You have to love air travel in India. A veg meal is one of the standard options—no need to pre-order. Hitting turbulence gives people at the rear of the plane license to shout epithets at the captain. And attendants apparently are allowed to treat customers like rival siblings:
Passenger: Orange juice, please.
Attendant: I’ve only got coffee and tea.
Passenger (irritated, each word pronounced slowly and distinctly): Can you just get me a fruit juice? (In Thailand this request would be couched as a hint.)
Attendant (while moving along, bordering on sarcastic): The inconvenience is regretted. (No suggestion that anything can be done about this issue.)
My only other trip to India was many years ago. Memories of similar peculiarities began to flood back. This time I was on my way to meet my friend Edie, whose son is studying in the northern district of Ladakh. We planned a ten-day stay in that dry, mountainous part of the country, which is also sometimes known as “Little Tibet.”
Just before getting ready for landing, the cabin was fumigated, protecting India from unidentified Thai pests. The inconvenience was regretted.
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