I can’t profess to being your number one fan. I can’t claim to be even one of your biggest fans. In fact the first time I saw you, the first time I ever went to a cricket match and, for that matter, the first whole cricket match I have ever seen, was in January last year.I went along with my friend and her cohort of fervent Sri Lankan fans; her mother, father, sisters, boyfriend, his friends, family friends. A big group of Sri Lankans and me sat down to watch Sri Lanka versus Australia. Sam was sure she would have me converted by evening but as much as I love her family, underneath it all I am undeniably and inescapably Aussie. At one point that little aussie side of me felt a little confused; the visitors were getting thrashed- isn’t it Aussie to back the underdog? But I remained steadfast.I think you went out for a duck that day, Ricky, but don’t worry, we all have bad days.
So I’m not really a cricket fan at all, but as fate would have it, to you Ricky, I am forever indebted. My limited cricket education continued during my temporary residence in Nepal last year. Every shop keeper wanted to know where I was from and emphatically replied “oh Australi…. the Ashes!”
But by December it was time to leave Nepal and head home for Christmas and the Australian summer. In my hand was an awful ticket taking me to half of Asia’s airports before finally due for arrival in Melbourne two days later. As long as there were no delays I it would be a bearable trip and it was a cheap ticket.
My Kathmandu to Delhi flight was delayed.
Two hours delayed.
At six thirty the pilot announced that there was no landing space so we were in queue, circling
Delhi international airport at 6000 feet.
We landed at 7.00. My instructions in had been to collect my baggage and ask at the information desk for directions to my connecting flight to Bombay. A long immigration queue stood in the way of me and my bags. At 7.15 I passed over my passport to a woman with massive glasses sliding off her long nose.
“‘Is this you?’ she asked, I nodded, ‘Are you sure?’ Incredulously I insisted that I was sure it was my passport. “You changed your hair. Very nice haircut”.
She handed back my passport.
“Thank-you” I said, and ran for the baggage carosel.
Armed with my backpack I headed to the information desk and showed them my ticket. The woman pointed me out the gate and through a door where the shuttle between the domestic and international airports leaves from. It was now 7.30. My Bombay flight leaves at 8.00.
At the doorway the old man shakes his head, ‘No ma’m, your coach left at 7.00. What I suggest it is that you are to do is to take a prepaid taxi service to the airport. You can take it from over there” pointing to the other end of the arrivals hall and wobbling his head with closed eyes to signal that he was finished speaking.
I ran over the other side and stood in line. Well I stood behind people who were there first, and soon I was standing behind people who came after me. Eventually, one of the perks (and curses)of being a foreigner, is that you’re always immediately identifyable as someone who doesn’t belong, ‘Excuse me ma’m, how may I help you’. With only US dollars and Nepali Rupee in my wallet I was sent away to find a money changer and Indian Rupee.
Surely looking like a fool by now I ran back inside and to the nearest glass window and showed my greenbacks. The man behind the glass shook his head. So did the next man, and the woman, and every other person sitting behind glass in the whole airport.
I ran back to the information desk and a youngish man in a white shirt asked how he could help me this evening.“My flight was delayed from Kathmandu so I missed the shuttle which I should have got to the domestic airport to get my flight to Bombay so I’ve been trying to get a prepaid taxi but all I have is 20 US dollars and all the money changers are closed to I can’t get rupee and that means I can’t get a taxi and I’m about to miss my flight and I don’t know what to do”.
He smiled calmly, “Don’t worrrrry ma’m we will change your money over here” and he led me over to one of the men behind glass. “It’s closed” I said meekly. “Don’t worrrrry Ma’m,” he smiled, “We will ask for a special favour.”
The man behind glass shook his head. My Calm Saviour said, “Don’t worry we will ask that one over there”. “Its closed as well” I said, but he just smiled and led the way.
It was closed.
