Northwest Airlines plane (pic courtesy NPR)

But does anyone know what actually happened?  Here is the inside scoop, straight from the wings of the fly in the cockpit:

The pilot said “They are going to make Hulu a paid site, you know.”  He opened his laptop and logged in.

“That would be bad,” the co-pilot said  “but there’s always youtube.”  He spoke flippantly, because he didn’t really want to talk.  The movie he was watching was particularly gripping.

“Yes, but Jon Stewart’s show is only available on Hulu”, the pilot said.  “I download every show of his to watch in the flight.”

At this the co-pilot looked up. “Can you download from Hulu?” he asked. “I thought you couldn’t”.

“There are applications for everything”, the pilot said.  He started watching a Jon Stewart episode.

Silence reigned in the cockpit for 20 minutes.  There were occasional crackles of noise from the radio, but these were ignored.

When the comedy show ended, the pilot briefly checked his position.  They were flying somewhere over the cornfields of Nebraska.

He decided to watch a movie next.  He noticed the copilot was still engrossed in his movie.

“What are you watching?” he asked the co-pilot.

“Inglourious Basterds.”

“Oh, is it already on DVD?”

“Pirated”.

Neither pilot noticed how quickly the next hour passed.  Then the air hostess peeked into the cabin.

“Captain, may I have a word?  When are we going to land in MSP?” she asked.

The pilot looked up. “Aren’t we still over Nebraska?  Oh my God, we have passed Minneapolis!  We are over Wisconsin.”

The pilot scrambled to turn back, establish radio contact and start the descent.

They will want an explanation”, the co-pilot said. ” They will want to know what we were doing.”

“They will think we were sleeping”, the pilot said. “I’m busy with the landing now, you’ll have to think of something good”.

A few minutes passed.  “I have it!”, the co-pilot said.  “Scheduling ! We were in a heated discussion on scheduling. You were teaching me Delta’s rules.”

The pilot scoffed. “Come on, who discusses scheduling? Heated discussion on scheduling? No one will buy that”.

“You got anything better?”

“What, me? No! I am trying to land this plane! You were the one watching a pirated movie!”

“Okay then, scheduling it is“.

I met an aquantaince other day, and was shocked at the deep, dark circles under her eyes.? She was a new mother, juggling work and housework, and I could understand that she must be exhausted.

“Lots of work?” I asked her sympathetically.

“Not really, but I am spending far too much time online,” she said.? “You know, all these networking sites are so addictive.”

“Tell me all about it,” I said understandingly. “Twitter is bad enough, and then there is Linkedin, Facebook, Orkut..”? I stopped when I saw her shaking her head.

“Actually,” she said, “it’s not Facebook.? These days I spend far more time on Totspot and Kidmondo and Lil’Grams.? You know,” she added looking at my blank face, “those are social networking sites for Rohan.”

“You mean your 2 month old baby updates his profile?? Wow! What does he write about?” I asked, fascinated.? “Color of poop and frequency?”

She looked offended.? “What’s wrong with that, anyway?? That is very helpful information for lots of new mothers.? Anyway, he writes mostly about his parents.”

Yes, of course he would.? I was obviously missing the point here.

“I am also setting up my Dad’s Eldervoice page”, she said, “and that’s a lot of work too!”

“Wow”, I said, “that’s very nice of you!? I am glad you are doing this for your Dad!? He seems so internet savvy!”

“Actually, ” she grinned wryly, “he doesn’t know how to surf the net.? He doesn’t come anywhere near the PC at home.? But don’t you think everyone should have a networking page??? I will probably end up doing all the online interaction on his behalf, but it’s worth it! Think of the good it will do me, er, him!”

I nodded.? “So everyone in your house is on some social networking site then! Sounds great!”

“Well, almost everyone”, she corrected me.? “Buster is on Dogster and My Dog Space and Doggyspace.? He is very social, you know, has lots of online friends.? Then Kitty and Tabby are on Catster.”

I started to edge away from her at this point.? “Oh that covers everyone then,” I said with an air of finality. “Hey, it’s been great talking to you!”

But she wasn’t done yet.

“No, it doesn’t cover everyone”, she said, shaking her head sadly, “the goldfish doesn’t have any friends, poor Goldie!? Can you imagine, there are absolutely no social networking sites for fish!? Then there are my bamboo plants …”

“There are gardening forums for bamboo plants”, I interrupted hurriedly, “and I am sure there are pet care forums as well if you want information on fish.”

She looked at me sadly.? “You don’t get it, do you?” she asked me.? “Goldie has his own personality!? He ‘s not? just another fish!? He is an individual, a member of this family!? How can I deny him his own identity?”

