The Sky is the Limit

That “everything  is to be served on a tray!” strongly etched on my mind, I placed a butter chiplet on a tea tray.To my horror as I pushed the tray forward he retorted , “ I want butter butter!’ I said, “Sir, this is butter!” Not convinced and doubting my sanity he made that famous ‘my thumb is a spout’ gesture and irately said butter,butter! I got it ! Did you get it? Butter, bawter, waatter , water ? I scampered to the aft galley hiding my laughter and embarrassment! He glared at me as he lifted the disposable water cup off the tray! Sorries do not fall easily through my lips !It was just a minor mis -communication! I forgave myself as I sashayed back ! My selection was the result of a mammoth impression I created on the panel of three astute interviewers with my latent mix bag skills of grooming and communication presented with utmost modesty and groundedness. I knew I had nailed it even before I got that important call on the landline telephone. Intuitive I have been all through. I was a part of the domestic arm of Lufthansa donning the navy blue uniform and wings after the 3 weeks training at The Grand ,Calcutta.I was elated!

The right of passage came in with a certification from the DGCA and I was rostered for my maiden flight to Madras. A dusky  November evening in  New Delhi where I was stationed,I ran across the tarmac in my brand new  Lotus mary janes to board the plane – security pass glitch got me running late! Consciously, I  peeked into my vanity mirror ,my not so clean swept French  knot  in place, a  dab of Copper perfume on my wrist and I stowed my handbag. Goosebumpy and absolutely lady like I tried to look  busy. I could feel the pinky toes squish as the bird lifted off the ground. I had just taken off with my first job - literally. I peered down to a vanishing smoggy  New Delhi as I prayed to Padre Pio ( my dad’s Patron Saint, a practice that I carried forward in  my  decade of flying career) I was convinced I was safe.

A year and a half flew by as I flew day in and day out. Beautiful days those were indeed. Colleagues and people around were a challenge but I was oblivious of many things a city  life  would bring. With the exhilarating  financial independence combined with the responsibilities towards myself,  I could thankfully  create a fine balance of both. Flying across 30 destinations interspersed with mini layovers in tranquil Goa and Cochin, buzzing Bombay and Calcutta  was one big holiday for me. Ferried  politicos, bollywood dudes and divas and the incessant Indian travellers by the hundreds. I was christened ‘sister’ many a times  and some odd ones  labelled me ‘nurse’ which I to this day fail to fathom. It was seriously not a joke when some familiar faces boarded the flight. It was awkward then. We were the pampered cabin attendants of the 90’s with the very palpable glamour quotient. It is all so different now – looks like, it is just another job. Coming back home to a studio apartment I shared with Luna – I was not tired. No, pub hopping and dancing was not my forte. I enjoyed sitting around, chit chatting with Luna and Mita my non flying friends as they chomped on the complimentary chocolate bars and laughed.  Life was going good until one fine day Mr. B K Modi called off the great partnership with Lufthansa that clipped my wings and grounded me hook, line an sinker. The newsmaker .' Modiluft go fly a kite' gave an awkwardly funny  closure to my days in the domestic skies!

With the coffers running dry and and my now calloused pinky toes itching  for a  heeled run through the airport terminal, I dared to put  my wings back as  I rummaged through  a Times of India Ascent issue hoping and praying for  an opportunity  this time  beyond the Indian airspace. As luck would have had it,  I was impressing another international panel .  Before it could  sink  in, I was talking about my dream  travel with my parents. Jordan is a mystical part of the Biblical history  and  was I more than blessed to be a part of this land’s national carrier. 

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Thus Royal Jordanian Airlines happened to me and it brought with it everything that a young girl would dream of. The gypsy soul within me found a bigger pair of wings to fly on – working beyond borders and time zones with girls like me from all corners of the world – It sure taught me to be proactive and collaborative, to understand and to be understood, to face and overcome challenges, to ensure unfailing safety and  wholehearted service to our guests in the sky.The touch of Jordanian  hospitality  showcased through the colourful abaya clad Yahalas serving Arabic coffee was straight out of the Tales of Arabia.It fascinated me as I laughingly tried to grasp the Bedouin language. Equipped with  world class training in safety procedures and service standards where old Mr.Walid introduced us to  petit fours and   hors d’oeuvres,  steaks – well done , medium or rare , cheese and wine, aperitifs and digestifs.I drooled while the vegans retched ! Ms. Mai Haroun was uncompromising with her lessons on First aid and Safety. Simulating real life emergencies from emergency landings to  evacuations and  ditching, we drilled till we got it right. Read the safety manual like the Bible followed by briefings and reruns until I was confident and  ready to take flight. I perfected the 'hostie' gait and traveled across the world, shopped till I dropped , made wonderful friends in dear  Audrey, Lily, Chris, Tshering, Rachel and Ingrid  and many more. What lovely  memories I have of these even lovelier ladies who stood by me, welcomed me into their senior gang of girls. The days off were home lunches and dinners, outings, gin afternoons or dance evenings in and around posh Swefieh.  Audrey’s made to perfection  Indo- Malay curry   with  crunchy sautéed cabbage and Tshering’s scallion and beef dumplings are recipes that have found a way  to my heart and hearth. I recreate  them off and on for my family as I reminiscence my old flying days.  

