Colas & Freebies

| 3 MINUTE READ | Childhood impressions & childish joys

At the end of a trip to London, as my wife, 2 yo daughter and I are settling into our seats, the flight attendant approaches us. After confirming our identities, she informs us of an upgrade to business class. We move to a cabin with seats that go into a deep recline and headphones that turn off the incessant and unnoticed buzz that envelops us. The futuristic novelties of 2006. Surrounded by elite co-passengers at ease in ambient luxury.

I recall a childhood incident from the late 70s. We are visiting a distant aunt who offers us a Cola. Instead of casually saying ‘can I get you a cola’, she formally enquires ‘would you like a cola’. I reflexively and politely decline. On the way home, I huff at denying myself a cola. My mum, who otherwise never stocks them at home, offers to stop and buy me one. I refuse because the sweet joys of a ‘free cola’ seemed entirely different from the pedestrian act of purchasing one.

This dormant desire for freebies now erupts into an ‘Alice in Wonderland’ moment. I stay awake for 9 hours, walled in a cocoon, lulled by a big screen, filled by on demand popcorn.

Fast forward 17 years to the present.

The Blackberry and Motorola Razr are history. Mobile phone users in India have grown from 45 to 1100 million. I am a member of 47 whatsapp groups. 300 message impressions explode on my device on a quiet day. One of them is from my wife.

Wife: We have to book our hotel room in Pune for 5th night.

Conversations from the orchestra group, in which our son plays the trumpet, float across my mind. I helpfully clarify.

Me: The orchestra group is booking the hotel.

5 hours and multiple QR codes for overdue payments later, my wife responds.

Wife: Only for the kids!!!!!

Am on an early morning train out of town the next day. I make all the payments. I open booking.com and reserve a room at the hotel. I share all the screenshots of payments made with my wife and confirm the hotel booking.

We are with friends the evening before our departure. My credit card is charged for the hotel room. I mention the unusually high price. One of them checks the site and informs me I have booked a suite when ordinary rooms are available at half price. I am certain that was the cheapest room available when I booked. But it was early, I didn’t have my reading glasses on and the font size on my phone is the absolute minimum for reasons I no longer recall but am hesitant to change. I begin to feel foolish. My wife asks me to cancel and rebook. I can’t because there is a 100% cancellation charge. I assure my wife I will sort it out at the hotel. She is unconvinced but tired, so we go with my plan.

We arrive at the front desk. It is the Taj so they are uniformly helpful. They ask me to reconfirm I would like to downgrade. The question confuses me. Nobody voluntarily spends hard-earned money on a hotel suite. Unless they just got married or hold a wad of 2000 rupee notes. I confirm the downgrade. They request me to cancel the booking. They waive the cancellation charges. I make a fresh booking. We use the room for a short nap before the concert.

In the evening, we meet some friends in the lobby. The Regional Area Director is passing through. He overhears my wife’s voice, steps forward and calls out her name. They hug. He is a childhood school friend from Chennai. In the course of our brief conversation, I mention my booking mess up. He fixes time to catch up with us over breakfast the next day and leaves.

We finish our tea and and are about to depart for the concert when the GM brings us a message from the Regional Area Director. Of a free upgrade back to the suite. There is a dramatic swirl of images in my head. Of cancellation fee waivers, downgrades and upgrades. Of thwarted colas and intercontinental business class seats.

Childhood conditioning is a powerful thing. I feel it echo its sweet joy within me from almost five decades ago.

We attend the concert, catch up with an old friend for dinner and return. After a ceremonial survey of the suite, I retire for the night. My wife says the beds here are much better than from this afternoon. I fall sleep admiring her attention to innocuous details.