In a culture where meals are celebrated, Indian families frequently board flights with an abundance of homemade delicacies. A viral clip depicted a family showcasing their culinary spread, igniting discussions online. Reflecting on personal anecdotes involving aromatic treats like aloo poori and kachoris, the author emphasizes the joy of homemade food yet advocates for mindfulness in shared flight spaces, reminding travelers that planes are communal areas, not private dining halls.
But there is a difference between carrying a sandwich and turning your row into a travelling food court at 30,000 feet. My mother once packed aloo poori for a one-hour flight because, according to her, leaving home without food is basically asking for trouble. Every Indian family has a flight ritual. Reach the airport early, carry enough snacks to survive a delayed flight and, just in case, pack enough food to feed a small wedding party. We have all done it. Airline food can be expensive, underwhelming and served in portions that leave you wondering whether the meal was meant for you or your hand luggage. A recent video showed a family on an IndiGo flight serving samosas, dhoklas, theplas, namkeen and condiments on disposable plates. Some family members were eating together, others were moving around the cabin, and a few girls were putting on press-on nails. To their credit, they cleaned up afterwards. Still, the internet had questions. Mostly about the smell, the space and whether the aircraft had somehow become a family function. My issue is not the food. My issue is the confidence . She wrapped the pooris in foil, put the achaar in a tiny dabba and handed me the packet at the airport with the seriousness of someone sending me into the wilderness. It was a one-hour flight. There was enough food for the flight, a delay, a layover and, possibly, an unexpected relative. On another flight, a co-passenger opened a box of kachoris. The smell reached my row almost immediately. A few people looked over. He closed the box and put it in the overhead bin. I thought, okay, message received. Ten minutes later, he got up, took the box out and started eating again. He hadn’t given up on the kachoris. He had simply given the cabin some time to recover. I have since realised that food on a flight has its own etiquette. Chips are fine until the packet starts making more noise than the safety announcement.