London, glorious London!! It
feels just so good to be back.
The flight into London seemed
terribly long – it’s listed at a mind numbing 9 hours and 30 minutes but feels longer
– was pleasant and mind numbing in its interminability. Though the flight as
full, there were thankfully few children and wheelchair cases.
We had read of horror
stories of passengers having to queue for hours to clear British immigration.
It seems the problem was caused by a huge cut down of immigration officers in a
budget cut. The rumpus this has caused is enormous. Newspapers are screaming
blue murder, questioning the logic of this move not only when tourism is being
promoted as well as cutting down officers when the Olympics are being held in
London. Willie Walsh, the CEO of British Airways had strong words when criticising
the move to cut down immigration staff. On one level this cutback seemed so familiar
to me coming from India, where, as far as our Nanny, the government, is
concerned, logic seems to not exist in any form whatsoever. On another level, frankly,
I was worried.
When we landed, to our
surprise, there was no line at immigration at Heathrow and we were cleared in
literally 45 seconds. We then rushed down to Baggage Claim only to find our
bags circulating on the carousel. This was British efficiency at its best. Willie
Walsh was criticised when Terminal 5 the dedicated British Airways terminal was
inaugurated, for huge baggage delays. He had said that the state of art baggage
handling systems were so modern that the operators needed a few days to get
them operating at peak efficiency, and, the target was that your bags should be
on the carousel by the time a passenger had cleared immigration. This time, British
Airways and Heathrow delivered as promised.
Now starts the fun. We
grabbed our bags, two of which are bright, almost fluorescent orange, intentionally
bought to stand out, rushed past customs, identified our driver and left. Traffic
was light, the weather great, evening sunshine and everything looking rosy. Vainglorious
is a word that comes to my mind. Just about a mile from our destination my
phone rang. It was a man from British Airways telling me I had picked up the
wrong bag. I quickly turned around and saw that yes indeed I had picked up someone’s
bag that was exactly the same bright orange as mine. He was on the same flight
us and naturally his bag appeared on the same carousel. The owners name was Mr.
Abhijit Marathe who, when I spoke to him was rather worried and seemed shaken.
He could obviously not carry my bag out of the airport as he would have to
clear customs and British Airways would not let him carry a bag which was not
his. Of course I had carried a bag which was not mine thru customs but that was
done unwittingly. This was becoming Kafkaesque. Mr. Marathe was booked into a
hotel close to our apartment, so we popped in and left his bag at the hotel. He
was relieved and he got his bag before he reached his hotel. In fact he was so
relieved and pleased that a fellow Maharashtrian had picked his bag that not
only was all conversation on telephone in Marathi but he also wanted to meet
me. I had no such intention. I faced the daunting task of trekking back to
Heathrow at 11pm to retrieve my bag.
 |
| The orange bag |
We were scheduled to meet
Friend Philosopher & Guide [FPG] and his effervescent better
half [using Indian English] the Most Respected Auntieji [MRA] for dinner at
Maroush. You may recall them from the Bright Courtyard. It was under these
circumstances that we had dinner i.e. the overhang of having to go to Heathrow,
lost bag. Not a bad dinner after all, have a look at the updated photographs.
No alcohol was consumed as FPG has very very kindly agreed to drive us to
Heathrow.
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