Things appeared relatively calm one Wednesday morning. Officials were screening passengers and baggage. Children were running around adults, some of whom were chatting while others were forced to enjoy the scenery in silence. Some were focussed on a TV monitor showing the BPL live, some showed a passing interest. Recent extension works brightened the domestic terminal at Dhaka's Hazrat Shahjalal International Airport.

Having arrived almost one and a half hour before the scheduled departure of Biman's Sylhet flight, we were eager to check in at the earliest opportunity. When an officer took her seat behind the counter an hour before the flight, we were quick to hand our e-tickets. That is when we got the first jolt. "Not before 6 o'clock", said an officer, as he was passing by. Nothing official, he was referring to our 4.40pm flight.

We waited. The single coffee bar was vending only sweetened coffee. More passengers were checking in. The queue peaked around 4pm. A little later, quite close to the departure time, it was announced with regret - if you could understand the lady despite the poor acoustics and the inferior sound system - that the flight to Sylhet would depart at 6pm.

We nevertheless decided to go through security and bide the time at the boarding lounge. Almost every seat was taken. It was obvious that ours was not the only flight delayed despite the clear December weather all over the country and Asia. Here there was only one commercial food outlet, which was out of coffee and has never served tea.

At 5.45pm, when we were waiting with bated breath to board the aircraft, the same voice on the same defective sound system told us regretfully that Biman's flight to Sylhet was delayed until 7.30pm. After that announcement, until when the flight finally took off at 8.40pm, there was no notification from Biman. By the way, we all paid for our tickets, and I believe the officers there are well-paid.

It is not abnormal for a flight to be delayed. It happens to any airlines. But, during that period of waiting, Biman was not with its passengers, their most valued source of income. It seemed like they were doing us a favour, instead of the other way round. No one from Biman offered the passengers, some waiting there for three hours or more, a bottle of water or a word of comfort or a smile, which would have given the national carrier a lot of mileage at almost no cost.

While covering the 1999 Cricket World Cup for The Daily Star, my ferry from Holyhead to Dublin was delayed by an hour. In addition to profusely regretting and repeatedly assuring us, the ferry offered each of us a £10 voucher to spend onboard. The service made the passengers feel that the ferry was their "home in the sea".

While waiting for a long time for our "home in the air", hunger pangs were increasingly becoming obvious. There was only one food outlet in the Boarding Lounge, perhaps to ensure its stranglehold on hungry passengers. At one point, I asked if I could get a cup of sugar-free coffee. The desk clerk said, "Not sugar-free, we do not have any coffee!" That is when I noticed the dishevelled coffee machine, conspicuous in bright red.

After killing some more time, but not the famishment, I ventured to the one-and-only shop, and asked for something free of sugar, which was a silly question because this was the branch of a premium sweet chain. In this day of Annual Diabetes Dibash, I gathered some pluck to ask the price of two pieces of a particular sweet. The man was aghast, but did not show it with any blatancy. He said that I had to buy 18 pieces. I chose to endure my hunger instead of running the risk of higher sugar levels, and walked away, as monopoly continued to thrive.

7.30pm passed quietly. Past 8pm, we sensed by the bustle of the Biman staff that the flight time was nearing. At that point, a Biman officer was repeatedly shouting over the walkie-talkie, least bothered about our privacy and the security demanded of her job, "Come in, Mofiz" (not the real name). She was trying to convey to the grounded planeload of passengers that she was important. It soon emerged why. She and a gentleman were asking a young couple with two babies (and four tickets) if they could carry one of the babies on their lap, so that the emptied seat could be availed by another "out-of-the-blue" passenger. Ludicrous is not a preposterous word. To the silent hurrah of fellow passengers, the couple did not give in.

Boarding was mayhem. The checking-lady was not bothered about the five queues. The speed with which she was dealing with passengers, pushing and shoving, could one day, God forbid, be hazardous.

Once airborne, I wondered how the hostess knew, but she missed me while serving a muffin and two twisted biscuits. The fellow next to me got three. I only knew it was my day when the aircraft landed at Sylhet Osmani International Airport.

The author is a practising Architect at BashaBari Ltd., a Commonwealth Scholar and a Fellow, a Baden-Powell Fellow Scout Leader, and a Major Donor Rotarian.