The Market vs The Cathedral

The Man from Madras ­Musings has been on a never-ending bout of travel. He has been so much in and out of the world’s best airport, namely our own, that he may as well be considered one of its fixtures. Add to this last week’s meltdown of that airline which always hustled you so much that you arrived at your destination before you took off, and you will not be wrong in saying that what was left of MMM’s hair was standing on end like quills on a fretful porpentine. It was only the will power of MMM’s good lady, also known as She Who Must Be Obeyed that saw MMM through. As regulars of this column will know, she has an eye like Mars, that threatens and commands.

If the chaos at the airports was not bad enough, the approach to our airport is even worse. Of late, whether it is because of the perennial bad blood between our Raj (sorry Lok) Bhavan and Fort St George, MMM knows not, but the area surrounding the gubernatorial residence is forever in a state of stalled traffic. Vehicles get diverted through what seems like the eye of a needle and emerge shaken, and stirred. As a consequence, going to the airport takes forever. Yes, Metrorail is a fabulous option and MMM uses it often but there are occasions when a lot of baggage precludes this.

Thus it was that MMM, one night, having completed an event in the city, was driven to the airport to board a flight to that other city by the sea, on the west coast. Google Maps showed a driving time of 45 minutes and MMM assumed all was well. But as time went on, this stretched like elastic and kept stretching, with the entire route marked blood red. And it got worse as the airport approached, to the extent that driving time from entrance of the complex to the departure terminal showed a further 30 minutes. VIP movement was the explanation given for the chaos. MMM got off the car and sprinted the last one kilometre, carrying all his luggage, rather in the manner of Bhima who walked about carrying his mother and brothers. He had almost given up on catching the flight when the electronic display showed that MMM’s flight was an hour behind schedule and so all was well.

This by the way was not the airline that lands on time, but the other – the one named after Indian rulers of a more relaxed age. And its functioning was, is, and will probably always be reflective of that era. MMM made bold to ask one of the attendants at the counter as to why no message was sent alerting him of the delay. The response was a smile with a mumble about yes that was an option but only when delays are beyond one hour! Anyway, MMM was not complaining – he had made it. Boarding was done in a leisurely fashion and what with a lot of smiling and welcoming etc, the flight was delayed even more with MMM landing at the destination in the wee hours of the next morning. But yes, the seats were well padded and the food (covered in your ticket) was superlative. Clearly, the old is still gold though its timekeeping could do with some improvement.

The terminal from where this airline operates in our city is reflective of its style. Taking a leaf from Perhaps Greatest Writer’s comparison between Paddington and Waterloo, here all was refined quiet. People moved in leisurely fashion and MMM was strongly reminded of stately cathedrals he had been to. In contrast, the other terminal, where the airline now suffering meltdown operates from, is all chaos, hustle and bustle. Passengers fight over the trays on which they have to keep their carryon baggage for security, whereas in the other they were actually assisting each other. And that is also the terminal where airline desk managers literally scream out the destinations of their flights, reminding you of a market where costermongers are calling out their wares. MMM usually emerges from that terminal with the feeling he was boarding a suburban train in the metro-by-the-sea-on-the-west. Here on the other hand, he was actually winding down, looking forward to forty winks on board the flight.

Perhaps it is a sign of MMM slowing down but he thinks he will extend patronage to the durbari airline a little more in future.

Awards Ceremony Oddities

The awards ceremony was reaching its speech stage. The Man from Madras Musings was one of the recipients and stirred uneasily in his seat. He is never comfortable when having to listen to longwinded sermons and having attended many events, has a kind of sixth sense about what kind of speeches to expect. This one, something told MMM, was sure to be among the longest wound. And MMM was not wrong. But it provided him much amusement because of what was happening on stage.

The speaker, a person of venerable age, shuffled to the lectern and then having peered at his sheets as though this was the first time he was seeing it (very likely it was), proceeded to stumble his way through it. MMM had not expected any different and so did not find much there to hold his attention. But at the other end of the stage, there was plenty to keep him engrossed. For seated there was the dynamic and young secretary of the organisation. As to how young MMM could not guess, but the man had enough hair to dye it and slick it back. He was also dressed in a manner that was better suited for weddings of the kind where the bridegroom arrives on a horse, ladies dance around it with rupee notes in their mouths and gun shots are fired.

But that was not what kept MMM spellbound. It was the sight of the secretary lip-syncing the entire speech of the chief guest that was fascinating. He was word perfect, unlike the man at the podium and it was clear that he had written the entire speech and what was more, had taken the pains to learn it all by heart. It did not end with this. As each geriatric came on to speak, the man mouthed all their words. It was fascinating to watch. But as to why he felt he had to do this was beyond MMM. Was it merely out of force of habit? But there it was. And it gave MMM exactly the same feeling that he gets when he watches a film with sub-titles.

Some of the more alert speakers on stage noticed it as well and a couple of them were riled. MMM thinks that they felt that this was secretary’s way of showing to the audience that he had written all their speeches and but for him, this organisation would collapse. And one of the elders did extract his revenge. When it came to his speech he decided he would depart from the typed speech and ad lib. And this was ostensibly to faintly praise the secretary, who was in effect being damned. The Methuselah at the mic said the organisation was blessed to have such a dynamo as its secretary and then proceeded to say that he had no idea what the secretary does but what he does, he does well. He then also proceeded to state that secretary was problem-solver, go-to man and a vital cog who was also a great hit with the ladies! The secretary squirmed in his seat. But that was not the end of it. The elder’s mind had got into a speech loop and did not know how to conclude his speech. And after every once in a while, he came back to talking on the secretary like the refrain of a song. But having run out of adjectives he called him a lady-killer and then, after a while, serial killer as well. At this point, someone came and led away the elder and the event went on its dreary way to its conclusion.

With the December Music Season just beginning, MMM is sure that there will be more such events and so, watch this space.

– MMM