The Dirty Details of US Repatriation

“It’s like a ghost town.”

This is how Dita described the outskirts of Bangalore urban as a small fleet of embassy organized buses made their way towards Chennai. 

Just over forty people split between four buses travelled to the Taj Hotel, where rooms were blocked for the night before the flight the next evening. The rate, payable at the hotel, was exceptional. Of course, what you save in rate, you pay for in food. Arriving after markets had closed for the night, travellers had little choice than to pay for an overpriced, boxed dinner and packed lunch the following day.

We departed for the airport over six hours before the first scheduled flight. An American flag blew softly in the breeze as we pulled up to the departures gate. It was almost joyful, though it was quickly followed with a consulate employee handing us four pages of documents to ensure we were going to pay for the flight we were about to take. 

After a myriad of paperwork, health checks, and instructions, we finally made our way into the terminal, checked our bags, and waited. Thankfully, travellers could enjoy a cup of MSG-filled instant noodles, soft drinks, or scolding coffee from a bare bones coffee shop opened purely for this flight.

As the expatriates from Bangalore joined those from Kochi, Chennai, and other nearby cities, we were divided onto two Air India planes. Given a global pandemic, these flights operated as anticipated: flights attendants were in full-body PPE, prepackaged snacks waited in seats, and announcements were made prior to the departure asking to all travellers not to request service unless absolutely necessary. The middle seats were blocked for passengers, and a buffer row whenever possible.

Transferring in New Delhi saw several more checkpoints. My passport’s spine has never looked so worn. Dita, a foreign national, had additional hoops to jump through and, of course, was pulled off to the side and threatened that she may not be able to board this plane, even with a valid US visa. Pretty standard US boarder control tactics: fear.

The passengers from both Air India flights joined several more expatriates from New Delhi. I knew this flight was full, but I didn’t think it was going to be full. Dita and I were assigned to A-B seats. I asked the flight attendant as we boarded if we were in a two-seat row or if C was blocked to social distance.

“It’s a full flight, sir”.

We strapped in for the 14-hour United flight from Delhi to San Francisco, adjusted our masks, and took everything in. What we saw was what we saw every time we flew: kids screaming in their seats, passengers crammed in like sardines, and the flight attendants (without masks) helping where they could. 

Needless to say, we couldn’t get off that plane fast enough.

We knew that this flight would cost a large sum of money. Being a one-way trip and with social distancing guidelines put in place for US airlines, we understood why it would cost a large sum. What shocked us both (and enraged me) was how social distancing guidelines could be completely disregarded. An already adherent risk of travelling at this time was compounded by the irresponsibility of the airline and the US embassy.

While our passports and body temperatures were checked about a dozen times in India leading up to our flights, we breezed through US customs as if the world wasn’t facing a pandemic. No medical screening, no questions about planned quarantine. Just a routine customs check and be on your way.

It was a night and day difference between the Indian and US flights, which reflected perfectly why the former is winning the war against Covid-19 in comparison to the latter.

My colleagues in India would ask why we wanted to return to a country that has completely bungled the Covid-19 outbreak.

After taking that repatriation flight, I couldn’t respond.