Coming Home – A poignant tale set in the times of COVID

 The aircraft was cruising at 36,000 feet over the Arabian Sea, flying along the designated preprogrammed route on the Flight Management Computer with the Autopilot doing a good job at flying her accurately. Suddenly, Avi heard the no-nonsense voice of his Chief of Operations crackling on the aircraft radio, ‘Why did you skip your pre-flight Covid test? Turn around and the flight has to return and land back in Cochin IMMEDATELY’. Oh God! How was this possible? He was sure he had done the test…or maybe not…he broke into a cold sweat …he could be grounded for this…he thought as the aircraft turned back. Uff…this would be big violation and a bigger embarrassment. He woke up with a start. It was a bad dream. He thought about it lying very still. The preflight Covid test was an additional preflight test medical test which the crew had to undergo for special passenger repatriation flights and had just been introduced. Special provisions had been made for the crew to undergo these one day prior to their flights. It was a tedious but necessary process to keep the crew safe from infection.

It was dark. Avi was still in bed. The clock struck a familiar hour when he would normally (in the long days of lockdown), be binging nonstop on shows on Netflix, waiting patiently for flying to resume. But tonight, was different. He was scheduled to fly a passenger repatriation mission in the morning at 1000hrs and needed to have his preflight rest, to be fresh in the morning. He had gone through the exhaustive Standard Operating Procedure tailored for the mission, done a preflight Covid test at a hospital along with the Capt and the cabin crew and had spent some time in the evening talking to his very anxious mother who lived far away and alone in Delhi. She wasn’t taking the news too kindly that he was going on a flight when the whole world was staying in to save themselves from the infection. Wasn’t there anyone else who could do that flight? she had asked. Do you have enough vegetables at home, he counter questioned, to distract her. It had been almost 10 days since the national lockdown and the stock of provisions and patience were wearing thin with everyone, especially the elderly who were so used to their daily routines, morning walk, sabji wala, milk man, newspaper, Satsang. Everything had been disrupted. Would speak to mom after landing, he thought to himself…reconfirmed with his mobile that it was 0200hrs, still 6 hrs to go for his pickup, as he melted back to sleep.

 ‘Avi’ (First Officer Avishek) had always wanted to fly and had persuaded his mother that if he couldn’t join military flying, (his first choice, but she would have none of it), he would definitely fly as a commercial pilot. After years of dedication, hard work and spending a princely sum taken as education loan from the bank, he had landed himself this job of flying a Boeing 737 aircraft and was an extremely grounded and happy young man. Coming from a humble background, he was paying back his monthly loan EMI and could not afford to treat this chance that life had given him, lightly at all. He had heard that other airlines were not paying their pilots. Some other airlines had gone bankrupt and he shuddered to think ahead. There was a sincerity and maturity a middle-class upbringing brought in you, which the rich lacked, he had noticed when he mingled with the richie-rich toy boys who were his batchmates at flying school.

 The alarm went off at 0600hrs, a full hour earlier than it would normally for a 1000hrs departure. Afterall, this wasn’t an ordinary day or an ordinary flight. He hadn’t flown since the lockdown started and he didn’t want to make any mistakes, he thought as he checked the weather update for the day, reread the Standard Operating Procedure laid down for the Evacuation Flights, wondering how much work would have gone in to make such a detailed and exhaustive document. It was an exhaustive SOP. The clock struck 0700hrs, time to don the uniform and be on his way to the airport when many a challenge lay. He didn’t want to be late. The Capt for the flight was an ex-military man known to be a strict disciplinarian with legendary punctuality.

Meanwhile….in another place and time…it was 0200hrs….5 days prior to Avi’s flight. Ministry of Home Affairs guidelines had just been received that evening on commencement of passenger repatriation flights to bring back all stranded Indian citizens back to India. The GOI had named it ‘’Vande Bharat Mission’’. There was precious little time to plan the entire operation and the proverbial ‘midnight oil’ would have to be sacrificed in the bargain. What was most important was for the management to give the ‘’boys’’ (operating crew), detailed and unambiguous instructions on how to carry out the missions. There was no margin for error, as it is never was in any aviation operation, but the health and safety risks made these missions even more challenging. In aviation, every activity was procedurally defined, including how to take a nap while flying (which was termed ‘controlled rest’) and how to answer nature’s call when flying (maybe someone would label it as ‘controlled release’). All Normal Operations had SOPs and (obviously) all Non-Normal procedures had more stringent SOPs. SOPs were tedious boring things, but it told one exactly what to do and say and when and what not to do and not to say and when. The purists knew that good SOPs made for safer skies and made the crew ready for all situations in the air whether it was a Failed Engine, a Technical Malfunction, Unpredictable Weather or a Sick Passenger. And, in times like these when the crew could be endangered or infected with a viral infection, while flying missions in these special circumstances, these SOPs would have to be modified…to become more exhaustive (read ‘more boring’)…and modified fast! There was no chance to leave a stone unturned.

‘DB’ was the man designated to piece together the SOP from the minutes of the meeting between the Operations Team as they put forward their inputs on the challenges that lay ahead for repatriation flights. The entire plan was being made over the phone while dispersed in different locations and in lockdown. None at that point knew that ‘Vande Bharat Mission’ would compare equally or even surpass the largest Indian evacuation from foreign shores, equal if not larger than the airlift of Indian Nationals from Kuwait in the wake of the invasion by Iraq in 1990. But these comparisons didn’t scare DB. He had served in the Indian Air Force prior to joining the company as part of airline management, so a briefing at 0200hrs, especially related to a National Mission, didn’t really ruffle him. Neither did the fact that they had only sketchy details of the impending task. How many flights? How many days? What destinations they would have to plan for? Were all the crew familiar with those destinations? How many crew members were stuck at places other than their bases due to the unexpected Lockdown in the country? Could they make it back to fly these missions? Were they equipped in terms of availability of the Personal Protective Equipment?  Many such questions drew a blank! But he knew from gut feeling that they would be able to manage….as ordained…they were on the right side of truth.

