CSI Theatre of Performing Arts...

Waiting at the International Airport to pick people up is like watching hundreds of performances at one shot.

First of all, is the audience. Arranged in two tiers, the cheap 'seats' are outside the building and the 'balcony section' is inside, where you pay to enter. Already the audience is waiting for their rockstars with signs saying 'Mr. Adam Smith, Welcome to India' or 'Fertiliser industry welcomes delegates'. The excitement mounts as the flight information indicator changes frmo 'Scheduled' to 'Arrived' and reaches a crescendo when the Opening Act (read: the airline crew, who get first preference to leave) makes its appearance.

Then come the stars of the show. They are watched at every point along the looooong corridor that has bouncers standing along the edges. They have to make sure they meet the expectations of their waiting audience. The firangs have to look 'desified' enough, the desis have to look firang enough. Let's face it, who'll give bhaav to a desi without a pony or not dressed in a tracksuit?(that's funny, isn't it? Most of us leave in shirts and corduroys and return in banians and shorts. Is is THAT expensive?) Or for that matter, a firang without the mandatory tilak or Goa shirt?

The waiting audience is also performing. People who've spoken in Hindi or Marathi or Tamil or any of the hundreds of native tongues all their lives, suddenly acquire a new comfort with English when they enter the waiting lounge. And a twang to boot. But the air inside the waiting area is not firangified enought, so mentions of 'snakes and cheaps' slip through amongst the 'oh yeah the flight is naat on ske-dool'.

The show begins. Our country bumpkins turned rockstars acquire a new coolness to them. Compulsory mineral water bottle in hand, (after drinking our sludge for 25 years that too) they wear their sunglasses (at 3 in the morning) and emerge at the end of the exit corridor with their trolleys and waist pouches. The crowd goes into a frenzy. Camera phones click, ring tones start getting louder, conversations become hypersonic. And the waving! Oh who could forget those! The two carloads of people who've come to receive the rockstar start a mexican wave. (And why shouldn't they? What else could be the purpose of 15 people coming to receive one person) The rockstar responds with a wave thats strangely cold (Were they moonlighting as President Bush's waving body double?) and as he/she approaches the by-now-wild fans, he/she lets out a 'Hey wazzaa?' (Yes, your grandmother understands what you say. The universal language of showing attitude.) Then the point towards the exit, and all the groupies run off behind their rockstar.

But all is not hunky dory for our rockstars. Sometimes, they get stuck in customs and baggage loading. Or sometimes, CSI airport just messes with them. Just for fun. Really.

Thank God for CSI airport people. Without them, our rockstars would have had heads the size of watermelons!