A lament for old-style airports

Beautiful buildings, sheltered walkways and toilets so clean you could eat your meals off the floor (as my grandmother would say). This is no foreign country, but, in fact, namma Bengaluru airport.

The Bengaluru airport is also home to two rare Indian creatures. The first is the house sparrow, which disappeared from Indian homes in the ’80s and now flies confidently over IT types hunched over their laptops. The other rare creature you will encounter here is the smiling government official. Usually officials in India — government or otherwise — are well-trained to toggle between the two philosophical states of grumpiness and malice. But no, here in Bengaluru, the officers are efficient in their work, and friendly, even chatty.
Now, it is all very well for us Indian travellers to relish this new, gleaming, efficient experience. But think, for a moment, about the NRI or the tourist arriving in Bengaluru. As they land, they may have to brace themselves to endure the experience that is going to be India. As they get into the immigration queue, they look at each other as if to say, “Stay strong.” That there is a queue is itself a minor miracle. In other parts of India, a queue is a loose term applied to a heaving mass of humanity that disperses, reconvenes and grows in unsightly bulges. But this one is actually a straight line. And then, something even more astounding happens. It moves. Soon enough, they are at the immigration desk, where the official does his job quickly and with a smile. An actual smile! “Things are definitely improving. Maybe because of the IT boom,” the NRIs say to each other with pride. “It really wasn’t as bad as Lonely Planet made it out to be,” say the tourists.
The experience continues for a while. Outside, there are a few touts, but not too many. “That is to be expected,” the visitors say to themselves, “But look, here is a designated taxi bay. And another queue!”
The NRIs and tourists have, by now, let down their guard. Here, they say to themselves, is Incredibly Shiny India — intriguing, exciting and now as orderly as any other country.
Sadly, in about 500 metres, they will be brought back to reality with a crash. For just outside the airport lie the ruins of the ancient city of Bengaluru. Cranes teeter over half-built Metro lines and piles of garbage, as hoardings for “18 Again — Female Renewal Gel” flap in the dusty winds. This quick change is a shock to their system. In a few days they will encounter other problems. Seemingly, simple tasks, like getting an Indian SIM card or buying a train ticket, will assume Herculean proportions. “But everything seemed to be going so well when we arrived,” the visitors will lament, their hearts broken forever.
I don’t know about you, but I want no part in this drama. As an anomaly in the Indian system, the Bengaluru airport sets up visitors with impossibly high expectations. The result is sudden trauma and despair. What exactly do the people at this airport think they are doing? Is it not irresponsible of them to create such a pleasant experience, so different from the rest of the country? Where, I ask, is their national pride?
It would be much better to follow the example of, say, Chennai or Kolkata. Chennai, once a gold-standard for Indian airports, has now come to its senses and is run more like a mofussil bus station. And Kolkata, as always, has its own unique style. I remember landing there a couple of years ago when Asia was in the grip of bird flu. While other countries had to resort to body-heat scanners and other expensive equipment, Kolkata had decided to do it the old-fashioned way — with a bespectacled doctor touching everyone’s forehead and scrutinising the colour of their tongues. The scene at immigration was typical. A child was crying because some well-meaning uncles had pinched its cheeks. A lady in a glitzy saree was stating her right to go first because she had to get to a wedding. A surly official accused a man of not having a moustache like in his passport photo.
When I finally got out of the airport after about three hours, I was exhausted but happy. By not complying with silly ideas like efficiency and customer service, the people at Kolkata airport had actually performed the greatest service of them all — they had acclimatised their visitors to India. What could be a better welcome than that?

Suchi Govindarajan works as a technical writer. She does freelance writing and editing, and also volunteers with the Spastics Society of Karnataka.