And made history.
Then they went on and did two other acts, now also chiselled in history.
Firstly, they posted this on FB; and got 10 million ‘likes’.
They then went out to their backyard, duct-taped the now damaged aircraft in which they made their epic first flight, packaged it and sold it to the Maran brothers.
DE Havilland 8 to be precise.
Has 2 big propellers painted matt back.
No jet engines. Just propellers.
I had the pleasure of flying on this bespoke, one-in-a-kind machine from Chennai to Coimbatore recently, thanks to Spicejet.
Warm early hours; humid and intense.
Motley crowd of 40+ passengers at the apron-side waiting to board the bus.
Usual small crowd with blackberrys – frantic, furious on the qwerty keyboard preventing the world from impending doom.
There is one ‘Coimbatorean’ who stands out in a grey Armani and Gucci sneakers. He nervously fidgets with his Louis Vuitton duffel bag 10 times a minute. Admit it. Some of them do have some class
Two ‘kalaga kanmani’s from Chennai, trying to hide their big, protruded bellies under crisp, cotton shirts; their copious tippling of OLD MONK or whatever the previous night makes them sweat profusely and they keep whipping out cotton handkerchiefs often to keep the sweat at bay. As the bus pulls up, ‘annan’ whispers something into ‘thambi’s ears, frantically gesturing at ‘Armani’. It gets me worrying now. All does not seem well.
Other passengers are really mixed bag; a family of 4 with papa doting over the kids; a young couple from (US probably) with an infant; the young father eyes all objects around him suspiciously, touching them gingerly as he sees an imaginary layer of filth and dust! A 60ish aunty in a red and crimson cotton churidhar reading a book with Dalai Lama grinning on the cover…
Boarding is done.
No Fly-by-wire technology on these planes please; just a few paddle shift levers and a weather-beaten instrument console. The pilots inside bear a puzzled and stifled look; did the Maran brothers ‘chain them down’ to the cockpit base, forcing them to fly this junk?
The propellers start whirring. The din is quite high. Soon we are climbing.
The hostess (yes, just one) – nothing much to write home about; ahem….., well, in fact, I do not write home about air hostesses; doesn’t go well at home.
No breakfast. No coffee. This is a budget airline.
The hostess dishes out cashew nuts for a not-so-budget price which gets the ‘katchi cadres’ excited! Probably expecting some rum or whisky on the side!
A light air turbulence results in one of the overhead lockers popping open; a ‘blackberry’ starts high-pitched whining on how he has travelled in the finest aircraft the world over and abuses Spicejet as scrap. Fortunately the Maran brothers are not on board.
Time to land at Peelamedu.
I reminisce the Tech days.
No Orville or Wilbur Wright. No Marans and scams and planes.
Just Kovai express. And Nilgiri express.
Returning after exams. Or heading back to college. Whatever….
No Hi-def cameras then. No clouds to store them in either.
But captured in mind and heart – in high clarity for a lifetime, don’t you agree?