In Retrospect
Trapped in Karachi Airport
In December 1973, the first high level trade delegation from Bangladesh led by then Minister of Commerce and Foreign Trade, A.H.M. Kamaruzzaman visited the Soviet Union at the invitation of his counterpart. The delegation comprised of six Bangladeshi officials, including myself. I was the Minister's Private Secretary, and the junior most member of the delegation. This is not a narrative, however, of either the trade talks between the two delegations in a harsh Russian winter or a description of my wonder eyed view of Moscow monuments and grand avenues. This is about an unintended by product of that visit to the Soviet Union—a forced landing in Karachi, Pakistan that led to our being stranded in that country for nearly 24 hours.
The route to Moscow was via Delhi in those days. From Dhaka we took an Indian Airlines flight to Delhi, and thereafter we were aboard an Aeroflot Jet–the official airline of the Soviet Union to Moscow via Tehran. This was before Pakistan's recognition of Bangladesh and at a time when Bangladesh was seriously pursuing the idea of trying a number of Pakistani Army officers as war criminals. All said this was not a good moment for a band of Bangladeshi government officials headed by a senior Minister to be in a country that was still seething in angst for the loss of its eastern part. But that was our lot as our plane on way to Delhi had to make an emergency landing at Karachi because our destination airport was inaccessible due to dense fog.
The plane landed in Karachi sometime after midnight, but we would not know about it until after landing. Such diversions due to bad weather are not unknown, and most passengers received the news in their stride, except us—the few Bangladeshis on board. The news particularly bothered the head of our delegation –the Minister who worried being in a country that was still hostile to Bangladesh even though his presence in Pakistani territory was completely accidental. But he was assured by the pilot that he expected the plane to leave Karachi in a matter of a couple of hours when Delhi’s sky cleared up. Little did we know at that time how those two hours would stretch to nearly twenty four by the time we could leave Karachi.
With assurance from the pilot of our leaving Karachi in another two hours most of us went back to sleep since it was still deep in the night. When I woke up I found that it was bright outside and more perplexingly I discovered that we were still aground. When I looked through my window I saw the plane was parked near the Air terminal with the name “Karachi International Airport” illuminated at the top. I also saw a few uniformed police men standing guard near the plane. Alarmed, I stood up and went to speak with a flight attendant. In broken English the flight attendant told me that for bad weather the plane could not take off, and he did not know when it would. But in any case the crew would serve us breakfast, as if that was what we cared about most. I looked at my watch and found out that we had been already in Karachi for over four hours.
It was not an easy task to report back to the Minister the state of play, in particular the uncertainty of our departure for Delhi. The four other members of the delegation conferred with the Minister, but there was very little they could do to allay his worries. The Minister's fears were that the longer the plane remained in Karachi the greater were the chances that the Pakistani authorities would learn about his presence at the airport. Even though I felt that my boss's fears were somewhat exaggerated, my seniors thought that the Pakistani journalists could cause problems if any of them came to know about a Bangladeshi Minister's presence in a Pakistani airport, however accidental the circumstances were.
A cold breakfast served later was literally cold comfort for us since the crew could not give us a time for our departure. A little later we were told by the pilot that as the departure was uncertain, the authorities of the airport had agreed to let the passengers to go and rest in the transit lounge where they could get hot food also. This alarmed the Minister further as he was certain that the moment we set foot on official Pakistani soil we would expose ourselves and be subject to any kind of harassment . When I asked what type of harassment he feared, the Minister looked at me sternly and said that officially we were members of a rebel government as Pakistan had yet to recognise Bangladesh as a sovereign government. We informed the Aeroflot crew we would not leaving the plane since the option was ours. The Pilot agreed given that the Minister was a VIP guest of the Soviet government. One by one all other passengers left the plane leaving only six Bangladeshis cooped up in a Soviet Jet Airliner. We were afraid that Pakistani authorities could hold us hostage when they found out our identity. We were warned by the crew that we would have to eat whatever the crew could provide from a depleted pantry. We would soon discover how depleted it was.