DB and his team worked furiously for the next 6 days and nights…calling the crew asking for their well-being and availability, getting the protective clothing, provisioning for the transport, getting hotels which were shut to allow their crew to stay, tying up with the hospitals for the tests for the crew, stitching together all the orders and instructions, mitigating one risk after another, and sending for the approvals from the big bosses at Directorate General of Civil Aviation at Delhi. Some kids weren’t well. Some crew were stuck in other cities. Some hotels were shut. Many cobwebs had to be dusted. But…largely… they would be ready. It was a satisfying thought.  But no time to relax yet, as meticulous planning was only one side of the operation, clinical execution was the other.

As the first aircraft shot through the sky, heralding the commencement of ‘’Vande Bhaat Mission’, DB was a proud man. What made it even more significant was that his younger brother ‘AB’, an officer in the Navy was on board INS Jalshwa, the Indian Navy ship bringing in passengers from Maldives to Cochin and would be sailing from Maldives in the next few days. ‘Operation Vande Bharat’ would be executed both by air and by sea simultaneously and in that effort, the Indian Navy had launched ‘Operation Samudra Setu’. This was truly a National Mission and aimed at getting Indian citizens back from 47 countries around the world. A truly unprecedented event. The enormity of the task only hits you in the face you when you are done with it, he mused.

Efraim Mampilly spent a tense night waiting for the list to be released. It was crucial that his name be there, otherwise he didn’t know how he would survive the next week. His savings had already been sent home and he had to vacate the tiny room he stayed in above the bakery he worked in. The owner was a nice man but had come to bad times due to the closing down of the business and for Efraim, it meant it was time to pack his bags and return home to his native Kerala. He had been working in this bakery in the bylanes of old part of Sharjah for the last 5 years. He lived alone and had modest habits. The job paid him a decent sum and he sent most of it back home to his family. This time he was sure, he wouldn’t return. His phone rang. It was some lady from the Indian High Commission. She said that since he was a senior citizen, his name was on the list of passengers on the evacuation flight and he was to reach the office that afternoon to complete all the paperwork and medical. He thanked God. Atleast he would be home for Eid this time.

Later that evening, walking back with his air ticket and medical report in hand, he wandered around the closed market area, to see if he could buy a few essentials. What a relief, he thought entering his room. The last time had been chaotic, he remembered those days vividly. In 1990, he was in Kuwait when the war had unexpectedly started and they were caught in the cross fire. In a strange land, with no sides to take, he along with thousands of Indians like him, were left stranded. Help reached them after a few weeks when the evacuation was organized by the Indian Government and they were extricated to safety. It subsequently was hailed as the world’s largest civilian evacuation in history with the safe airlift evacuation of about 170,000 Indians. He had read about it in the papers once he was back home and how it was all planned. Seeing the crowds at the High Commission that evening and the number of Indians he knew who has applied for the return, he knew that this time too, it was going to a staggering number of Indians who would be heading back to the country. Why do they always leave? He asked himself what was the most compelling reason for people like him to repeatedly try and find work abroad. There was no answer.

On the flight, there were the crew who had walked into harms way to get their country men back to safer shores. What was their motivation? One wondered. Didn’t they have families back home? The cabin crew were wearing their hazardous material contamination suits but under them, they continued to wear their warmest smiles. They continued to treat the passengers with empathy, while still being professional. They continued to ‘Listen with their Eyes and See with their Hearts’, as they has been instructed and advised. Like Ephraim, all the passengers had their own stories. Extremely Fragile stories. There were the passengers who needed to reach back to the safety of their homes. There were pregnant women, who would be safer in India and their babies would be born here. There were senior citizens who needed to be kept safe from infection. There were people who had overstayed their Visas due to the pandemic and lockdown. There were people like Ephraim who had lost their jobs and couldn’t afford or continue to stay in a foreign country. There were some who had lost a near or dear one in India while they were stuck abroad and could not even attend their funerals and last rites.  They were all battling an invisible microscopic virus which had irretrievably changed their lives. They were all in it together. The atmosphere was tense. Who carried the infection, no one knew. Maybe the passenger on the next seat. Protocols had to be followed by everyone. Passengers were given fresh masks and hand sanitizers. But despite the fear, the overwhelming emotion was of hope. Hope for life to recommence. Hope for a new dawn.

In the cockpit, all was normal. The jet was cruising at 35,000 ft above the Arabian Sea, in the quiet of the night. The autopilot was doing a good job. Avi was extremely proud to be part of the mission and equally excited to be flying after a long break. Down on the surface of the sea, AB was on board INS Jalashwa, and they set sail from Maldives for Cochin with 700 civilian passengers. The Captain clipped voice came up over the radio for the Passenger Announcement. ‘’Ladies and Gentlemen. I welcome you on this historic first flight heralding the ‘Vande Bharat Mission …’’ He spoke of the flight details, the changed protocol, the weather enroute, the hopes and challenges that lay ahead and trailed off with ‘Please sit back and relax. You are in good hands. We are going home. Jai Hind’