Conspiracy in the air.

            I wonder if there is a conspiracy between airlines and airports abroad
to humiliate me. How else can I explain the embarrassing situations I
encounter whenever I travel in other countries? For example, landing
in Paris like any other passenger, I stand in the queue at the
immigration counter. When my turn comes, a lady examines my documents,
takes my thumb prints and asks me to step aside. The  ‘police de
l’aéroport‘  is summoned and I am led to an office where three
policemen watch as I press my thumbs on another machine. No image
appears on the screen. One of them forces my hand against the glass,
almost breaking my bones. Still no image. I am asked to wash my hands
and repeat the process. The screen remains blank. I tell them in my
halting French that the machine in their Consulate in Mumbai worked
very well. They were not too happy, but I am “released” at last to
proceed to the exit door. Was it my fault if their machine was bad?
            Soon after 9/11, I landed in Newark airport on a flight from San
Francisco en route to Paris. I had a good five hours to go. After a
long walk I arrived at Gate 28 where they were checking boarding
passes. When it came to my turn, they asked if I was bound for Paris.
When I said yes, they grabbed my suitcase, stamped my boarding pass
and pushed me onto the aerobridge. I thought I must have mixed up the
time zones, since everyone was already seated inside the aircraft. As
I walked along the aisle looking for my seat, the Captain announced
that I should report to the Flight Steward immediately. All heads
turned towards me. At the far end some even stood up to see  me. I was
back at Gate 28 with all my luggage. THEY had made a mistake. My
flight was actually five hours away!
            On my last visit to Paris however, it was a smooth passage. At least,
so I thought. On boarding the aircraft I found that my seat was right
in the middle of the aisle. Some passengers from India were on either
side. I tried to make conversation, but they did not seem too keen to
talk. Must be second generation Indians, I thought, who knew only
French. Suddenly, I saw TV cameramen with bright lights positioning
themselves in front of us.  Evidently a commercial video for the
airline, I guessed. I sat up straight, adjusted my tie and gave a wide
smile. My friends in Paris would be happy to see me on their TV sets.
A few days later, I did get a mail from one of them.
            “We were surprised to see you sitting in the midst of illegal
immigrants being deported to India. You were the only one smiling !”
            This was the most unkindest cut of all.