<p>An airport in India, especially in the metropolitan cities, provides experiences ranging from the amusing to the exasperating. Indians possess many admirable qualities, including enterprise, resilience and the ability to locate vegetarian food in countries like Argentina. A certain category of the Indian traveller, though, appears to have misplaced its sense of shame somewhere between check-in and immigration. </p><p>A few weeks ago your columnist, returning to Delhi from the Far East, noticed a healthy-looking youngish man installed in a wheelchair beside the baggage belt, surveying proceedings with the beady eyes of a weasel. When his suitcase appeared, he sprang from his chair with such enthusiasm that anyone watching might reasonably have assumed divine intervention, leading to an abrupt recovery. Standing nearby was an elegantly dressed traveller whose appearance suggested impeccable manners, a respectable education and possibly membership of a club where jackets and ties are essential after sunset. Watching this astonishing medical breakthrough, he murmured, “What a shameless idiot,” with the frustrated accuracy of a man who had exhausted every charitable explanation. Your columnist felt that the gentleman had produced a near perfect assessment of the situation. </p><p>Naturally, appearances cannot tell us who needs help, since many disabilities are invisible and plenty of wheelchair users can stand or walk short distances. The deserving traveller is entitled to help without undergoing a public scrutiny. Our concern is with the perfectly capable passenger who regards assistance as a complimentary upgrade, complete with someone to push and a useful exemption from standing behind a bunch of self-respecting suckers, waiting for their turn to clear security. At an overseas airport, your columnist sometimes suspects that a wheelchair is as useful as a passport for identifying an Indian traveller, so enthusiastically have our free-ride specialists adopted it as their preferred mode of transport. The resulting spectacle invites amusement rather than admiration, although the passenger sailing past the queue may mistake the smiles for recognition of his importance, when those watching are merely enjoying the sight of a grown man taking his self-respect for a ride. </p><p>Your columnist recalls another journey when an employee of an American bank arrived with considerable swagger, followed by a loader carrying his solitary piece of luggage. The banker appeared to possess a complete set of functioning limbs, although these were evidently reserved for more demanding professional activities, such as adjusting his sunglasses and shaking hands. Your columnist thought of his elderly father, disabled following a stroke, who would have regarded the ability to carry his own bags as a privilege, rather than an unreasonable demand. On that very journey, a European gentleman seated beside the banker had two artificial legs, used crutches and carried his own bags with pride. The contrast was painful, particularly for anyone brought up to believe that dignity had something to do with how one behaved rather than how many people could be persuaded of one’s importance. </p><p>The best way to fix the wheelchair racket would be to impose a charge of Rs 1,000 for its use. Faced with being clobbered for a thousand rupees, several previously uncooperative knees would rediscover their youthful enthusiasm and, consequently, the queue at immigration might acquire a few familiar faces. Airlines could display the charge prominently beside the service desk, allowing passengers to consider their requirements before committing themselves to a course of treatment. Your columnist suspects that many would pause, consult their spouses and decide that a little exercise before a long flight was precisely what the doctor ordered, particularly once they established that walking remained entirely free of charge. </p>
<p>An airport in India, especially in the metropolitan cities, provides experiences ranging from the amusing to the exasperating. Indians possess many admirable qualities, including enterprise, resilience and the ability to locate vegetarian food in countries like Argentina. A certain category of the Indian traveller, though, appears to have misplaced its sense of shame somewhere between check-in and immigration. </p><p>A few weeks ago your columnist, returning to Delhi from the Far East, noticed a healthy-looking youngish man installed in a wheelchair beside the baggage belt, surveying proceedings with the beady eyes of a weasel. When his suitcase appeared, he sprang from his chair with such enthusiasm that anyone watching might reasonably have assumed divine intervention, leading to an abrupt recovery. Standing nearby was an elegantly dressed traveller whose appearance suggested impeccable manners, a respectable education and possibly membership of a club where jackets and ties are essential after sunset. Watching this astonishing medical breakthrough, he murmured, “What a shameless idiot,” with the frustrated accuracy of a man who had exhausted every charitable explanation. Your columnist felt that the gentleman had produced a near perfect assessment of the situation. </p><p>Naturally, appearances cannot tell us who needs help, since many disabilities are invisible and plenty of wheelchair users can stand or walk short distances. The deserving traveller is entitled to help without undergoing a public scrutiny. Our concern is with the perfectly capable passenger who regards assistance as a complimentary upgrade, complete with someone to push and a useful exemption from standing behind a bunch of self-respecting suckers, waiting for their turn to clear security. At an overseas airport, your columnist sometimes suspects that a wheelchair is as useful as a passport for identifying an Indian traveller, so enthusiastically have our free-ride specialists adopted it as their preferred mode of transport. The resulting spectacle invites amusement rather than admiration, although the passenger sailing past the queue may mistake the smiles for recognition of his importance, when those watching are merely enjoying the sight of a grown man taking his self-respect for a ride. </p><p>Your columnist recalls another journey when an employee of an American bank arrived with considerable swagger, followed by a loader carrying his solitary piece of luggage. The banker appeared to possess a complete set of functioning limbs, although these were evidently reserved for more demanding professional activities, such as adjusting his sunglasses and shaking hands. Your columnist thought of his elderly father, disabled following a stroke, who would have regarded the ability to carry his own bags as a privilege, rather than an unreasonable demand. On that very journey, a European gentleman seated beside the banker had two artificial legs, used crutches and carried his own bags with pride. The contrast was painful, particularly for anyone brought up to believe that dignity had something to do with how one behaved rather than how many people could be persuaded of one’s importance. </p><p>The best way to fix the wheelchair racket would be to impose a charge of Rs 1,000 for its use. Faced with being clobbered for a thousand rupees, several previously uncooperative knees would rediscover their youthful enthusiasm and, consequently, the queue at immigration might acquire a few familiar faces. Airlines could display the charge prominently beside the service desk, allowing passengers to consider their requirements before committing themselves to a course of treatment. Your columnist suspects that many would pause, consult their spouses and decide that a little exercise before a long flight was precisely what the doctor ordered, particularly once they established that walking remained entirely free of charge. </p>