Based in Amman, flying to India was always a delight.To come home to my cozy apartment in New Delhi and to meet Rahul was always the highlight and the priority  of the flight bids. It was a high flying life with a series of life learnings which I soaked in like blotting paper. Whether it was the smoothest long haul flight to Toronto and a visit to the Niagara Falls or it was a short trip to Cairo and to the Great pyramids at Giza, expensive Europe or affordable Far East everyday was an adventure for a small town girl . On the flip side a  technical snag and a mayday call to  Goose Bay  in eastern Newfoundland followed by an emergency landing or  another  hydraulic failure and a planned emergency landing into Amman when I knelt in the tiny R3 lavatory and invoked all the Gods to bring me to safety have reinforced my belief system and  power in prayers in times of absolute helplessness. These experiences have shaken and shaped me.

Yes I made that dream travel with my parents to the Holyland. A pilgrimage to Madaba and Mt Nebo and the baptismal site of Jesus  in Jordan followed by the road travel to the West Bank to the holy city of Jerusalem . Bethlehem, Nazareth and Galilee.  Then on to Egypt as the part of the holy trail. Realising my mother’s dream to  touch the waters where Jesus walked has been one of my biggest  achievements. 

In the meanwhile I got hitched to the love of my life. Jordan became Rahul’s  second home as he shuttled between India and Jordan and yes we did continue to travel this time round on the spouse quota! for a few years more. Chris my feng shui master suggested ‘If you want to be together you need to keep  the ‘Happiness’ sign  for good luck and new opportunities. It proved potent and effective  when Rahul got a job offer from Goa.  Unable to ignore the  call of the sun, sand and the sea   after all these years of meeting and parting, I dropped  in my resignation thus trading my wings for a relaxed “susegad’ Goan experience. Thousand fold richer with valuable experiences and wonderful friends and memories I traveled back bidding farewell to  Jordan  that was my home for  8 long years.

I finally happily and willingly  clipped my wings.

Claudia Joshi

 P.S July 2019

After a long  17 years Rahul and I  decided to  revisit Jordan this time with children in tow. It was a weeks itinerary and I had precisely two reason to be excited about this trip to Jordan. First was to meet Lily, a dear friend and  RJ colleague ,to catch up on all those years and second was to show my children in and around the town and country. Jordan has changed – more concrete and more people but the old Middle Eastern charm is still intact. It was a trip full of OMGs for me.‘ I cannot  thank Lily enough for the lovely time we had. The mansaf lunch at Hotel Jerusalem in downtown Abdali to the pint at the Irish Pub for the old times sake and for everything between and beyond. Till we meet again Lily ( either in India or Singapore ) sometimes soon.

Claudia Joshi

21, June 2020

 

 

Happy Feet

 

