Stuck in Franfurt and other travails

The plane landed at Frankfurt and then spent a good 45 minutes chillin' on the apron. Of course, the airline was too cool to provide us with any connecting gate information. So upon deplaning, I ran like the blazes (not always a good strategy for a brown skinned bloke in Western Europe), got to my departure gate to see the flight pulling away. They had overbooked the flight as a matter of course, so it wasn't as if they were ever tempted to stick around for another two minutes for just one coach passenger. Oh wait, but it wasn't just one bloke in coach - it was more like 50 odd people. This was the line I found when I made it to the transfer desk. Most of us were desis, most of us returning to the Desh and most of us on United (bless their little hearts). They started giving people options:

1. Take the next flight back to the States, and then...
2. Here, follow this agent to the hotel booking desk, you have been chosen to receive a three night stay in Frankfurt, biergartens and nightlife not complimentary.
3. Of course, we can send you through Heathrow (rumour has it that Arrivals at Heathrow had a ginormous sign that said "Payekhana" in the good ol' Bengali script), and since you are a US citizen/greencard holder that is totally cool and you don't need brown people documents like a transit visa.
4. You, good sir are staying in this airport tonight. Since your three year old son appears to be sick, we will be sending him and the mom onwards to Chennai. But via Bangkok.

They took one look at my passport and told me to wait. More doors do open when you are in possession of a greencard. I got elbowed by a scrawny bloke and I was about to do some serious elbowing back when I spotted the anxious wife in tow, complete with infant. Had to back down. Bloke was going to UlanBator. The counter lady was delighted. Finally, someone she could route onwards with a minimum of fuss! (I should mention that Air India was on strike, leading to, umm.. complicashuns.) Anywhoo, by the time I got to the counter (again), the lady had been yelled at, had snot nosed kids dribble snot all over her desk and their sweaty, angry parents yell at her (again). So she sent me on to Doha, Qatar, with an effin' 14 hour layover and then Kolkata. I hid my grin as I asked for a mealvoucher and pheuncards. 14 hours in Doha would be fine. I fucken' hate overnighting at Mumbai or Dilli airports. They ship you to the domestic terminal which quite literally goes dark, apart from the one shitty fast food stall where the price gouging is done with a certain vindictiveness that I cannot account for. As I said, Doha was fine. My meal voucher got me some nice pork chops and a truly wonderful doppelbock. 

In the meantime, I had made some travel buddies. Most prominently, this one desi gentleman who was in the oil business and spends three weeks in the Gulf of Mexico and three in Mumbai. Hell of a life. Anyway, toasted his good health with the doppelbock and hopped on the Qatar Air flight to Doha.