Good point.

So all of you wannabe millionaires, could you start a social networking site for goldfish?? And bamboo plants?? I am sure it will bring in the millions!

P.S. This is a work of satire. It’s not a true story – it is tagged Fiction (though I know that isn’t obvious unless you look closely.) I am sorry if I have misled any readers into thinking this was a true story. But all those websites (Dogster, Catster etc.) do exist and I am sure there is someone out there who closely resembles this person!

Dr. Rob was staring intently at his soup bowl as if he hoped to find Nessie in it. “I hate this new performance based bonus system” he said.

“You mean NHS’s idea of giving us a bonus for every patient who doesn’t die on the operating table?? What’s not to like about it?”? Dr. Nife asked.? “Why, is your success rate low or something?”

Dr. Rob smiled.? “Not at all, these days practically nobody dies on my operating table.”

“What, not even the complicated cases?” asked Dave. “Your surgical skills must have improved, then!”

“Oh no, I don’t even operate on any of the complicated cases!? I just refer them to other hospitals!”

“Wouldn’t it look a little..” Dr. Nife paused, “awkward if you only operated on easy cases?? Plus, I think the bonuses are better if the surgery is complicated.”

“But the surgery is always complicated” Dr. Rob grinned.? “I have mastered the technique of making routine cases seem like really complicated ones.? Like, I can look at a scan and see suspicious lesions that no one else can. ”

Dr. Nife wished he had thought of all these things.? He was suddenly rather jealous of Dr. Rob.

“Seems to me you are doing quite well then”, he said.? “Why do you hate the new bonus system then?”

Dr. Rob suddenly looked very haggard.? “I met my nemesis yesterday.? The system hit back at me”, he said.

“Why, what happened?” asked Dr. Nife, sounding very concerned.? Secretly, though, he was a little pleased.

“Normally, I look at a patient and put them in three categories,” Dr. Rob said.? “High-bonus, medium bonus and low bonus.? The low bonus patients I refer to others.”

“But this patient who came in yesterday”, he continued, “was high bonus.? Middle aged but fit woman, the case itself seemed complicated but I knew it wasn’t, and I knew this patient’s history really well so it was an easy surgery.”

“Then, what was the problem?”, Dr. Nife asked, puzzled.

“Well, she was my ex-wife’s mother “, Dr. Rob said. “We don’t, you know, get along that well.”? He paused. “Oh, who am I kidding? I dislike her intensely. She made my marriage fall apart.”

Dr. Nife thought about this.? He was a fair man.? He was a surgeon and he also had a mother in law.? “You did say it was a complicated case”, he said.? “Nobody will blame you if the surgery didn’t go well.? Of course you will lose the bonus, but what’s a little sacrifice?”

Dr. Rob laughed bitterly into his soup. “That’s what I told myself”, he said, “all the way to the operating theater. But do you remember that boat I always wanted?? The bonus from this surgery would get me to the down payment.”

“So… you saved her?” Dr. Nife couldn’t believe it.? “You had her on the operating table…and then, you saved her.”

Dr. Rob nodded to his soup bowl. “I saved her,” he said gloomily.? He looked almost pleadingly at Dr. Nife, “I wanted that boat! I need a vacation.? I have been working so hard now, seeing hundreds more patients because of this new bonus system.”

Dr. Nife could empathize. He, too, badly needed a vacation.

“And today”, Dr. Rob said, now again talking to his soup, “the ex-wife called. She wanted to meet me.”

“She wants to thank you?”

“She does, but I’ve been behind on the alimony payments, and you can be sure she’ll bring that up.” Dr. Rob laughed bitterly.? “There is no gratitude left in this world.? Let’s hope she doesn’t find out about the boat, at least.”

Dr. Nife looked into his soup now.? “At length I realize, he said, the bitterness of life.” he quoted.? “Lewis Carroll wrote that.”

Dr. Rob nodded vigorously.? “Was he a surgeon?”

The Hon’ble (male) judges of the Delhi High Court would agree. The Court thinks that Indian Airlines (or Indian or Air India or whatever they call themselves now) was right to ground five air hostesses because they were overweight. This is what the Hindu reports:

The rules prescribe different weight limits according to their height and age. For an 18-year-old air hostess with a height of 152 cm, the maximum weight permissible is 50 kg while air hostesses in the age group of 26 to 30 and a height of 152 cm, the weight limit is 56 kg.

Of course, Air India itself is very overweight and the Maharajah packs a hefty paunch, but then the Maharajah is not an air hostess.