 Happy Feet                                        

Growing up in the hills of Darjeeling is one thing, blessed with parents for whom walking was the one point solution to all celebrations, challenges and problems  is entirely another . Let me talk about the latter. My very earliest childhood memories comprise of walking home after a dinner at my uncle’s place. I must have been four. It was pitch dark and my father had a torch with him ( to this day he carries a torch  – it could be for a brief afternoon walk but there he has it in his jacket pocket!). Uncle fixed  a make- do kerosene torch  locally known as a ‘rako’ to supplement the dying cells. Inhaling the heady sooty fumes ,we trudged up the Kharey Khola slope. Panting and stopping a while to catch a breath we a big family of 7 walked home. The jackals howling in the forest above Goethals Memorial School. I was afraid to look up to the dark skies. Reassured by my fathers’s experience that if you shout and make some noise the bears and jackals would keep to their track, he whistled and mama kept pace in her block heel sandals. “Are you tired? Should I carry you?” asked dad. Mama  quipped, “ We will all walk slowly’  After a brief flat stretch of  Hill Cart Road and an occasional truck trundling in the night , we hit the final climb to St. Mary’s Hill and I am  overjoyed because I feel safe with the familiar  houses with the lone yellow  bulb to light up the balcony and small gardens. Dogs howl and bark at us – keep walking says mama and we do exactly that. Walking through the short cuts and the supposedly haunted bridge where frog croak  all night and  finally ah!  the  sighting of the church steeple. We all bow and make the sign of the cross.I thank Jesus for keeping me safe during the walk home! Home is just a hop, skip and jump from the church. We are home.  Next  morning I see the ‘rako’ orphaned outside. sitting  all cold and black behind the main door. I wonder why we  cannot  have more battery torches when we walk in the dark? For that matter why walk in the dark?

 

I was brought up on a heavy dose of walking through all seasons -  endless walks up through the jungle or down to the banks of Balasun river, walking to school, to town, walking to my beloved aunty’s house, visiting cousins, walking to church, to the grotto and to the graveyard, to collect wild avocados and chestnuts. I walked all the time till the sole of my shoes flattened and  withered and my girly sandals bruised and broke.

 

Of course people walk, more so, in the hills people walk. But we walked a lot. A bit too much for  comfort. A bit too much for people to remark ‘hidnu ramro ta’ all the time.  Our old Willys Jeep and a trusted rental white ambassador with Balu driver driving us here and there is not worth writing about . Walking takes the cake any day!  Sunday  mass  was followed by an unsaid decision to trek to  Deer Park. In the 80’s this little park just above Dow Hill school about 5 kms from home was our favourite haunt so much so that the caretaker Mr. Subba  and his family are now  family friends. After the fun uphill walk which is a breeze for us people with solid calf muscles and strong lungs the pit stop here is interesting with steaming tea and  snacks as we relax and refuel.  It is not  over yet when we  decide to inch towards Chimney and Chaiteypani and walk back . By evening we would  have clocked a good 15 kms and yes we loved it. We gathered fresh vegetables straight from  the villages as we walked passed the familiar faces and terrain.  Occasionally it was  the  walk towards Balasun Valley . This route I disliked as a child because the way back was the whooping  uphill trudge.That was quite a task nevertheless, my pleas fell on deaf ears.

 

It was a Dusshera break during my mid school years. The October days are  pristine ,colourful and festive. But  how would I have known  the longest  and the darkest   October night  if mama and her brothers hadn’t  planned a night trek  to Tiger hill. We were talking a 25 kms walk via the  Military road  that cuts through the jungle. Mom and dad  along with my maternal  uncles, my sister and a few  cousins – we walked all through the night. It was cold and dark and I was tired and scared. On and off they burst crackers to fend the wild animals away. Somewhere in the night  I gobbled two boiled eggs and downed some water. It was twilight at Tiger Hill  bustling with blanket wrapped domestic tourists and faithful old land rovers ferrying them to witness the grandeur of the fiery Mt. Everest and Kanchenjunga at sunrise. All I remember was a queasy feeling  and  mama  saying  ‘ Look , look  the sun looks beautiful’ Looks like I passed out because I woke up to mama putting a sip of hot tea to my lips. Yes I had fainted after the all night walk. I was chided for being a weakling. Post the heist it was  breakfast of steaming dumplings and butter tea served by Tibetan amalas at Jorebunglow followed by a drive home. I did not vow never to walk again!

 

The walks continue - now that I have kids of my own and my parents are proud grandparents passing down the family walking culture. My siblings, nieces and nephews walk the same stretch ever so often with them. Today it is nostalgia and the walks are an extension of our family experiences and memories. I miss home and the Grotto- Calvary- Dow Hill- Deer Park trail .I yearn to  walk those familiar routes. The longing to be  back home and making  those trips like when I was a little girl is insatiable.

 

Telecommunications have come a long way and I am thankful for a little gadget in my hand –.I call my parents and the sweetest voicemail says that the number is out of coverage area. I right away know they must be a pair of  happy feet – walking to better health and happiness in the far off  hills in the cover of green. It’s almost Summertime and the children are looking forward to their trip – to their annual retreat to nature and the great walks with the grandies

Claudia Joshi

Keep Walking