IndiGo crisis: 'Plane ready but no pilot' — first-person account of a harried flyer

T1, New Delhi: Last evening I was forewarned. “You’re on an IndiGo flight to Bengaluru tomorrow? Their schedule was haywire today. Tomorrow could be chaotic too. Try to change your carrier,” advised a colleague during the evening editorial meeting.

I tried. My flight was scheduled to depart at 2.15pm on Thursday. I rushed to see if I could get a ticket on another airline. But a ticket to Bengaluru had become pricier than a seat at a Taylor Swift concert. Clearly, other carriers were indulging in ‘surge pricing.’ I briefly considered cancelling the trip but finally decided to go ahead. “How bad can it get,” I thought. Silly me!


Thursday began well. I received a message in the morning from IndiGo saying they were looking forward to having me on board with the usual advice about what to pack in cabin baggage. There wasn’t the slightest hint of any disruption or inconvenience. “Maybe they’ve sorted out their problems overnight. Or my flight is among the few unaffected,” I thought optimistically.

I left for the airport around 11am, reached T1 around 12.30pm. My hopes rose further when the information board said IndiGo’s 2.15pm flight to Bengaluru, 6E 176, would go ahead as scheduled. Even the gate number, 38 in this case, was mentioned. I thanked my lucky stars.

The first hint that something was wrong came as I neared Gate 38 and found a crowd gathered around a single person, their voices sharp with anger. But by the time I reached the spot, the crowd had dispersed. “What’s happening?” I asked. One of the passengers enlightened me. “We’re supposed to be on a 10.30am flight to Bengaluru, 6E 173. But the flight time has long since passed and there’s no information. We spotted an IndiGo staffer and tried asking him but he’s completely clueless.”

With a sinking feeling, I checked the information board. It still said that my flight was on schedule. I settled down with a history book, still hopeful but a lot less optimistic.

Around 1.30pm, there was a flurry of movement. A gentleman from IndiGo had arrived on the scene, and a crowd formed around him. “Where is the plane?” demanded one person. “The plane is ready, but we don’t have a pilot to fly it,” he responded. “When will you have a pilot? Is the flight delayed or cancelled?” asked the passengers. He had no answers.

As he walked away, some angry flyers to another destination, who had been waiting even longer, stood near the gate and began chanting their flight number. “434, 434!” Briefly, a rumour spread that another IndiGo flight was ready for departure. Some ‘434’ flyers began yelling that they wouldn’t allow the flight to take off till their flight left. It turned out that it was another carrier’s flight, not IndiGo’s. The angry passengers watched sullenly as the lucky flyers filed through the gate, some offering sympathetic smiles.

By now, it was 1.45pm. If my plane was to take off on time, boarding would have to start now. The information board was still saying the flight would take off at 2.15pm. But there was no boarding announcement. I sighed and headed off for a loo break.

When I returned, passengers were filing through Gate 38. I rushed to join the queue, which was quite long. After a few minutes, raised voices were heard again. It turned out that this was a long-delayed flight to Chennai finally taking off.

By now my phone was running low on juice, so I plugged in the charger and sat down. A newly-wed couple was sitting next to me and we got talking. “We’ve been here since 10.30am,” said the husband. “They checked in our luggage and never said a word about the delay. Now even if we want to cancel, we can’t. We’re helpless and stuck.” (He requested me not to publish his name, saying he’s in the Army and not allowed to speak to the media without authorisation).

Around 3pm, there was another flurry of movement. “Don’t you dare touch me,” yelled a furious IndiGo lady staffer at an irate passenger. Tempers were running high. Fortunately, cooler heads prevailed. The passenger apologised and the lady calmed down. “So when is 6E 173 taking off?” asked a passenger. “It’s now scheduled for 5pm,” she said. “What about 6E 176?” asked others. “That will now leave at 6.30pm,” she said.

I sighed and settled back with my book. After half an hour, I again glanced at the information board. It now said my flight would depart at 7.10pm. But after some time, the timing changed again to 8.20pm. And the boarding gate shifted to 42. Rumours began circulating. “The flight will leave at midnight”. “The flight will be cancelled.”

I called our aviation correspondent. “Can you ask them for a definite time of departure?” I asked. “I can, but I doubt if even they know for sure,” he replied.

I thought of all the hours wasted. I thought of having to do it all over again, on the return flight. And I finally caved in and did what I should have done 24 hours earlier.

I cancelled my flight.

PS: If I thought my ordeal was over, I was mistaken. As I tried to exit the airport, I found a long queue at the security check point. It was for all flyers whose flights had been cancelled, or had chosen to cancel their tickets.

‘Tech-unsavvy people’ who had hard copies of their boarding cards simply got them stamped and breezed through. ‘Digital natives’ who had PDFs or had availed of DigIYatra had to show their cards and ID to an IndiGo staffer, who diligently noted their details.

I fumed and fretted for an hour, vowing that next time I’d take a hard copy. Still, I was one of the lucky ones, because I had packed all my stuff in a laptop bag and hadn’t checked in any luggage. Those who had checked in their luggage had no idea how to retrieve it. “We’ll probably have to come back tomorrow,” I heard an elderly gentleman tell his wife.

A couple of young women who had missed their connecting flight wondered what had happened to their luggage. Was it still in IGI or had it gone to the next destination? They’d probably have to come back the next day to find out too.

Just as I reached the IndiGo staffer, he began walking away. Passengers standing behind me howled in protest.

“Where are you going? We’ll have a riot,” a CISF lady standing next to him said sharply.

He looked like he was about to burst into tears. “I haven’t eaten or drunk anything since 2pm. Can I please get some water at least?” he pleaded.

“Get someone to replace you first,” the lady replied curtly.

The man sighed, wiped his face and turned towards me. I felt a pang of sympathy for him. I wished that I had a bottle of water to offer him. But all I could do was quietly proffer my phone, for him to note my details.
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