"Let your life lightly dance on the edges of Time like dew on the tip of a leaf" ~ Rabindranath Tagore

The frenzy of freedom, democracy, human rights and fellowship among human beings during the 1980's led to an enormous increase in travel between countries. Despite an increase in travel the safety and security of the innocent travelers have deteriorated. Most of us think that crowded airports are safer because of the presence of many people. It is a myth. Travelers on vacation are relaxed and move around unmindful of their probable exposure to common criminal activities. To a crook every person is a potential target - be it in a dark alley or in a crowded airport. It is hard for an airline traveler to imagine that someone could run away with Joe's or Jane's handbag from a crowded airport in broad daylight never to be caught or seen again; or that someone could drug Joe's or Jane's coffee or drinks and steal everything. That's exactly what happened to me.

Since I had written to three friends, I was hoping one of them would meet me at the airport. I was not familiar with either the new international airport or the old domestic airport of Bombay. I knew my flight to Calcutta would leave from the domestic airport, which was about a ten minutes drive from the international airport. I was tired from the long flight from Madrid to Bombay via London, for I had had no sleep for the past 32 hours.

The British Airways flight 019 arrived on time and landed safely. Around 7.30 a.m., I entered the terminal. The first surprise came as I approached the lines at passport control. There were signs posted for specific passports; yet, the lines were disorganized. The space was inadequate for all the passengers, and the uniformed policemen were busy escorting their own friends to the counter ahead of others. I assumed some passengers could not understand the signs and were standing in lines where they should not be. Others probably had not filled in their exit forms properly. I also learned that airport personnel were handling four other flights simultaneously without any increase in staff.

As I stepped out of passport control, I was shocked to see the chaos in the luggage area. Every conceivable space was filled with luggage, carts and passengers. I could not walk beyond a few steps from the partitions of passport control. The customs lines were in disarray. White-clothed customs personnel and khaki-clothed policemen were everywhere talking or gossiping when they should have been providing assistance to passengers. It was worse than a crowded bazaar.

Finally, I picked up my suitcase from the conveyer and was ready for customs check, joining a long line. Inching, I came to the 'green line.' Green lines are for quick clearance of passengers with no dutiable goods. There were at least fifteen people and twenty-five carts ahead of me. It seemed most passengers had more suitcases than usual. The green line was equipped with a large scanning machine, but the machine was not functioning properly. Often the luggage had to be pulled in and out of the tray, causing more physical agony for the already exhausted passengers.

Since unscrupulous passengers try to take advantage of the green line, customs personnel were randomly checking suitcases before scanning. Some passengers were asked to open their suitcases, while others were allowed to go without scanning. Finally, I came out and felt relieved.

In a new country one needs local currency, so I exchanged some US dollars for the local currency. The next order of business was to find out if someone had come to see me at the airport. None of my friends was at the airport, nor was there any message for me at the British Airways. I came out of the terminal building for a transport to the domestic airport. People from taxis and buses approached me and I decided that a bus would be safest. That turned out to be a stupid mistake. "Bus" was a misnomer. It was a tattered carriage with a cover. I sat inside the bus for over twenty minutes in sweltering heat until the entire bus was overcrowded with passengers and luggage. In fact, I was carrying my luggage on my lap. Finally the bus moved forward, and, after thirty minutes and a dozen stops, entered the parking lot of the domestic airport. I had to carry my luggage across the parking lot to the terminal building, a distance of more than a hundred yards.

My next move was to find a cafe or a restaurant to have breakfast. I saw a man in a striped shirt close to me and asked him if there was a restaurant or coffee shop close by. He said not to go to the one close by, the quality was not good, and suggested the second floor restaurant. One thing led to another as he introduced himself as a reporter for the Indian Express newspaper and said he was waiting for his flight to Delhi. I told him that my flight to Calcutta is at 4 p.m. Eventually, I invited him to join me for a cup of tea. At this time, he suggested that I take a room at the airport for rest. He took me to the airport superintendent's office, and I filled in some forms for a room for the rest of the day. The charges were so high that I decided against it. At this point he said he knew someone in the airport rest house and would help me freshen-up.

I accompanied him to the rest house on the second floor of the airport. He talked to the clerk and obtained a room key from him, and both of us went into a room. Within fifteen minutes, we left the room and went to the second floor restaurant with my luggage. I ordered tea and a light breakfast for both of us. When the tea was served, he took the teapot and poured the tea in my cup. I started sipping the tea; it was bitter, so I told him the tea was not good here anyway. He suggested more sugar in the tea, and I did exactly that. I probably took a few more sips of the tea, and that's all I remembered. I had passed out and was considered brain dead by those who found me and took me to a hospital.

Later, I was told that I moved my right toe on the morning of June 7 and someone noticed it. Nursing attendants quickly called the doctors; and for the first time, I heard someone asking me, "what do you see?" I said a "moustache." I could hear people talking, but most of it was unintelligible to me. I felt drugged. The next thing I remembered was that I had breakfast and I could not eat much of it except for the tea. Around noon, the nurses cleaned me with moist towels and asked me to eat my lunch. By now I could recall who I was, but I was too weak to sit or talk. After lunch the two nurses helped me walk a few steps at a time. I felt like I had no bones in my body. However, I managed to walk for a few minutes. I also walked for a few minutes after dinner and went to bed for the night.

The following morning on June 8, I felt a lot better and learned that the airport medical officer had sent me to this hospital around 5.30 p.m. on June 4 as a "brain dead and comatose" patient. The doctors later told me that they didn't expect me to live a normal life. However, I was feeling better in the afternoon and was very hungry. Fortunately, I was recovering quickly. On June 9, I asked if I could return to the USA. Some of the attending physicians disagreed. When I insisted, the chief physician agreed to let me go provided I sign a document releasing the hospital from all liability. The hospital and the Indian Airline staff were very helpful and went out of their way to arrange my travel through British Air on June 10, and I was back in the USA on June 11, 1990.

No one could tell me what happened to me in the restaurant or account for the time between 9 a.m. and 5:15 p.m. when I was found lying in a corner of the ground floor of the domestic airport. All I know is that the airport medical officer examined me, and an ambulance carried me to the hospital. Probably my passport saved my life. It had emergency telephone numbers. The hospital staff gave up on me, and they called my relatives to move my body after being drugged. I lost all of my money and valuables and over $5,000 was charged on my credit card during the first three days.

During November 1990, the daily newspaper, Times of India, published a picture of a criminal and a similar incident. One of my relatives sent me the newspaper clipping. As soon as I saw the picture, I recognized the man. It was the same person who had poured my tea from the teapot at the airport restaurant. I filed a report with the Deputy Commissioner of Police in Bombay, and I was told that the man had committed several other crimes of a similar nature and was being prosecuted. I am lucky to be alive. Travelers, beware!