coming last but puffing along

Coming Last

I have really never in my life actually come last in anything. The thought that one day I might really find myself at the bottom of the pile has been a constant source of trepidation.

The good news is that it makes me leap out of bed at 4 am with a jolt, put on my running shoes, collect my I pod, safety devices ( read and dog and whip for other stray dogs) and head out the door into the cool darkness.

As the years caught up with me I have gotten slower despite my best efforts. It is a disheartening downward slide  which never seems to let up.

In the DRHM 2014 I finally scaled that pinnacle.127 out of 127 women and 1501 out of 1507 total. (I did manage to beat 6 men!)

The I checked the results again. There was no senior or veteran category or even differently abled!

I was the oldest woman running. The next after me in age was 7 years younger!

In the races in other countries that I have run and/ or just checked my age group results the seniors,  veterans and superveterans are given their due kudos.

Only in India we are ignored, relegated to the background and not encouraged.

I  was even told “you run to compete with yourself!”

Okay, but everyone else is competing with each other!

To all you youngsters out there—

One day you will be as old as me!

If no one encourages you to exercise, you will be an unfit  burden to your  children!

So DO NOT FORGET THE OLDIES!

flying to hyderabad

Flying to Hyderabad

The woman was ahead of me in the line to enter Chennai airport. Everyone ahead of her handed over their ticket and “photo ID.”

She just stood there.

“Ticket and ID,” said the CISF personal.

“Arre “ she said “wait.”

The queue behind me started to build up.

“Tell your sister to hurry up,” said an irate gentleman behind me “my counter will close!”

“She is not my sister” I said and looked desperately to see if I was better off switching queues.

Not that the woman was old or senile, she was just flabby and unfit with coloured hair and vividly red lipstick.

Her son came up from the side.

“Amma, I just gave you your ticket and ID! Where did you put it?”

She started rummaging through two plastic bags, a handbag and a laptop bag.

“I told you I did not want to carry this thing! I don’t see why I have to carry it for your brother.” She irritably indicated the laptop bag.

Finally the ticket was found in the side zip pocket of the laptop bag.

Sheepishly she said, ”I put it there so I would not misplace it!”

Everyone, (including me) was beginning to glare at the son.

The gentleman behind said loudly  to no one in particular, ”I don’t understand why people can’t look after their mothers!”

Once we entered the airport, to my horror, she was travelling on the same Indigo flight as I was to Hyderabad.

We reached the check in baggage screening counter. She proceeded to put all her luggage on it.

“No hand baggage ,” said the porter. She refused to budge.

“If I don’t screen all of it they will send me back. “ She was adamant. “I have been sent back before---.“

He was adamant too---for some time. The queue started building up again. Bowing to the inevitable, he screened her plastic bags.

We finally reached the check in counter.

“You can have only two hand baggages madam,” said the lady at the counter politely.

“I have only two, a lap top bag  and a purse.”

“What about those plastic bags?”

“They are only bags,” argued the lady.

Finally she was persuaded to put the bags into her checked in luggage. This meant the luggage seal had to be broken and she was sent back for screening. I could hear her  berating the porter there long after I clutched my boarding pass and ran for my life.

I assume she had problems in security because I heard her yelling at the officers for confiscating the water bottle in her hand bag. My own view is that since she obviously obeyed no instructions what so ever, her son must have given up and abandoned her to her fate and to the rest of us.

Once I entered the aircraft, I found I was in the first row with ---you guessed it my friend from the airport.

She strapped herself into her seat, put her chair in the reclining position and pulled down the window shade.

“Madam,” said the airhostess politely,” window shade up, and seat upright. Also you have to put your hand baggage in the overhead bin.”

“Nonsense,” said the woman,” I need my purse. I am more comfortable  reclining like this.”

“Madam,” started the airhostess again.

The lady looked the other way and closed her eyes.

The air hostess called her senior, a majestic looking woman with a button on her uniform that proclaimed she was in charge.

The lady closed her eyes and ignored the proceedings.

The airhostess went to the cockpit. After a few minutes the pilot ? co-pilot emerged.

“Madam, you have to keep your seat upright. We cannot take off otherwise.”

She opened her eyes and glared.

“We definitely cannot take off if you stand here. Aren’t you the driver of this plane?”

Thwarted, with no answer for this logic, he returned to the cockpit and the plane took off.

The one hour flight was a nightmare. She demanded a bottle of water and refused to pay. She wanted to go to the toilet as the plane was landing. Finally when we did disembark, her luggage was the last to arrive on the conveyor belt. She looked around for the hapless airline attendant but she was balked of her prey. The lady wisely  hid in  Café Coffee day.

When I landed I told my husband, “I have never seen a character like this! In any other country the air marshals would have unloaded her.

My husband looked thoughtful, “ I had a professor like that in medical college, she got away with a lot of things ---.”

universal studios

The main reason we (daughter, son-in-law grandson) went to the USA during the summer vacation this year apparently was so that my grandson could widen his horizons by seeing Universal Studios while he was still eligible to travel on a “half ticket” with (most important) adult luggage allowances.

(Later on we discovered that half ticket was actually 75% fare. Since ate more than most adults and drank more soft drinks than all of us put together I think the ticket may have been worth the price!

There was a giant rollercoster which reached up into the heavens at the entrance itself. There was no “wait time and not much of a line either. “That,” said my son “is because we got up very early. “

I didn’t think so. It was a orange monstrosity that I had to ct crane my neck to the point of pain to see.

“I don’t want to get on,” I said.

“You must,” said my son and daughter, “showing fear is a bad example for grandchildren.”

“I am an old woman,” I announced,” it says here” I vaguely pointed to a notice that listed warnings, ”that  you should not go on if you are old.”

“I will keep ma company” said my daughter. My son-in law disappeared towards the ice cream stand.

My son and grandson got on the ride. It had several twists and turns. They even hung upside down at one point. My son was shaking when he landed. His arm was red and sore. “This is where Adiv clutched it all the way screaming “tell them to stop! I want to get off!”

“Where you scared?” I asked.

“Oh no “ he said “they just kept irritating me by  playing music in my ear. I wanted them to stop!”

We had coached Adiv well.

“In all these shows they will ask for volunteers. There is no point in just raising your hand, they will ignore you. You have to run up there. “

For the first show he politely raised his hand. To his utter disappointment he was ignored. He learnt fast. For the next show, “Fear factor”  before the lady could say “volunteer----“ he was down there at her elbow.

He enjoyed himself thoroughly. The adult contestants had to eat raw octopus mashed with seaweed. He was gratified and clapping his hands with glee when they “puked and puked.”

From there we went to the horror show. En route he got his face painted like a green skeleton.

“We need a volunteer, an adult women.”

“Take my mama,” he shouted.

The compere said, “we might have to slice her arm off!”

“It doesn’t matter,” he said “cut it off.”

Even the compere was a bit taken aback. “the masked man is volunteering his mother but we have to take someone else,.”

They took a lady who knew very  little English. She screeched in a very satisfactory way when they started chopping her arm off and the blood squirted. Her son cried and sat on his father’s lap and then  wept and wailed. A very satisfying performance all around.

“Chop the other arm,” shouted my grandson.

“Hey masked bandit “ said the compere, ”WHERE are you from, you  bloodthirsty villain?”

“India,” shouted my grandson,” now chop my mother’s hand.”  

(The compere was very polite. After the show was over, with many impromptu inputs from the grandson, he posed for photographs with him with sawed off arms and heads.)

Dr. Gita Mathai

The writer is a paediatrician with a family practice at Vellore.

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