I have heard some of you taking recourse in the right to freedom of expression enshrined in the 1990 Constitution to moan and groan incessantly about the stricter security bandobast at the airport. This is anti-national. If you don't stop whining we'll lock you up. And that's a threat.

I know you haven't, but if you ask me, it is quite reassuring when flying from Point A to Point B via Points D, E, and F that my fellow passengers are not carrying lethal military hardware like tweezers and reusable Swiss Army tooth picks. It is heartening to note the seriousness with which our security forces take the security of the traveling public.

Imagine what would happen if they let their guards down and allowed airline passengers to take deadly weapons like nail clippers on board aircrafts. ("Ladies and Gentlemen, this is the flight deck. We've just intercepted a passenger who has taken off his socks to clip his toe-nails and have to divert back to Kathmandu. There is absolutely no reason to panic until we say so. The passenger has been disarmed by the Air Marshall and is locked up in the rear lavatory. We just need to land and deodorise the cabin and allow passengers in the economy section to regain consciousness.")

Potential hijackers and terrorists now have to pass through beefed-up security checks before they get to board a plane at Tribhuban Antinational Airport these days. First in this impregnable gauntlet is the sandbagged bunker on the Ring Road where soldiers in armoured personnel carriers make sure that no one is carrying semi-lethal military hardware like Q-tips.

Then there is a member of the Bombastic Squad who has been trained to treat every passenger as a potential human bomb. He won the Most Cantankerous Trophy and the Mr Grump Award at the Nepal Police Academy Annual Ball three years in a row.

Now that you are inside the Departure Lounge comes the really exciting part. I am glad to say that the number of fullbody checks has been increased for maximum passenger comfort. And we're not talking about being scanned over impersonally by metal detectors.

No, at Kathmandu airport what you now get is a multiple frisk-cum-massage. First is the two-in-one unisex masseur after the x-ray who kneads your right solar plexus gently while his other hand gropes your private sectors. You then turn the other cheek, as it were, and he mashes your gluteus maximus carefully, paying special attention to the wallet in your back pocket. This prepares you for the follow-up session where there is more manhandling and finally a rubber stamp certifying that you are finally ready to be air borne.

But wait, we're not done yet. Just before boarding is a ramp strategically located six inches above the tarmac and therefore not technically in Nepali airspace where as a final send off Big Brother gives you a front-and-back ayurvedic rub down.

By the time you get to your seat, you are feeling like a mashed potato and there is nothing to do but sit back, relax and enjoy the flight. That is, until the terrorist next to you digs out his toe-nail clipper and slips off his socks.