There’s a famous quote that goes something like “Lucky in love and unlucky in gambling.” Mine would be “Lucky on the whole, unlucky while traveling.”

Travel. A word I associate with excitement, curiosity, anxiousness and prayer. Prayer? You are wondering if you read that correctly, right? Yes, prayer. Because before embarking on a journey, I pray. Yes for a safe journey and all. But also for an interesting co-passenger.

From the time I first started traveling, with or without family, I have got the type of co-passengers I, or for that matter no one, really wants.

I have traveled with the old wheezing gentlemen, then the corporate executive who switches on his laptop the moment he is allowed to, the child who won’t stop crying, the lady who tells you her life story, the person with the loud headphones, and of course the person who keeps nodding off while snoring and drooling.

I always preferred aisle seats, but changed my preference after my fellow passengers constantly seem to have bladder problems of the serious kind and I have to get up every few minutes or so, they may relieve themselves.

Now, I can never, ever sleep during a journey, however long it is.

I guess my insomnia travels with me too.

By some miracle I once dozed off during a particularly long and tiring journey and woke up gasping for breath. My courteous fellow passenger, not wanting to “disturb” me was making a noble effort to silently pass me by.

Impossible task, I must say, knowing how spacious transportation is.

I woke up frightened as I was unintentionally awoken from a deep sleep.

I thanked him for his “thoughtfulness” and added a “Please do wake me up next time.”

I would like a decent-looking (OK, even a reasonably presentable person will do), intelligent (semi-intelligent will do), articulate, nice- smelling person (no, I won’t compromise on this) will be my co-passenger and we will have a long, neverending, interesting conversation and I won’t even realize when the journey ends. Sigh!

Only in La La Land will such a thing happen.

In the waiting lounge I mentally pick out people who technically could be my co-passengers, and sadly I am rarely wrong.

The gentleman with a bad facial twitch and nostril hair growing to his knees? Bingo!

The lady with her nose buried in a fat book about occult, hypnosis, past life regression, and how to drive your co-passenger to death? Bingo again!

I feel like holding a placard that says “Crying babies, snotty children, people with bad breath or body odor, my seat number is #####. Please request a seat next to me while getting your boarding cards.”