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Deccan Herald » Edit Page » Detailed Story
RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE
Night flights
By J S Raghavan
Those were the days when the journey on the flights was without any hassles.

It was called NAMS, an acronym for Night Air Mail Service. The period early seventies. The airports were then known as aerodromes. There were no gun-toting security guards. No screening. No frisking.
The National Carrier flew every night four droning Dakotas from Madras, Bombay, Calcutta and Delhi. The 'Air-Jeeps' took off around ten and converged into Nagpur, their midnight rendezvous. They flew mail and men, making whirring noises lulling the passengers to deep slumber. And landed one after the other like birds into a sanctuary.
Bleary eyed men came out of the parked flying machines and sleep-walked to the terminal. Deep cushioned sofas and easy chairs were ready there to cradle them back to sleep. Far away, a few windsocks billowed with gay abandon.
It would be midnight by then. The crickets would be in attendance providing the chirruping sruti. A decrepit passenger would snore with the timbre of a hungry cheetah on prowl, a wide-awake neighbour disapproving with a dark frown.
Departure time. "Madras, Madras, Madras .." a conscientious Airline staff would shout going round the waiting hall, like a hawker selling fruits at a Mofussil bus terminus. The four aircraft then flew back to the respective places from where they took off carrying the men and mail picked up from the other three aircraft.
"Good old times," sighed my friend Sivaram reminiscent of NAMS. He had just thrown away from his handbag, his tooth paste, shaving gel, and nail cutter. The burly security had disallowed them as potential highjacking arsenal!
"Night flight to Nagpur. And beyond." he mused with dreamy eyes. "Half the fare. No bird-hits. No wastage of daytime. " "You know what?" I said. "My granny came to the aerodrome with me one night. A go-getter, she collared an airline staff and asked if she could get into the stationary aircraft and see! The official hesitated.
'Why young man,' she bristled, 'the Railways allow that. And I promise to get off well before you blow the first whistle.' " " 'First whistle?' He laughed. Took a look at her eager, turmeric tinged face. "Come, on. I will take you inside." He escorted her into the' flying machine. Those were the days!

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