By Robert Clements
Just an Indigo Thought..!
Chaos reigned in the skies. Flights delayed. Flights cancelled. Passengers stranded like refugees clutching their boarding passes as if they were ration cards. Screens flashing the merciless word Delayed. Cancelled. Again and again, each repetition stabbing another heart.
As I watched this unfolding drama, a thought tiptoed into my mind. Why this sudden fury directed at Indigo. A private airline that has for years been the pride of Indian skies. The most punctual. The most efficient. The most dependable. The one shining star in a sky otherwise clouded with delays, losses, and government bailouts. What had changed overnight.
The official story sounded noble. Pilots must not fly beyond duty hours. Safety first. Fatigue rules. Protect passengers. Alertness matters. Wonderful words. Beautiful packaging. Sold to us with patriotic urgency.
But let’s turn a page: India has the highest number of road accident deaths in the world. Thousands die every year. Every year. Our highways are graveyards without crosses. And many of these deaths happen because drivers fall asleep. Not because they are reckless. Not because they are drunk. But because they are exhausted. They gulp tea at every dhaba to stay awake. They chew tobacco until their cheeks go numb. They splash cold water on their faces. They sing loudly to themselves at two in the morning. They keep their eyelids open with the music of desperation. And they drive on, because stopping means losing a day’s earnings. Because rest is a luxury they cannot afford.
And thousands die. Families break. Children become orphans. Yet nobody shuts down a transport corporation. Nobody grounds a bus company. Nobody holds emergency press conferences. Nobody demands that truck drivers be forced to rest. We simply shrug. And move on.
And now back to the skies again. The same system that sleeps through highway carnage woke up with sudden fury to declare war on pilots. Pilots who have never caused a single accident due to fatigue. Pilots who fly with the precision of surgeons. Pilots who undergo training so rigorous that few public officials could survive a week of it. Pilots who can hand over controls to copilots or auto pilot, unlike truck drivers who cannot hand their steering wheels to anyone for even a minute.
Why then this emergency. Why this sudden purity of conscience.
And then, out of nowhere, memory walked quietly into my mind.
Some years ago, while travelling in Europe, I hired a vehicle from Belgium to take our small group around. The driver was a cheerful fellow named Pete. A tall man with a booming laugh, a fondness for Belgian chocolates, and a surprising fascination for Indian cricket. Every few hours he would pull out a notebook and carefully fill in some numbers. Curious as always, I asked what he was writing.
He explained that he was legally required to record every mile he drove. There was a maximum he was allowed to drive per day. Once he hit that number, he had to stop. Not could stop. Not should stop. Had to stop. The police could stop the van at any time and ask to see his log. If he exceeded his limit, the trip would be cancelled. We would be penalised. His licence would be suspended. The law protected rest. Protected life. Protected human dignity.
I was stunned. Here was a system where the law first protected the driver before protecting the passenger. A system where safety was not theatre but culture. A system where enforcement was not selective but consistent. A system where life mattered more than power.
And back home we treat human beings like machines. We push them till they break. We ignore until they die. And we forget until the next accident splashes across the newspapers.
Yet, rather than turning our legal spotlight onto the real killers — the sleepless highways — we swung it upward like anti -aircraft guns to shoot at a private airline. A successful one. A respected one. An independent one.
And here is where the thought crystallises.
Indigo did not fail. It was made to fall.
Because success today is dangerous. Because a private company outperforming those the government loves, is embarrassing.
So, ground the pilots. Halt the flights. Create chaos. Fill the nation with anger. Then step aside and whisper, Look, they cannot handle their business. Maybe someone else should.
It is a classic play. Break something. Then claim you are fixing it. The magician distracts with a shiny object while the real trick happens behind the curtain.
Passengers became pawns. Weddings missed. Interviews lost. Medical appointments destroyed. Vacations ruined. Tempers exploded. And all the while, those who lit the fire stood quietly behind bulletproof glass, watching the smoke rise.
And so the quiet Indigo thought returns.
If safety were truly the priority, then why not start with the drivers on the ground rather than the ones in the sky? We could have avoided national chaos. But chaos was needed. Chaos served a purpose. Chaos weakens. Chaos confuses. Confusion hides motive.
Meanwhile truck drivers continue to doze behind wheels. Families continue to die. Newspapers continue to print statistics that shock no one. And those with power continue to sleep peacefully every night.
Because there is no political value in saving exhausted truck drivers. But there is value in punishing the successful. There is value in frightening every business owner watching silently from the balcony.
The real turbulence was never in the air. It was on the ground.
It is only a thought. A quiet one. An Indigo thought. But thoughts have wings.
Will you think about it?
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