It is perhaps a tired trope to mention (or even start with) Covid-19, but such has been its all-pervasive influence on our lives that it is unfortunately hard to ignore. Though things are largely back to normal in most parts of the world now, there was undoubtedly a time when many of us felt anxious returning to activities that were previously routine. Among these was flying in an aircraft. Well aware as I was of the facts that being on a plane was probably one of the safest places to be (the primary reason being the high rate of air circulation that many experts claim is one of the fastest on the planet), the claustrophobic nature of the environment coupled with the fact that I was going to be in close proximity to many people after several months wasn’t exactly reassuring. Add to that the constantly changing quarantine rules, the myriad documents required before and after the journey, and of course knowing the stories of wretched luck when one caught Covid on the plane, all exacerbated the situation. As I was only going to be travelling to India for 2 weeks, needless to say I did not want to be spending the entirety of it (or more!) in isolation. So, you can imagine that it was with some sense of trepidation that I boarded the flight.
I have always enjoyed the window seat when flying. As I grew older, I wouldn’t even mind the seats in the middle of the aircraft, where the views were more or less obstructed due to the wings. The sight of the various wing control surfaces – ailerons, flaps, spoilers and tabs – moving in perfect synchronisation were always enthralling to watch; in some sense it captured the marvels of human engineering. But the window seat was not something I insisted upon in recent years; perhaps the fact that I flew quite infrequently and was more concerned about getting to the destination than the mechanics of the journey contributed to the lack of interest. However, it was rekindled thanks to the pandemic – no way did I want to sit in the middle seat! By the time the date for my flight had come around, airlines had started to allow the middle seats to be occupied, so I had to be assertive and make a request for the coveted position. I was successful in doing so, but only partially; the outward portion of the trip consisted of two flights, while the return was a direct one. I was told that the second leg of the former was a busy flight and hence there were no more window seats available. Nor were any aisle seats, so it was going to be the dreaded middle!
The reasons for this dislike of the middle seat are well founded. For one, the occupancy areas of the window and aisle seats are fairly well-defined and less open to interpretation; the middle seats on the other hand, have some grey areas like the armrests. Airplane etiquette (only by a modicum of fairness, not the strict rule of law or the contract of carriage) says that the person in the middle should get access to both armrests, as each of the other seats gets one dedicated armrest and exclusive access to a feature (window or aircraft body wall and aisle space or easy restroom access for the window and aisle seats correspondingly). You need to be fortunate to be sitting next to people who uphold this rule – oftentimes, you’ll need to resort to strategic manoeuvres to ensure an ‘arm’hold! Hence there is always a chance that you can end up with uncooperative or selfish passengers on either side (or both if you’re unlucky) which can make the journey unpleasant. There is also the issue of limited peripheral vision (unless you’re one of those busybodies who brazenly look at their co-passengers), which makes you unnecessarily self-conscious. Another reason is when you’re forced to get up to give way for restroom visits. Now there are some people who will resist this by remaining seated and pulling in their knees, forcing others to squeeze past them. Being a person who tries to avoid contact as much as possible, this technique isn’t for me. When sat at the window seat, I rarely get up myself – it’s somehow as if I’m able to put my body in a suspended state. The idea of stepping into the cramped space that is the airplane toilet isn’t enthusing, and especially so after Covid!
[Some of you may recognise the above paragraph as being familiar as you might’ve seen the stand-up videos by Jim Jefferies and Trevor Noah on this topic. While definitely inspired by them, these were my original observations too! Just that they happened to make them first 😉 I term this convergent observation 🙂 That said, do check out the videos in case you haven’t seen them – they’re brilliant]
The first leg of the outward flight ended up being much more pleasant than expected; in addition to having secured the window seat, my entire row was unoccupied. It was absolute bliss! Knowing what was to come in a few hours, I prepared myself. I could tell before stepping on to the airplane that the second leg was going to be completely full; the gate was absolutely packed, and a queue had formed even before the boarding announcement had been made. As I made my way to the assigned row, I could catch a faint glimpse of two people already settled in their seats; the remnants of wishful thinking evaporated in the face of cold reality. I stumbled into my seat and settled down in a couple of minutes. Strangely enough, the rest of the flight was uneventful. The person sat at the window seat did request to step out two or three times, but other than this it was alright; my co-passengers kept to themselves and were polite. I don’t remember having jostled for armrest space either! I had also been wary of having to wear a mask throughout the duration of the journey but in the end, it wasn’t much of a bother. And as expected, I didn’t have to get up myself. This was the case for the return trip too; an elderly couple in the seats next to me gently enquired if I didn’t have to step out – perhaps worried about my continence – and also mentioned that it wouldn’t be a bother for them so I could ask anytime. I thanked them for the courtesy extended but replied that I was perfectly comfortable, and felt slightly smug about having successfully maintained my record.
The taxi ride home (after landing in Bengaluru) was a conceivably fitting postscript. As the car hurtled down the more or less empty highway (no points for guessing what time this was at), the driver slowly drifted into the middle of two lanes, as if by habit. Having been used to sticking to a lane when driving in the UK, it was infuriating. I guess it was only apt.