I had always thought that air hostesses are really a sort of glorified waitress. Except, they are waitresses who don’t depend on customers’ tips for their income, which explains why air hostesses in US airlines are so rude to passengers. But apparently not. Air hostesses must be in the fashion industry. Why else would they have rules saying air hostesses can’t marry, get old or put on weight? I thought such rules were only reserved for models. Also obviously, male stewards are not in the fashion industry. That is why none of these restrictions apply to them.

But why stop at just age and weight? The airlines have other secret rules for air hostesses that explain the quirks in their appearance, behavior and the quality of airline service these days. I have seen these rules in action in the US, and I am sure they exist in India (or Indian). So for readers of this blog, I am letting you into a trade secret that is guarded zealously by the airline industry. I shall tell you the secret rules.

The Six Secret Rules for air hostesses:

Rule 1: Air hostesses should remember that they are, first and foremost, sales persons. They are responsible for selling stale trail mix, cheap headphones and overpriced blankets and pillows. Unfortunately, airlines do not as yet sell water, so air hostesses should refrain from handing out water unless specifically requested by passengers. Even then, they should provide water only in tiny water cups.

Rule 2: All air hostesses should wear high heels that are at least 6 inches high. Heels of five inches may be permitted in special cases, with prior approval. They should sashay through the aisle, rolling carts on high heels, and also use these heels to curb passengers who demand too much attention, like extra cups of water.

Rule 3: Air hostesses should have long fingernails that are at least an inch long. Long fingernails are an important accessory that can be used to dip into cups and discourage use of complimentary drinks by passengers. They can also be used to poke passengers while handing out cups of water and juice.

Rule 4: Make up is very important. Nail polish and lip stick should always be bright red in color. Also, make-up should be applied heavily, so the face looks pale, contrasting with the bright red lipstick. Eyes should be heavily made up. This appearance, when combined with a glare, may scare some of the more timid passengers.

Rule 5: Hair color should be brown on Tuesdays and Thursdays. On all other days, it should be black. Red and orange highlights are recommended.

Rule 6: Air hostesses should give the appearance of smiling at passengers. But genuine smiles are not recommended, in case the passengers get too friendly and request additional cups of water, newspapers or other services currently free.

The airlines take interaction with passengers very seriously. Hidden cameras will be placed above each seat to monitor whether air hostesses chat with passengers or otherwise indulge in courteous behavior. Such behavior can attract disciplinary action. Air hostesses are permitted to be rude to economy class passengers, however, and also to smile in relief, however, when passengers depart the plane.

Perhaps there are more. Certainly the airlines seem to invent a new rule every day, and you just have to open the papers to learn about it. So readers, can you suggest more rules for air hostesses that you have come across?

In the living room, a lone lamp shone an arc of light. Saaya sat reading in a chair, silent, composed, watchful. She was waiting for Ravi. Waiting for his return, waiting for dinner.

Outside, the battle was still raging. The humid air was still with a watchful silence that was broken only by the cawing of crows and the fluttering of pigeons. And then, occasionally, there was a sudden sharp report of a gun. Sometimes, just a single shot, sometimes a barrage of shots. And then, silence again.

Yesterday, Saaya had looked out of her front window at the public tap on the other side of the street. She had wanted to check if water was flowing. These days, the public taps were mostly dry, and the water was irregular and scanty. She had to keep checking to catch the first sight of water in the taps.

She saw him then ? a man, dark and thin. He had his back turned to her, which was fortunate. He was washing a long, curved sword in the public tap. A red river of blood flowed off the sword, coloring the ground, as if someone had carelessly thrown away the waters of an aarti. The steel blade glinted evilly in the sunlight.

Saaya hastily withdrew from the window. She did not want him to catch her watching. But she wondered, with a shudder, whose blood it was.

For now, this house was a fortress ? it kept out the violence, it protected her from the evil blades that were preying outside. It spared her from harm ? as long as she remained indoors. This house was also a prison, for she could not step out in safety.

But this house was built with brittle brick walls, not the strong walls of stone. The walls could not protect her if she was in real danger. All they could do was offer her a false sense of security. She clutched at it, eager to hold on to anything that lulled her feverish anxiety. She wanted to deceive herself, for that was the only way she could remain sane.

There were other walls that had broken down. The wall of trust had breached, releasing a flood of passions – hurt, anger, hate. Walls of propriety had come down, and every man believed he was his own law. The thin wall of decency that covers the beast of lawlessness had been scraped away. Now, only beasts prowled the streets.

