Waiting for the wheelchair in Moscow

When we arrived at the Moscow Airport, I was waiting in the transit area for the attendants to bring a wheelchair. Ashrita had assured me that I would have a wheelchair, but there was no wheelchair available. Finally I asked a lady guard who was standing there about the wheelchair. She said, “No speak English.”

Then I saw a very overweight man who had an Indian type of face. I approached him and asked him about the wheelchair. He said to me in English that he could not help me because he did not speak Russian. He continued looking at me curiously. I did not know what was on his mind, so I asked him, “Where do you come from?”

I thought he would say that he came from India, but instead he abruptly replied, “I cannot tell you that.” Then he walked away.

The story never ends. There were about two hundred and fifty passengers on the plane. By this time, everybody had disembarked, but I was still waiting and waiting. Towards the end, the family with the little baby who had been sitting near me passed by. The father — a tall young man — proved to be very kind. I asked him about the wheelchair, and he happened to be Russian. He went and spoke to the lady who had said, “No speak English.” In Russian she said to him, “In fifteen minutes the wheelchair will arrive.”

I waited for another fifteen minutes. Then I saw this particular guard standing at a distance, about forty metres away. I started to walk towards her to speak with her. She motioned for me not to go near her. How merciless she was! I started to go back to my seat. Only twenty metres away from the transit area, whom did I see? The overweight Indian was standing with his mother, and they were talking in Bengali. I simply smiled at them. I did not have the heart to tell him that I was also a Bengali.

Eventually I went to the woman in charge. I said, “I have been waiting here for forty-five minutes for a wheelchair to arrive.”

She said, “Wait.” She made a telephone call and, after another fifteen minutes, the wheelchair came. One whole hour I had waited. The young man who brought the wheelchair said to me, “You have problems, you have problems.”

Then he asked, “Where is your big suitcase?”

I said, “I do not have one. I have only this small bag.”

There was no passenger elevator or escalator in the terminal. We came to a staircase with about thirty steps. The young man said, “You walk down the stairs. I will carry your bag.”

I had been travelling for eight and a half hours, and my legs were hurting so much. With great difficulty I went down the stairs. He could not or would not bring down the wheelchair. I went through immigration and customs. The young man carried my bag quite far, but he did not bring the wheelchair.

When I finally came out into the reception area, Kailash was waiting for me. This was how my airplane experience ended.