Believe it or not, India has achieved an unparalleled feat in bespoke aviation services. The once incredulous rumor—that an individual, irrespective of his wealth and standing, can have the audacity to ask the government to transform any ordinary airport into an international one for a short span, and that the government would comply with a cheerful thumbs up—has turned out to be a living reality.
This extraordinary possibility first came into the limelight through the UPA government’s introduction of the Flexi-Airports to Please the Masters of the Universe Act, 2013 (FAPMUA), although it lay dormant like a hidden gem until its recent implementation.
The Jamnagar airport witnessed this remarkable event, confirming India’s giant leap in accommodating the select few who wield economic clout and influence. It’s a tale that might render the average citizenry speechless, with industrial moguls once skeptical now scrambling to understand the machinations behind such an extraordinary provision.
Long gone are the days when dissent echoed around the Singhu border, where the winter air was filled with the clamor of thousands of farmers and workers standing in unity against government policies perceived to favor wealthy billionaires. They protested tirelessly against laws such as MGNREGA, Food Security Act, and Right to Education Act. Their indomitable spirit eventually led to the government conceding, culminating in the passage of FAPMUA to reassure the opulent class of their revered status.
The application of this act came into play most spectacularly when Mr. Dhandapani, the CMD of Dhandapani Industries, prepared for his son’s wedding celebration at the serene Godzi-La in Arunachal. With an exclusive guest list featuring global notorieties—Harvey Weinstein, Tim Jong Un, Jane Epstein, and Harry Pot—it was clear this event was not going to cater to the conventional entourage.
Faced with a geographical and logistical quandary, the nearest airstrip being a highly sensitive military airport in Tawang—close to the Chinese border—demanded a novel solution. Here, FAPMUA came to Mr. Dhandapani’s rescue. With a simple phone call, assurances were granted, and Tawang was set to become an international airport to serve the elite guests flying in their private luxury jets.
The conversation with the government helpline—personified by a responsive ‘Bhai’—was both courteous and accommodating. In the light of the gleaming GDP growth figures, the government laid out the red carpet for Mr. Dhandapani, promising to facilitate all the logistics, from Customs, Immigration, and Quarantine (CIQ) facilities, upgraded toilets adorned with NFT renditions of Picasso and Monet, to high-profile wait staff, no other than government ministers themselves.
The account, though satirical in essence, sheds light on an imaginary scenario where the state bends over backward to cater to the whims of billionaires, illustrating an exaggerated reflection on the influence of wealth and power in public policy. One could only muse at a reality where such extraordinary service is rendered with seamless efficiency and overt alacrity.
These momentous measures have set the stage for a new chapter in India’s approach to industrial magnates, and perhaps stand as a testament to the unparalleled influence they wield within economic and political corridors. The unfolding of these events, as chronicled once in the modest columns of the Guruvayur Guardian, now resonates as a verified truth in the era of Amrit Kaal, defining a nation’s depth of accommodation for its most affluent.
While hyperbolic in narrative, this account evokes contemplation on the dynamics of power, privilege, and policy—a conversation that resonates across national boundaries and political ideologies. It challenges the reader to discern satire from reality in a world where the exceptional often becomes the norm for a privileged few.