My Calm Saviour pointed at another one but I shook my head. “They’re all closed. I’ve tried them all.” He asked the man behind the glass another question and translated the verdict for me, “The system is down, Ma’m, but don’t worry, we can use your credit card in this ATM” he said brightly. I felt sick, “My card won’t work, it’s a local banks only ATM machine.”
Now a look of anxiety was creeping across my Calm Saviour’s face. It was 7.40. He led me over to the prepaid taxi area and swung his head right infront of the window, infront of all the people in queue who had been there before him. He came back with his wallet open, “I will pay your taxi, you give him this receipt when you get there and then you must run.” I was shocked by his generosity, “Will you get this money back from your company? Can I write a letter to say you did this for me so they will give you money?” He shook his head, “It will not matter Ma’m. Just remember to rrrrun.”
I offered him the $20 but he refused, “It was so little”. In the end all I could say was thank-you and wave from my taxi window.
7.43.
My driver was a bouncy skinny man. His grin in the rear view mirror asked me for my good name and my country.
“Australllllia! The Ashes!” he bounced excitedly.
At 7.55 we arrived at Delhi Domestic Airport and as instructed I ran.
The security men x-raying saw my ticket and my face, picked up my bags and they ran too.The man at the check-in desk was a jovial man with a big belly. “You want to go to Bombay?!” I sighed that yes that was my plan. “Alllrrrrright” he said smiling.
I rested all my hope in that smile. His smile meant everything would be fine. His smile…. disappeared. The attendant beside him nudged his belly and whispered something to him. “I’m verry sorry Ma’m, you will need to go to customer service” and he pointed behind me.
The security men still with my bags, skidded over in that direction.
‘I’m sorry Ma’m” the woman said, “you will need to go to the Deputy Manager”.
Bags and all, we skidded again. “You will need to go to the Duty Manager”, the Deputy Manager said.
The Duty Manager was a round man with a comb over, sitting behind a long desk and a cloud of smoke. He looked at me over the rim of his glasses, “Yes?’. The two security men quietly put down my bags. This was the end of their line. I showed him my ticket. With his whole belly heaving as he breathed, “You have missed it. We have no more flights to Bombay tonight”.
‘But’ I said, I have to get to Bombay tonight to get my flight to and then I fly from there to KL and then to Melbourne.”
He inhaled again, “You can use the phone to contact other airlines if you like. This is a very bad ticket anyway, so many connections”. He put my ticket on the desk and turned back to his computer. “Excuse me, Sir, but if your flight from Kathmandu to Delhi hadn’t been delayed I’d be in the air right now instead of in your office so I think I need a little more than the use of your phone….. Though it was a kind offer…..”
He turned, “You were on that flight Ma’m?” He picked up my ticket again and turned back to his computer again. “Wait here.” He heaved himself up and waddled out.
While he was out, a younger thinner man sat on another chair at the other end of the desk. My knee and hands were twitching by now and I was in an obvious state of discomfort. The skinny man broke the silence, “Your good name Ma’m?” I told him. And then I wrote it on a piece of paper for him in case he needed it. He looked at it, folded the piece of paper up and put it in his pocket. “Which country are you from Ma’m”
“Australia”
“Ah!” he wobbled his head happily, “Rrrrricky Pon-ting!”.
“Yes, Ricky Ponting”
“Grrrrrreat Cap-tain Ma’m.” then added quietly, “Best in the world Ma’m.”
You must inspire a lot of people, Ricky, and that night you inspired this man. Satisfied with my caliber, he promptly made a phone call and with the click of the receiver being placed down he announced, “Ma’m, your ticket is fine”.
I flew with a different airline and arrived in Bombay in time for my connecting flight. Three airports later I arrived in Melbourne in time for Christmas and in time for the rest of the Ashes.
I don’t know the names of the other people who helped me that night, but to you I wanted to write to personally to say thank you and ask if you could give special wave next time your in Delhi, to the airport staff.
Thanks Ricky! And well done in the Ashes.
