Our Desi Diwali holiday in Thailand

A long day at work and an evening of rushed packing prepared us for an early morning flight to Bangkok airport. Bags packed and done with dinner, we crash early only to be up hours later at 2:15am. We’re at the airport well before 4am. The queue is as expected, with Indians, like us making up for most of the travellers onboard this Lion Air flight. Everyone is embarking on their Desi-Diwali vacation to Thailand. There were single men, but surprisingly many families too, with children armed with trolleys, bag packs and suitcases. The boy ahead in queue is pushing his father’s suitcase. He’s 7 or 8 but his parents look like 50 or more. Perhaps, it’s their excess baggage and weight that makes them appear older than they really are.

There are others in the queue too, carrying bright red bags, rolling bright red suitcases and then some more. Turns out we’re travelling with tourists taking one of those packaged tours to Thailand. I thought Kesari Tours were meant for retired couples, spending their savings to see the world, to stamp their presence on passports and assert their social status. I’m wrong.

I’m anxious for other reasons, concerned that our two cabin bags might be just around the 14kg limit. When our turn arrives, I’m first relieved that we made the 14kg limit, but the attendant says I can’t carry my office bag, I need to shove it into my compact suitcase. I’m told they’ll let you through, but the ‘crew’ won’t. As an obedient, fearful and non-questioning Indian, I oblige. I’m on my knees at the counter, emptying my bag into the suitcase, making space, trying to hide my boxers from those eyeing them from the queue behind. On the right counter is the 7-year-old now trying to cling on to the counter, lifting himself to the attendant. His father is busy arguing with the attendant, over why he can’t get his 5 suitcases into cabin baggage even if they’re under 20kg. I’m on my knees, my dignity washes away but it’s too late. I’ve already passed judgments on the couple.

The elderly couple and the child wobble around to immigration, and after a good 30 minutes wait, we’re through. We board our flight and it is noisy. People are blocking the passage way, shoving everything in the overhead compartments, bags, purses, suitcases and more. People are walking back and forth like it’s a outgoing train. There’s a sense of achievement and victory, it’s visible on their faces. They’re flying, they’ve paid for it and they’re going to savour every bit of this budget airline flight. No one’s paying attention to the air stewardesses’ announcements. They’ve seen this several times before and they dread the passengers. The APUs turn off as we approach the runway and every uncle is fidgeting with the air conditioning vents. They are not getting their money’s worth!

We reach cruising altitude and it’s time for, well nothing. Since this is a budget airline, we’re not expecting a meal, but we’re surprised to see a regular sized water bottle and a reasonably large sized vegetarian roll as breakfast. I’m very impressed. On local carriers, we’re treated with enough water to feed a sparrow and a pack of cup noodles, priced at Rs. 250. I feel cheated, but not here. Our passengers aren’t impressed though; they’re demanding proper meals, and vegetarian ones at that, armed with broken English and confused western-sounding accents. I’m being an adult to differentiate, pulling out my phone to capture every landmass and cloud formation that floats by my window. My wife thinks I’m equally silly. I’m knocked out minutes later as my lack of sleep catches up with me.

We’re landing in Thailand shortly, and the pre-landing announcements are being made. The boys in the rows behind are mocking the Thai accents again. They’re pulling their phones out and playing games, being reminded by the air stewardess again. When she passes, they’re back at it and they’re mocking her scolding too. They’re bullying the youngest fellow on the other side of the aisle. Their sisters are just as annoying and loud. None of them speaks Hindi or English. You take a wild guess, where they’re from. Let’s see if you’re judgmental too!

While on final approach, the boys are making fun of neat patterns of the towns below. Pretty sure those are signs of an organized town, unlike the ones we’re coming from. We touch down and everyone is up in moments, to dive out of the plane. Nothing new to see here. We’re in no hurry as we have a long 4-hour stopover ahead of us at Don Mueang airport.

I dread immigration lines, and the one in Bangkok is no different. It’s zig-zagging within a space of a medium-sized room. There’s an air cooler for the sweatier nationalities, and we’re sharing the queue with the minorities, a few Koreans and Japanese. We have maybe 70 people ahead of us, and as a reasonably sane couple, we’re proud to have our paperwork ready. We’re obedient, quiet and orderly, but it’s no point.

Almost immediately, we see Indians getting under the ropes trying to skip rows. They’re pointing out somewhere in the crowd, claiming they got left behind, and they need to go there. Those people there, have our papers, and they’re with them. They’re sheepish in their attempts. Any reluctance from the foreigners is responded with a slightly pushy, one-armed, let-me-pass-ahead gesture. They get their way and groups of people are going ahead. We’re delayed by nearly an hour. It’s tiring and frustrating. The impatience is evident on the Korean and Chinese faces. Even the chubby couple and the boy are there. The wife is completely lost as to what’s going on, the husband, he has bravado on display. The boy is tugging at things and being an absolute nuisance in general.

The Koreans are dumbfounded as they find themselves not making progress through the queue. A few girls on holiday, have had enough. They block the way, and say a rather blunt, Sorry! No! If this were India, this would erupt into an argument. Good sense and the fear of prison prevails so the group of unruly girls who’ve been stopped, must wait their turn.

These three girls are from the same family as the boys mocking the Thai in the flight. It’s a group of 3 families, on a group-holiday. They’re glad they got so far ahead. They’re waving back and showing their thumbs, at their families who are far behind us, that they’ve got so far ahead by jumping the queue. It’s our turn with the immigration officer, we hand over our papers and passports. Things are going on fine, as trouble strikes the girls who made it so far. The officer refuses to issue them VISAs since there aren’t any return travel details mentioned. The officer is trying her best to explain this in English, and the girls keep throwing the papers back at her. They’re looking back at their families now in irritation, mocking the officer, repeating what she said in a nasal accent. This goes on for minutes. We’re waiting patiently at first, as our officer is handling this situation.

Another couple has the same issue and the officer is losing her patience and mind. Now, she’s shouting back - RETURN TRIP DETAILS! She’s standing in her seat, using our tickets and paperwork to highlight the return trip details with a pen. At least, this couple speaks Hindi. They’re asking us what she wants. The details are there, but they’re simply not organized. I try to explain, then the guy tries to grab our tickets to take photos with his phone. I grab our tickets and hand them back to the immigration officer. Now, the annoying girls are back and they’re trying to shove their papers in while we’re there. The officer throws her papers back again, and the girl tries to get back in again. Now, I’m really pissed. I stare her down and with a slightly loud voice, tell her to wait for her turn.

We’re through and we make a run for it. We’re out of there a few minutes later. We’re in Phuket hours later, and we rarely see our people thereon. It’s a nice, calm holiday. The return journey from Bangkok is a less annoying repeat of our onwards journey. We land five hours later, and we’re headed towards immigration and then I see them.

The boy is rolling a now, over-loaded suitcase into people side-to-side, into moving walkways and his parents are wobbling far behind.

Jesus Fucking Christ. We’re back…