A meagre lunch was provided at midday that consisted of some black bread, hard cheese and an apple. A little later we saw some civilian officials entering the plane and conferring with the flight crew. We heard some arguments of some sort with papers being handed over to the pilot. When I asked the same English– speaking flight attendant what the discussion was about I was bewildered to hear that the discussion was about fuel bills between Karachi Airport officials and the pilot. Apparently, Aeroflot had suspended operations to Pakistan and this plane was the first to land in Pakistan after the suspension. The Karachi Airport authority was now insisting on payment of old bills due to the fuel supplier. We then realised that our departure was not just delayed by bad weather but also unpaid bills! At one point, the pilot left the plane with the officials leaving us in a greater state of worry.
Meanwhile, life in the narrow confines of the jet was becoming more difficult. Our hunger increased in direct proportion to our anxiety. The pantry had really been depleted to servings of stale apple and dry biscuits. The toilets which had not been emptied in the last twenty four hours began to release unbearable odours. And the pilot had not returned. We wondered whether we would be better off in the more open space of the airport even if it meant incarceration by Pakistan government. The short winter day soon became dark again, and we had no dinner to look forward to, or any chance of departure from Karachi.
There was no dinner, but more alarmingly there was no pilot either. The English –speaking attendant was also not at hand. Apparently he had gone to the terminal building. Another attendant sat in the galley looking very sulky. I walked by him to see if he could give us any food. He pointed to the nearly empty pantry where a few cans of fruit juice and dry biscuits lay in one corner. I helped myself to a can of juice. From there in the first class cabin I saw my minister lying in his couch covered head to foot in a blanket. My other colleagues were also lying inert in their seats. In that dark galley of an aging Aeroflot Jet I wondered how many more hours we would have to spend. Delhi seemed very far indeed!
We did however survive that ordeal. The first sign that things were probably heading the right direction was the return of a happy pilot to the plane. He headed to the cockpit straight away. Then came a smiling flight attendant informing us that the plane had permission to fly. Soon the passengers who had taken shelter in the transit lounge poured back one by one looking well fed. It was close to midnight local time by the time the plane took off. We did not care nor ask for any warm food. We were just happy that we were finally leaving Karachi and our nightmarish ordeal was coming to an end. The Minister, who had covered himself with a blanket all these past hours, threw it aside and smilingly asked “are we finally taking off? “ I nodded yes. We reached Dhaka a day later.
Ziauddin Choudhury is a former Bangladesh Civil Servant, and a retired member of WorldBank Staff.
The route to Moscow was via Delhi in those days. From Dhaka we took an Indian Airlines flight to Delhi, and thereafter we were aboard an Aeroflot Jet–the official airline of the Soviet Union to Moscow via Tehran. This was before Pakistan's recognition of Bangladesh and at a time when Bangladesh was seriously pursuing the idea of trying a number of Pakistani Army officers as war criminals. All said this was not a good moment for a band of Bangladeshi government officials headed by a senior Minister to be in a country that was still seething in angst for the loss of its eastern part. But that was our lot as our plane on way to Delhi had to make an emergency landing at Karachi because our destination airport was inaccessible due to dense fog.
The plane landed in Karachi sometime after midnight, but we would not know about it until after landing. Such diversions due to bad weather are not unknown, and most passengers received the news in their stride, except us—the few Bangladeshis on board. The news particularly bothered the head of our delegation –the Minister who worried being in a country that was still hostile to Bangladesh even though his presence in Pakistani territory was completely accidental. But he was assured by the pilot that he expected the plane to leave Karachi in a matter of a couple of hours when Delhi’s sky cleared up. Little did we know at that time how those two hours would stretch to nearly twenty four by the time we could leave Karachi.
With assurance from the pilot of our leaving Karachi in another two hours most of us went back to sleep since it was still deep in the night. When I woke up I found that it was bright outside and more perplexingly I discovered that we were still aground. When I looked through my window I saw the plane was parked near the Air terminal with the name “Karachi International Airport” illuminated at the top. I also saw a few uniformed police men standing guard near the plane. Alarmed, I stood up and went to speak with a flight attendant. In broken English the flight attendant told me that for bad weather the plane could not take off, and he did not know when it would. But in any case the crew would serve us breakfast, as if that was what we cared about most. I looked at my watch and found out that we had been already in Karachi for over four hours.
