The French connection kicked off my summer

It's a different life for those of us blessed to ever make it to the Indian team, or for that matter, any cricket team in India, writes Aakash Chopra.

It's a different life for those of us blessed to ever make it to the Indian team, or for that matter, any cricket team in India. It is a difference not always overt but one that manifests itself in many ways, in the way you're treated, in the little courtesies extended and other things.

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In a way, this difference is a blessing. Most of us spend all our growing-up years on the ground, playing or practising and have little time to get used to the formalities of a nonsportsperson's life. More pertinently, we are always in a group and seldom have to take on responsibilities.

We are spoilt since childhood by having managers and coaches around! I got my first lesson in how things would be about eight years ago, during my first first class season. I was picked for the Board President's XI to play under Rahul Dravid at Vizag against the Aussies.

I was travelling alone for the first time and had little knowledge about check-in procedures at the airport and very conveniently, forgot my baggage tags at Delhi. But this is India and I was part of a cricket squad — so thankfully, I sailed through.

But since then life has changed and changed again. For instance, while wearing India colours, travelling is luxurious. You don't have to worry about the excess baggage (usually because of the kits) and immigration and sundry other things that make an airport traveller's life miserable.

So this time, travelling to England to start my summer season in Stoke-on-Trent was quite an experience. At first, in Delhi, things were okay. Having played for the country helps as if the airline people recognize you, they usually understand the situation and help. But I was flying with Air France to Birmingham and hadn't bargained for Paris.

The French are known to be proud of their culture, heritage and most importantly, their language. This was amply clear from the minute I boarded the aircraft as none of the staff made an effort to speak in Eng lish even to non-French nationals. When they needed to — an emergency — they didn't like it.

At Charles de Gaulle, I found some serious police checking right at the exit gate of the terminal. Even as I watched with dispassionate interest, I found myself being stopped and hauled away with a few other Indians and couple of South African nationals. As we Indians conferred urgently, I realised that whoever was travelling abroad for the first time had been stopped for reasons better known to the authorities.

In my case, my old passport had finished and I was travelling on a brand new one with the requisite UK visa and work permit. So I happily fished out my old passports and requested the officials to look. To my horror, they would just not respond and finally, my request was denied. All this while, the remaining passengers were being screened. When they were satisfied that no one else could be taken into custody, we were taken to the police control room like a parade of convicts. Two cops took our passports and gave us marching orders. It was very embarrassing but quite an experience.

With the confidence of a seasoned traveller, I was still reasonably comfortable though definitely irritated but the poor people around were terrified.

The strange part about the French police is that they refuse to talk or listen to anything. After standing in their office like crooks for a while and understanding nothing of what they said, we Indians were shown the door. We neither received an apology nor told a reason for interrogation.

Still, in their defence, it must be said they had not released the South Africans till we left, so I assume they must have found something fishy.

This incident also gave me the opportunity to know my fellow "captives". Santosh is a chef and Manish a software professional. Both had permits but were first-time travellers. Poor Santosh missed his connection to Edinburgh and was told to buy a new ticket. Fortunately, he convinced the airline authorities that it was their police's fault, not his. He was put on an evening flight but had to wait 10 hours at Charles de Gaulle.

I made my flight and as I got on the plane to begin my sojourn through summer, I couldn't help giving thanks for being a cricketer. And, the fact that for most of when I travel, I'm part of a team.

(This is the first piece of a freewheeling column through summer in England)