Ravi went out every morning to work in this charged atmosphere, and every day she waited anxiously for him until he returned at night. With each day the fear grew on her that one day, he too would vanish. One day, the mobs would devour him, just as they had devoured so many others. What can one man do against an irrational mob?

She often wondered if they should move away. But move where? Every part of the city, and every city in the country was unsafe. Her story was playing out in millions of homes across the country, with just the names changed.

She had hurt her finger today, while cutting vegetables. A deep cut, not much blood, but the wound would take time to heal. She sat reading, the wound throbbing, her heart pounding as it grew late with no sign of Ravi.

The doorbell rang. Anxiety rose to fever pitch, as it did each evening, as she wondered if it was someone from the mob. Cold relief poured in, just as it did everyday, when she realized it was Ravi.

Saaya served his dinner and listened to him describe his day. She listened, eager to clutch at the few minutes of the day when she could forget her fears and relax. Eager to drown out her thoughts in the sound of his outwardly calm voice.

She wondered whether she should tell him about the finger. But it was unimportant, like the rest of her day.

Night settled in, creeping out from the corners and taking over the whole house. Tomorrow, a new day would dawn, and the cycle of violence, and hate and fear would begin again. But in these few hours until dawn, everyone could sleep and dream their own dreams.

For even their worst nightmares could not match the dangers that came with dawn.

It?s true that first books can be somewhat autobiographical.? But in any work of fiction, you cannot divorce the author from the book.? Authors? imaginations are not unlimited ? they do base characters, incidents and descriptions on people have known and places they have seen.

But what about the reverse ? what if an autobiography turns out to be pure fiction?? This happened this week ? twice.

First, there was ?Misha: A M?moire of the Holocaust Years? by Misha Defonseca.? This book, translated into 18 languages and adapted for a French feature film, talked about how Misha survived the Warsaw ghetto, how she was adopted by wolves and how she trekked 1,900 miles across Europe searching for her parents.

It turns out it was all untrue, all of it, as the New York Times reported this week.? A magnificent work of fiction, except that it wasn?t supposed to be fiction.

Then came the second revelation.? Margaret B. Jones?s book ?Love and Consequences? is described by the New York Times as about ?her life as a half-white, half-Native American girl growing up in South-Central Los Angeles as a foster child among gang-bangers, running drugs for the Bloods.???? Again, all of this, starting with being half-white, was apparently a figment of Ms. Jones?s imagination.

My question is ? if these books were works of fiction, why did the authors not try to sell them as fiction?? Why try to pass them off as autobiographies?

Both these authors obviously possessed imagination in abundance.? At least one of them was also able to write a very successful bestseller.? Why not simply write the book as a fictional account?

As a reader, I can always read a good book and imagine that the story could have happened to someone somewhere.? The author does not need to fool me that it actually happened to her.

Does it all come down to marketing then?? Is it because the authors felt it would be much easier to market the book as the author?s life story, especially if it was such a unique, strange story?? After all, it?s not so much about the book these days as it is about the author.?? I do not know much about Somerset Maugham or Thomas Hardy, but I know all about how J.K. Rowling wrote the Harry Potter series in coffee shops while her daughter slept beside her in the stroller.? I don’t know exactly how she likes her coffee, but that’s probably because I wasn’t paying attention.

But isn?t this somewhat short-sighted?? While curiosity about the author may prompt some readers to buy the book, it will not become a bestseller unless it is actually readable…

Or am I missing something here?? Does a good book become less compelling just because it is fiction??? Does every book have to have many stories behind it – the story of how the author got the idea to write this book, the story of how and where the author wrote the book, and the author’s life story?

Come to think of it, I know all about J.K. Rowling.? I know very little about J.R.R. Tolkien.?? I am well on the way to forgetting Harry Potter.?? But I know I will re-read Tolkien? many times in the future.

If the book is a classic, strangely, the author is irrelevant.

No onions here either.

She looked at him in dismay. Together, they had searched every grocery store in the area now. They had stocked up on all the other stuff they needed for tomorrow’s trek. Gatorade, trail mix, candy, biscuits. Cameras, batteries, memory cards, iPods.

But they hadn’t found the onions.

“What will we do now?” she asked him in frustration. “We are going to be walking the whole day..how will we manage without it?”

“The charge runs down really fast these days” he grumbled. “Without the onion, how will I recharge my iPod?”

Yes, this video is fake…and very old. Some of you may have seen it long ago.

Why do they have different standards for people, he wondered. I cannot wear orange shirts, he thought, no one will like it, but can I not even be a little round?