It was not an easy task to report back to the Minister the state of play, in particular the uncertainty of our departure for Delhi. The four other members of the delegation conferred with the Minister, but there was very little they could do to allay his worries. The Minister's fears were that the longer the plane remained in Karachi the greater were the chances that the Pakistani authorities would learn about his presence at the airport. Even though I felt that my boss's fears were somewhat exaggerated, my seniors thought that the Pakistani journalists could cause problems if any of them came to know about a Bangladeshi Minister's presence in a Pakistani airport, however accidental the circumstances were.
A cold breakfast served later was literally cold comfort for us since the crew could not give us a time for our departure. A little later we were told by the pilot that as the departure was uncertain, the authorities of the airport had agreed to let the passengers to go and rest in the transit lounge where they could get hot food also. This alarmed the Minister further as he was certain that the moment we set foot on official Pakistani soil we would expose ourselves and be subject to any kind of harassment . When I asked what type of harassment he feared, the Minister looked at me sternly and said that officially we were members of a rebel government as Pakistan had yet to recognise Bangladesh as a sovereign government. We informed the Aeroflot crew we would not leaving the plane since the option was ours. The Pilot agreed given that the Minister was a VIP guest of the Soviet government. One by one all other passengers left the plane leaving only six Bangladeshis cooped up in a Soviet Jet Airliner. We were afraid that Pakistani authorities could hold us hostage when they found out our identity. We were warned by the crew that we would have to eat whatever the crew could provide from a depleted pantry. We would soon discover how depleted it was.
A meagre lunch was provided at midday that consisted of some black bread, hard cheese and an apple. A little later we saw some civilian officials entering the plane and conferring with the flight crew. We heard some arguments of some sort with papers being handed over to the pilot. When I asked the same English– speaking flight attendant what the discussion was about I was bewildered to hear that the discussion was about fuel bills between Karachi Airport officials and the pilot. Apparently, Aeroflot had suspended operations to Pakistan and this plane was the first to land in Pakistan after the suspension. The Karachi Airport authority was now insisting on payment of old bills due to the fuel supplier. We then realised that our departure was not just delayed by bad weather but also unpaid bills! At one point, the pilot left the plane with the officials leaving us in a greater state of worry.
Meanwhile, life in the narrow confines of the jet was becoming more difficult. Our hunger increased in direct proportion to our anxiety. The pantry had really been depleted to servings of stale apple and dry biscuits. The toilets which had not been emptied in the last twenty four hours began to release unbearable odours. And the pilot had not returned. We wondered whether we would be better off in the more open space of the airport even if it meant incarceration by Pakistan government. The short winter day soon became dark again, and we had no dinner to look forward to, or any chance of departure from Karachi.
There was no dinner, but more alarmingly there was no pilot either. The English –speaking attendant was also not at hand. Apparently he had gone to the terminal building. Another attendant sat in the galley looking very sulky. I walked by him to see if he could give us any food. He pointed to the nearly empty pantry where a few cans of fruit juice and dry biscuits lay in one corner. I helped myself to a can of juice. From there in the first class cabin I saw my minister lying in his couch covered head to foot in a blanket. My other colleagues were also lying inert in their seats. In that dark galley of an aging Aeroflot Jet I wondered how many more hours we would have to spend. Delhi seemed very far indeed!
We did however survive that ordeal. The first sign that things were probably heading the right direction was the return of a happy pilot to the plane. He headed to the cockpit straight away. Then came a smiling flight attendant informing us that the plane had permission to fly. Soon the passengers who had taken shelter in the transit lounge poured back one by one looking well fed. It was close to midnight local time by the time the plane took off. We did not care nor ask for any warm food. We were just happy that we were finally leaving Karachi and our nightmarish ordeal was coming to an end. The Minister, who had covered himself with a blanket all these past hours, threw it aside and smilingly asked “are we finally taking off? “ I nodded yes. We reached Dhaka a day later.
Ziauddin Choudhury is a former Bangladesh Civil Servant, and a retired member of WorldBank Staff.
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