I Bought The Monk's Ferrari Read Online Free
Author: Ravi Subramanian
'Aap logon ko to pata hai, yeh roz ka haal hai. Phir ap isme ticket kyon lete hain (You all know, this is a daily affair. Then why do you buy tickets on this airline?).'
The guard had intended to help by being sympathetic. Instead, he ended up instigating the crowd. A heated debate started on whether low-cost actually meant low service levels.
Air Deccan, Hai ... Hail Air Deccan, Hai ... Hail!!' The chants started reverberating in the entire airport. The counter staff, sensing trouble, disappeared.
Suddenly, amidst the loud din and the crowd frenzy, I heard a tiny, delicate voice. Air Deccan, Hai ... Hai! Air Deccan, Hai ... Hai!!!!' It sounded like a sacred chant in a noisy pub, a sprinkle of cold water in the midst of a desert storm.
I turned to look behind me. Standing there holding her beautiful mother's right hand with her left, pumping her right hand in the air, as she joined the crowd in screaming, was a small, tiny little cherub. At most, she would have been six years old. Oblivious of the public gaze, she seemed to be enjoying herself, screaming herself hoarse.
Flashback to the year 2000: The setting—Chennai airport. It was two in the afternoon. I was waiting outside the airport, waiting for the flight from Delhi to arrive. Thankfully, I was not made to wait in the sun for long. The flight was on time. Within fifteen minutes, a pretty young face made her way out of the airport holding a newborn, wrapped in a soft quilt. As she approached me, I stepped out from where 1 was standing, walked towards her and gave her a warm lingering hug. I bent down to look at the angel, blissfully asleep, gave her a peck on the cheek and then took her over from her mother and walked towards the parking lot where my Maruti 800 was parked. My wife and newborn, Anusha, had returned home from Delhi, where Dharini had gone for giving birth to our first child.
Standing beside me at the Mumbai airport holding my daughter's hand firmly was my wife of twelve years, trying unsuccessfully to control my daughter as she continued with her chant 'Air Deccan, Hai ... Hai'. This was my daughter's first exposure to a public display of anger—though she was screaming more out of fun than anger.
Somehow, the flight took off at 1.30 a.m., and by the time we reached the hotel in Thiruvananthapuram, it was 4.00 a.m. We slept for a couple of hours and then caught the flight to Male, the next morning.
At the Thiruvananthapuram airport, as we were getting off the taxi to head inside, Anusha asked me, 'Appa, which flight are we taking now?'
'Indian Airlines, Anusha. That's the only one which goes to Maldives.'
Thank God! Appa, from now on, we'll not go by Air Deccan. I will only come by Jet or Kingfisher.' These were the leading airlines in the country. My wife looked at me and smiled.
'That's clever; for a six-year-old to know the good airlines from the bad ones.' She was thrilled.
I was not. For me the statement held a different meaning, something which made me uncomfortable, something way more serious than the battle between the low-cost and the luxury airlines, much more disturbing than the deterioration of Indian Airlines and Air India. Something, that evolved faster than the pace at which new airlines were entering the Indian air space.
I travelled by air for the first time when I was twenty-three years old. I was the first in my family to do so. My daughter travelled by air when she was twenty-three days old. And by six, she developed an idea about the airline company to select and the one to reject.
We always overestimate the change
that will occur in the next two years
and underestimate the change that
will occur in the next ten. Don't let
yourself be lulled into inaction.
B ILL G ATES
This took me back to the memory of my first flight from Bangalore to Delhi. Just as the plane was disappearing into the clouds, I had caught the fleeting glimpse of a Ferrari. A red Ferrari. And then, it disappeared. After fourteen
The guard had intended to help by being sympathetic. Instead, he ended up instigating the crowd. A heated debate started on whether low-cost actually meant low service levels.
Air Deccan, Hai ... Hail Air Deccan, Hai ... Hail!!' The chants started reverberating in the entire airport. The counter staff, sensing trouble, disappeared.
Suddenly, amidst the loud din and the crowd frenzy, I heard a tiny, delicate voice. Air Deccan, Hai ... Hai! Air Deccan, Hai ... Hai!!!!' It sounded like a sacred chant in a noisy pub, a sprinkle of cold water in the midst of a desert storm.
I turned to look behind me. Standing there holding her beautiful mother's right hand with her left, pumping her right hand in the air, as she joined the crowd in screaming, was a small, tiny little cherub. At most, she would have been six years old. Oblivious of the public gaze, she seemed to be enjoying herself, screaming herself hoarse.
Flashback to the year 2000: The setting—Chennai airport. It was two in the afternoon. I was waiting outside the airport, waiting for the flight from Delhi to arrive. Thankfully, I was not made to wait in the sun for long. The flight was on time. Within fifteen minutes, a pretty young face made her way out of the airport holding a newborn, wrapped in a soft quilt. As she approached me, I stepped out from where 1 was standing, walked towards her and gave her a warm lingering hug. I bent down to look at the angel, blissfully asleep, gave her a peck on the cheek and then took her over from her mother and walked towards the parking lot where my Maruti 800 was parked. My wife and newborn, Anusha, had returned home from Delhi, where Dharini had gone for giving birth to our first child.
Standing beside me at the Mumbai airport holding my daughter's hand firmly was my wife of twelve years, trying unsuccessfully to control my daughter as she continued with her chant 'Air Deccan, Hai ... Hai'. This was my daughter's first exposure to a public display of anger—though she was screaming more out of fun than anger.
Somehow, the flight took off at 1.30 a.m., and by the time we reached the hotel in Thiruvananthapuram, it was 4.00 a.m. We slept for a couple of hours and then caught the flight to Male, the next morning.
At the Thiruvananthapuram airport, as we were getting off the taxi to head inside, Anusha asked me, 'Appa, which flight are we taking now?'
'Indian Airlines, Anusha. That's the only one which goes to Maldives.'
Thank God! Appa, from now on, we'll not go by Air Deccan. I will only come by Jet or Kingfisher.' These were the leading airlines in the country. My wife looked at me and smiled.
'That's clever; for a six-year-old to know the good airlines from the bad ones.' She was thrilled.
I was not. For me the statement held a different meaning, something which made me uncomfortable, something way more serious than the battle between the low-cost and the luxury airlines, much more disturbing than the deterioration of Indian Airlines and Air India. Something, that evolved faster than the pace at which new airlines were entering the Indian air space.
I travelled by air for the first time when I was twenty-three years old. I was the first in my family to do so. My daughter travelled by air when she was twenty-three days old. And by six, she developed an idea about the airline company to select and the one to reject.
We always overestimate the change
that will occur in the next two years
and underestimate the change that
will occur in the next ten. Don't let
yourself be lulled into inaction.
B ILL G ATES
This took me back to the memory of my first flight from Bangalore to Delhi. Just as the plane was disappearing into the clouds, I had caught the fleeting glimpse of a Ferrari. A red Ferrari. And then, it disappeared. After fourteen
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