We had perfected the drill over time. I would get up early, coax my children into the car, and rush to the airport, a 20-minute drive from my brother's place which was our usual night halt. This enabled my daughter, who was studying design in Gandhinagar, to be in time for her classes after her visits home.
On one such occasion when we reached the domestic terminal we were told her flight would depart from the international airport, which was half an hour away. I thought it was the perfect time to make my speech on the benefits of preparing for the unexpected. See, my children detested the fact that I would wake them up an hour early so that we had time for unforeseen delays. This was a skill I had learnt from my father and I decided to use this opportunity to pass on the legacy, so I hammered it in.
We reached the terminal with some time to spare and my daughter went about the business of getting herself checked in. But there was a huge queue in front of the Indian Airlines (now Air India) counter. It was customary for us to leave only after she got her bags X-rayed and weighed. That done, we left her standing in the line and started our two-hour journey home. Half an hour later my daughter called to say she had missed the flight.
My reaction was a mix of amazement and exasperation. How could a child miss a flight once safely deposited within the confines of an airport? She said that when she reached the check-in counter after patiently waiting in line, she was informed it was too late to board. On my travels, I have often encountered harried ground staff on the lookout for passengers whose flights are about to leave. I wondered why no one had come looking for my daughter and helped her skip the queue. Anyway, suppressing my rage and cursing the public sector in general and Indian Airlines in particular, I returned to the airport. Once there, I painfully coughed up ninety seven hundred rupees for a ticket on the next flight and got my daughter on it. Not one angry word was uttered during this entire episode.
At this juncture you are trying to decide whether I am a liar or a supermom. You are wondering why I did not blow my fuse and yell at my daughter for being irresponsible. I do not have super powers and what I have recounted is the truth and nothing but the truth. But it is not the whole truth.
To explain what happened it is imperative that I provide two clarifications. One is that this incident happened a decade ago. A time when multinational food chains had not proliferated in every town and were a rare treat on our visits to the metropolis. The second is that my love for doughnuts is legendary, not the chocolate-coated ones or the ones filled with custard, but the plain sugar doughnuts with just a hint of cinnamon. So pristine is my love for them that my children often joke that I might choose doughnuts over deliverance!
That day as I was waiting at the gate of the departure lounge for my daughter to give me the thumbs up to leave, a waft from freshly baked doughnuts filled the air. It came from within the terminal area while we stood outside. The fragrance was so overpowering that I asked her to fetch me some. She hurriedly brought some over and asked if I wanted some coffee to go with it. Driven by temptation, I nodded. So off she went to fetch me a cappuccino.
Much later, when I analysed the incident, I realised there was subtle sarcasm in her voice. I suspect that as she was dutifully running around getting me doughnuts and coffee, the airline had been trying to locate her.
We never talked about it, and years later, accepting blame, I told her she might have missed the flight on my account. She said she already knew that because the ground staff had indeed looked for her in the queue. Surprised, I asked her why hadn't ever mentioned it before. She smiled and said, "Not everything needs to be rubbed in."
At ten grand, the do'nuts may seem overpriced, but it's a small price to pay for the realisation that you learn more from your kids than you can ever teach them.
dr_manjugupta@icloud.com