He looked down at his feet, or rather, at his protruding belly. He hadn’t been able to see his feet in years, of course.

He was a trader in Wall Street, and he was worried. Not about the stock market, or the recession. He was worried about his weight, all 300 lbs of it.

He looked down at his wife, sleeping peacefully, and shuddered.

It had all started yesterday when he casually leaned against an edge of the dining table, and then shifted his weight over it. The table leg promptly collapsed, and with it, the table.

“It’s a Baker!” his wife had screamed, her eyes filling with tears.

“I’ll replace it! Tomorrow!” he had hastily assured her, mentally shuddering at what it would cost him. Twenty thousand dollars?

“But it was my grandfather’s!”, she wept. Then, she gave him her ultimatum.

“Either you lose 50 lbs in one month”, she said “or I will leave you.”

He knew she was serious about it. He hadn’t slept all night.

The trouble was, he had already tried everything. Diet pills in red, orange and blue. Every type of diet from Atkins to salads to cardboard-meals-sent-home.

He had even tried the Madonna inspired popcorn diet, and munched popcorn at his desk. His fellow traders, gobbling their French fries, had laughed at him.

“Are you at a movie, buddy?” they had asked him.

Eventually, the jokes got to him. He went back to the fries.

He exercised religiously whenever he had a few minutes to spare – that is, on weekends. He walked as much as he could every day – from the subway to his workplace. No doctor was willing to operate on him, so surgery was out.

Yet, he wasn’t losing any weight.

There was only one option left. It was scary and dangerous, but it was the only way out. After a long sleepless night, he had come to a decision.

He would go to prison.

He had heard that prisoners in NYC jails had great diets and were losing weight. He had read about the menu – whole wheat bread and fresh fruit. Steamed carrots. All the food he could never manage to eat at work. Or at home.

Yes, he would go to prison.He would go out today and assault a policeman. That should do it.

“Four weeks in Rikers Island”, said the judge the next day. “The defendant is asked to rise and state his name to the court.”

He stood up and faced the judge.

“O. Henry”, he said.

My nod to O. Henry’s “The Cop and the Anthem”

The rules of the tag are : Post 5 links to 5 of your previously written posts. The posts have to relate to the 5 key words given (family, friend, yourself, your love, anything you like). Tag 5 other friends to do this meme. Try to tag at least 2 new acquaintances (if not, your current blog buddies will do) so that you get to know them each a little bit better.

Yes, I just heard the sound of a dozen people rushing for the exit. Why do people dislike recycled posts, or recycled jokes? Isn’t recycling a great thing to do?

But for those of you who are still on this page, I am certain you will be richly rewarded. I am not certain exactly how, but it involves increasing patience, speed-reading and practising your (Harry Potterish) curses/ spells. Expecto EndOfPage might work, or Silencio WillYouPlease, or NoMora OfYourPostus. Other ideas are welcome.

Here are the links. Yes, you do have to click on at least one of these posts, and comment. I will be checking for comments. No, you can’t get away, so there.

Family: This one was easy. It’s the poem I wrote when my brother completed his Ph.D.

Friend: This is tough. I just realized that I haven’t written about any friends in my blog. Not good. But hey, R is also a friend, right ? So here is a post about R, cricket and sleeping (no, that’s not in order of priority )

Yourself: This blog is all about me as it is, so which posts do I choose? Did you know that I can hear sounds that no one else does ?

Love: What are the things I love? After Sleeping, I love Eating. Unfortunately, this involves Cooking, which I am not at all fond of. In my defense, I do try to cook, and I know I am doing lots of good. After all, there’s nothing like bad cooking to aid weight reduction. My (mis)adventures involve making apple pie and samosas, among other things.

Anything I like: I am not a big fan of watching TV. Definitely not NFL, but then you all know that.

I like watching the geese in my backyard pond, stepping on freshly fallen snow, and making up imaginary stories about real people.

I also like to write scifi, and I can tell you how astronauts will take over Mars by sneezing. As you can see, I have many talents, even if all of them are useless.

Now, I have to tag five other people (including at least 2 new acquaintances) to continue the good work of recycling. I am going to pick 5 people whose blogs I love to read. Unlike me, they have been blogging for years and have great blog posts to show off (also unike me). I must admit a selfish intent here – I’d love to know what posts they like best. It saves me the trouble of trawling their blog

So here are the bloggers you should all rush off to see:

Anantha
Bombay Addict
KM
Neha
Space Bar

I hope all of you decide to take up the tag. You can, of course, be creative. So Anantha, if you choose to include Rajni or Dilbert among your friends (or family?), I will believe you