JULY 28, 2018

In my last Post, I had spoken about the transfer of Air-India’s art collection to the Ministry of Culture in New Delhi.

Since then, recent events and happenings in the airline have occupied my mind considerably and the question that is uppermost in my mind, is “What is happening to my Alma Mater?”.

The effort to sell the airline met with a deafening silence.  Not one bid was received and while there are many reasons for this, I do not wish to relate or expand upon, except to say that the entire process was flawed from the start.

If the Government is truly serious in privatizing the airline, it must start by looking  at the product that they wish to sell.

We have an airline with:

1. A massive debt.
2. Enormous annual net losses
3. Staff morale which could not get lower, but can and will only do so as time goes by if a proper solution to the airline’s problems is not found.
4. While the aircraft are airworthy, the condition of the interior of many has deteriorated to such an extent that canabalization is the norm and not the exception.

On top of that, during the past few days, there have been news items of Bed bugs on more than one Newark/Mumbai flight and that during June 2018, Air-India made the headlines for having the highest number of complaints among all Indian airlines.

And then, there was a weird article of a passenger relating how an air hostess  “leaned over and asked  almost conspiratorially “May I serve you your Muslim meal now?”

What, pray, is a “Muslim Meal”?

Thoughts of my Alma Mater brought back memories of the first day that I spent at the Air-India office on the 4th floor of the Bank of India building on M.G. Road in Bombay.

It was sometime in early January 1957 and I spent the entire day waiting to be interviewed.  Firstly, by the Senior panel which Mr. N. V.  Khote had convened and then by Mr. S. K. Kooka.  Mr. Kooka was busy the entire day and at around 4:00pm, I was asked by Mrs. Barbara Shivdasani, the receptionist, to come back the next morning.  I had spent most of the day smoking, reading magazines and looking at the dark wooden panelling.  If I concentrate, I can still breath the aroma that pervaded in that reception area. 

When I ran out of cigarettes,  Mrs. Shivdasani was kind enough to send out for another packet.  I have tried, but cannot remember which brand I used to smoke in those days; though later on, I had switched to Pall Mall.

Memories - yes, memories.  When I run out of writing about my working career, I think I should talk about my memories, both good and bad.  Hmmm.  Worth thinking about.