This incident dates back to 1995. Things have changed a bit since then, but this is my recollection from one evening in Delhi, during my first trip there.
Four of us had almost completed a project in India, and all except me were leaving. I was staying to do some final proof-reading and editing.
After dinner, the other 3 left for the airport and I went up to my room to bed.
But just as I’d fallen asleep the phone went. It was a call from the airport where one of our team, Simon, had been taken so ill that he’d been chucked off the plane.
I had to go and get him to a hospital.
The first thing I had to do was to get some cash for the taxi. Luckily the front desk at the hotel was still staffed, so that was taken care of.
Next I needed a taxi. Most taxis in India were locally produced versions of the British Morris Oxford, dating from the mid 1950′s.
Maintenance was never a priority, so they were less than pristine. In fact, they’d be laughed out of the garage if they were ever presented for a road-worthiness test in Europe or the US.
Shutting the taxi door caused the entire vehicle to rattle like a drum kit, and this was exceeded by the shuddering when the driver let out the clutch.
Luckily, this particular cab was incapable of more than 25 miles per hour, and that speed halved at the slightest suggestion of an incline. That was a good thing: any faster than that and it would have shaken itself to pieces.
At that time International flights all departed between about 10:00 pm and 4:00 am – so I was arriving at the airport at peak time.
You’re only allowed into the airport terminal itself if you have a ticket for travel on that day, and guards armed with rifles ensured compliance.
But I didn’t know that, so when I arrived I was gob-smacked by the sight that greeted me.
All the well-wishers of everyone who was leaving India that night were camped outside the doors of the terminal. There were hundreds of people. Possibly thousands. Some had even brought blankets and food, and set themselves up for the night.
It was a heaving mass of humanity.
I had no mobile phone and, faced with this crowd and the armed guards, absolutely no idea how to get into the terminal to rescue Simon.
I tried the British Airways offices – closed. (It was after midnight by now)
I tried the Airport Manager’s office. Open, but he and his colleagues were in the middle of a game of cards.
I was told to wait and someone would help me. But after 15 minutes, during which time the card game continued uninterrupted, I figured I’d just have to try to attract someone’s attention from the terminal entrance. If I could get close enough.
I was just trying to persuade the armed guard that I should be allowed to speak to someone at the BA desk (which was only about 10 paces away), when one of the BA staff saw me and came over.
I confirmed that I was “Mr Martin”, and he told me that because I’d taken so long to get there, and because Simon was so ill by now, British Airways had arranged for an ambulance to take him to the hospital.
That was a far, far better solution than me trying to get him to a hospital in my decrepit taxi. Especially as I had no idea where any hospitals were.
At that point Simon appeared – in a wheel chair. And I can honestly say that I’ve never seen anyone look so ill and still be alive. He gave no sign of recognising me, and he told me later that he’d no idea I’d even been there.
Anyway, they loaded him into the ambulance, told me which hospital they were taking him to and set off.
By this time it was approaching 2:00 am, so I figured my best plan was to get back to the hotel and deal with the hospital the next day. As long as I could find my taxi.
Luckily (I guess because none of the hundreds of people outside the airport were planning on leaving that night) it was still there.
And luckily I was able to get the driver to understand I wanted to go back to the hotel.
Simon was released 2 or 3 days later – he’d had a particularly nasty case of Delhi Belly and needed a drip and some serious re-hydration.
And I escaped about a week later, with only the loss of the batteries in my walkman (to the security guards) to complain about.
Like I said at the beginning – things have changed since then. Thankfully.
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