shakespeare in Sanskrit.

Roads disappear. Lights vanish. Trees collapse with all the grace of a drunk uncle at a Punjabi wedding.

And flights? Ah, those miraculous machines that defy gravity .. only to be defeated by drizzle. First they’re delayed, then cancelled, then diverted to a runway in a city you’ve never heard of, where the only welcome drink is bottled despair.

Inside the airport, it’s mayhem. Toilets overflow like government excuses. Water runs out faster than political promises. People form queues that resemble protest rallies, all shouting, crying, tweeting .. often simultaneously.

Infrastructure crumbles. Tempers flare. And what do we do?

We channel our inner Shakespeare and put on such tragic play.

We shout, we demand, we curse the staff who were just trying to survive their shift on instant coffee and existential dread.

We want miracles in a place that barely manages maintenance.

Hot food, clean toilets, working announcements .. and this, my friends, in a building where the Wi-Fi password is the only thing working properly.

We expect a 'Plan B' from a country that never even finished 'Plan A.'

But you see, this isn’t just about our airports. It’s about us. 'We the people,' armed with entitlement and zero patience.

We give no margin for error.

No space to breathe.

No time to think.

We erupt like that overboiled milk at the slightest inconvenience, even when the poor souls in uniform have less power than your phone’s battery at 2%.

Yes, of course we need better systems, better forecasting, better planning.

Yes, the government should be held accountable, though trying to hold them is like trying to hold a fart in an elevator.

But, you and I know the truth no one likes to hear:

Even in the best-run cities, the biggest storms will bend knees.

Even the richest countries look ridiculous when Mother Nature decides to sneeze.

The least we can do .. the absolute .. least- is not add our own nonsense to the pile.

Not become a second disaster while shaking our fists at the first.

Because sometimes, the most heroic civic act is not to yell. It is to take a deep breath, unclench your ass cheeks, and sit your chaotic bum down. Calmly.

But 3 weeks ago, at IGI Airport, we didn’t. We added masala to an already boiling pot of chaos. The flight from Delhi, I was so desperately trying to get my uncle on - didn't even bother to check-in with the passengers. A casual closure to a massive airport.

And so, my friends, until the next storm .. keep your boarding pass in one hand and a sense of humour in the other. You're going to need both.

Pour that stiff drink .. turbulence is inevitable. Eh?