My First Flight and the Pistol

             The first happenings in one’s life stand in high relief.  But I had a bitter experience on my first flight, a journey that took me from excitement to fear and finally to relief.

It was the year 1995.  I was on my way to Chennai, then known as Madras, to participate in the All-India Police Duty Meet in the pistol shooting event.  The Palam Airport was my destination, and I arrived there at dawn, filled with excitement.  This was not just my first national-level event representing the state police, but also my maiden voyage by air.  I could feel the crisp air ticket in my pocket, a reassuring reminder of the adventure awaited me.  However, a shade of fear of the unknown lurked deep within me, tempering the excitement of my first air travel.

            I entered the terminal building and was awestruck by its grandeur.  Carrying a small airbag and a suitcase, I went directly to the Indian Airlines counter to check in my luggage.  I told the man at the counter that I was carrying a service pistol with me.  He told me that I could not get on board with a gun.  However, I could pack it securely in my suitcase to be transported in the luggage compartment.

            I hesitated.  It was a government weapon, and I could be suspended if it were misplaced. 

I approached the security officer, introduced myself, and informed him of my situation. He reiterated what the man at the counter had said and assured me it was an accepted practice, and I should have no reason to worry.  I followed his advice and obtained my boarding pass.

            During those days, militancy in Punjab was at its peak.  Therefore, as a security measure, all passengers were required to identify their luggage before it was loaded onto the aeroplane. This meticulous process was designed to ensure the safety of all passengers.  Passengers were led to a corner of the terminal where a security officer pasted stickers on the identified pieces of luggage.  One by one, passengers identified their packages and moved to the waiting plane.

My turn came, but my grey Safari suitcase was nowhere!

I went around nervously, fumbling frantically with the remaining pieces of luggage.  The suitcase was not there.  The security officer asked me to wait for the next lot.  It came and went by.  My attaché was not there.

The time for take-off was approaching fast.  I lost my patience and soon shouted at the security officer.  I told him that the suitcase contained a 9mm pistol.  He reported the matter to his superiors over the walkie-talkie.  A frantic search ensued.  The crew of the Delhi-Madras flight was asked to wait.

            Half an hour’s search yielded no result.  I was unsure if anyone was taking pains in locating the missing item.  I could only see the security and airline staff shouting on their walkie-talkie sets.  I insisted that if the weapon were not traced, I would lodge a First Information Report (FIR) against the airline.  

After some time, a man in a blue blazer arrived, who was introduced to me as the airline’s manager.  He told me the suitcase was loaded onto another Delhi-Madras flight via Hyderabad.  He pleaded with me to board the flight, as it was already half an hour late, and assured me that the suitcase would reach Madras.  

            With a heavy heart, I boarded the plane that took off on its journey.  The thrill of the first flight had vanished completely.  The 2-hour flight time seemed as if ages had passed. I was filled with a mix of anger, fear, and disappointment.  What security were these guys assuring?  How was an unidentified suitcase taken on board a different flight?  All those nasty security procedures at the entrance were an eyewash after all.  

            I had to wait about an hour before the second Delhi-Madras flight landed and the luggage hit the conveyor belts.  My heart pounded heavily, and my eager eyes gazed with expectation at the tumbling pieces of luggage on the belt.  Every passing minute would increase my anxiety.  Suddenly, my gaze caught the grey Safari suitcase, and I dashed for it.  But to my horror, another gentleman picked it up before I could reach him.  After examining the suitcase for a while, he placed it back on the belt.  By that moment, I arrived there and picked up the suitcase, my heart still racing with the fear of losing it again.       

Yes, it was mine.  My ordeal had finally ended. The relief that washed over me was indescribable, a mix of joy and gratitude that a lost suitcase did not mar my journey.  

            That man might have identified the suitcase as his at the Delhi airport, as it bore the identification sticker.  

I did not wait to see whether his suitcase arrived on the same flight.  I couldn’t help but wonder about the other passenger’s experience.  Did he also experience the same anxiety and fear that I did?  It was a moment of reflection when I realised we were both victims of a flawed system.