The near queue or the far queue?

India should be renamed 'The Land of the Queue'. Be it the right queue or the wrong queue, the short queue or the long queue, there is always some methodical shuffling line of humans that must be joined to permit passage from A to B.

Yesterday was a travel day for the gaggle of commentators and the rabble of crew assigned to Unit D in the IPL who generally commute between challenging Chennai and pleasant Bangalore.

The lines started early. At 5:30am my packed bag was required in reception for transport to the airport. In a semi-awake state I was instructed by the abrupt hotel staff to join a queue to inform them of my name and room number. Both tasks were an immediate challenge at that hour. It seemed my traveling commentator companion Robin Jackman, in front of me, had already realised that!

A similar pattern emerged at breakfast time an hour later. Two queues had been successfully negotiated and the sun had only just showed its face. Robin was unamused already. This had the potential to be a long day for the Fox.

Upon arriving at the dilapidated airport in Chennai, another line was a necessity. This one required a flash of an identity page – opened passport and a hard copy of an e-ticket to a stoney-faced official. Jackers was sternly reprimanded for whistling! He was speechless.

Upon whistling silence being restored, off we went to the x-ray machine to wait our turn for a quick zap of our luggage. In exchange for passing that test we were rewarded with boarding passes at the nearby airline counter, after queueing. It was time for a beverage. Jackers was in tow.

The airport lounge was the next target, but smooth passage to substandard luke warm coffee was abruptly halted at the door as the steward checking entry validation proceeded to insist on a queue as he astonishingly wrote down everyone's boarding pass details on a paper napkin!

Eventually our flight to Bangalore was called for boarding but I was aware a challenge of note awaited. The act of negotiating pre-boarding security at Indian airports is one that necessitates packing a large suitcase of patience. Upon joining one of ten snaking lines of about 100 people I knew deep breaths and counting to ten were the order of the day.

A quick glance found the Fox isolated in another line that was hardly moving. A sense of humour failure was setting in by now. I think he was whistling. One by one my line slowly shrunk and about 20 minutes had passed before I was ordered to join yet another queue so that my hand luggage could receive another x-ray zap.

Once that was completed I was shoved to another line. This time it was me through the zapping machine and after a quick wave of the metal detecting wand, I was on my way. Robin was having the dreaded pat down which clearly did not amuse him! With briefcase in tow I now queued for the tarmac transport bus.

Minutes later upon disembarking from the bus my next task, sans Jackers, was to queue for the stairs to the silver budgie in 42-degree heat. My mate eventually arrived perspiring profusely and shaking his head.

I had to break the ice.

A moment of hilarity soon broke the rhythm of trudging monotony that had stamped its signature on this travel day. Once Robin was seated I somewhat amazingly convinced him to indulge in a culinary experiment. Following my overzealous approval and encouragement he downed half a glass of 'energising drink' consisting of curdled milk, sour yoghurt, cucumber juice and mint. He clearly did not share the humour reverberating from 2C and surrounds! I could sense red mist. After 30 minutes the plane joined a procession to be ... you guessed it ... next in line for take off.

The flight was relatively uneventful, apart from me occasionally chuckling at Robin's expense. Upon touchdown in Bangalore most leapt from their seats immediately to snatch luggage from the overhead bins in an effort to avoid the exit rush even as we were taxiing to the terminal. Suddenly an agitated queue formed as we rolled towards our landing gate. Jackers was the most agitated.

We were eventually permitted to disembark but amazingly had to adopt single file and show our boarding passes to get off the plane. How would anyone have got on the plane if they did not have a boarding pass in the first place? Robin had lost his boarding pass.

A patient dose of queueing at the baggage claim conveyor belt resulted in a successful reuniting with my trusty blue case and then it was off to await the hotel transport. The Fox discovered his bag had now obtained a damaged zip that was teetering on exploding.

An hour had passed. I was queueing at the hotel reception for my room allocation.

Minutes later I was far from the madding crowd. Jackers was still en route!

So there it is in a nutshell. A travel day in India is second to none but one thing is certain. Standing in line in this part of the world is a necessary evil that evokes many an emotion whether you are in the near queue or the far queue!

Just ask the Fox!