If the airline industry were to evolve a common fitness standard

Host: The airport terminal gleamed under the hard fluorescent light, an expanse of glass and steel filled with the hum of voices, footsteps, and the distant roar of engines. Outside, the night sky glowed faintly orange from the runway lights, shimmering against the dark. The air smelled of coffee, disinfectant, and something faintly metallic — the scent of departures and expectations.

Jack stood by the wide observation window, his arms crossed, watching planes lift into the sky like mechanical birds breaking gravity’s promise. His grey eyes followed them, cool and unreadable.

Jeeny approached from behind, her hair tied neatly, her heels clicking softly against the polished floor. She wore a simple blue coat — elegant, understated — and carried in her expression the quiet calm of someone who believed in order, fairness, and dignity.

She stopped beside him, her reflection appearing next to his in the glass. For a moment, neither spoke. The silence carried a tension, the kind that precedes disagreement.

Jeeny: “You heard what Barkha Dutt said? ‘If the airline industry were to evolve a common fitness standard for both male and female employees, that would not just be acceptable, it would be entirely desirable.’”

Jack: without turning “I did. And I’m not sure I agree.”

Host: Jeeny’s eyebrows lifted, her voice poised, though the flicker in her eyes betrayed curiosity more than anger.

Jeeny: “Of course you don’t. You never agree when it comes to equality.”

Jack: half-smiling “I agree with equality, Jeeny. I just don’t agree with the hypocrisy we wrap it in.”

Host: The airport speakers crackled softly with a boarding announcement. A group of flight attendants walked past — perfectly groomed, immaculate, every movement rehearsed like choreography. Their smiles were bright, their posture straight.

Jack: “Take a look. Those women are trained to meet an image, not a standard. Airlines don’t care if they’re strong or healthy — they care if they fit the brand.”

Jeeny: “And that’s the problem Barkha’s pointing to. If we had one fitness standard — not based on looks, but capability — maybe we’d finally stop pretending beauty is professionalism.”

Jack: turning to face her now “You think the system would ever do that? Come on, Jeeny. Airlines sell illusions — grace, comfort, aesthetics. You can’t separate that from the business model.”

Jeeny: “Then maybe the model needs to change. You can’t keep dressing inequality up in corporate logic.”

Host: A pause. The sound of rain began outside, faintly tapping against the glass. Jack’s reflection looked weary in the dim light — a man who’d long accepted the ugliness behind polished systems.

Jack: “I’m not defending the inequality. I’m saying the world runs on what sells. Aesthetics sell. Efficiency sells. Fairness? That’s a marketing line.”

Jeeny: “Then maybe people like you should stop repeating that until it stops being true.”

Host: Her tone sharpened, slicing through the noise of the terminal. She stepped closer, her eyes fierce, the kind of gaze that burned more from conviction than anger.

Jeeny: “You talk about realism like it’s wisdom. But realism without conscience is just surrender. Barkha’s point wasn’t that both genders should suffer equally under impossible standards — it’s that they should be judged by the same measure of capability.”

Jack: “And who defines that capability? Some HR committee with a chart and a checklist? The world loves equality until it has to quantify it.”

Jeeny: “Then let’s redefine the chart. You think pilots aren’t tested for reflex and endurance? Why should the attendants — male or female — not be tested for stamina, presence of mind, composure? That’s real fitness, not waistlines.”

Host: The rain grew stronger, its rhythm syncing with the growing pulse of their argument. Travelers passed, dragging suitcases — lives in motion, unaware that a small revolution was unfolding beside Gate 23.

Jack: leaning slightly forward “Jeeny, idealism is beautiful, but industries don’t evolve because people want fairness. They evolve because they’re forced to. You think common standards will appear out of goodwill? No. It’ll happen when lawsuits or losses make it profitable.”

Jeeny: “That’s exactly why we need to keep pushing. You can’t wait for justice to be convenient.”

Host: Her voice trembled, not with weakness, but with the force of restrained emotion — the kind that hides years of quiet indignation.

Jeeny: “When a man gains weight, he’s ‘distinguished.’ When a woman does, she’s ‘unfit for service.’ And we let that pass as professionalism.”

Jack: pausing, quieter now “You’re not wrong. But don’t you see? The double standard runs both ways. A male attendant is mocked for being too gentle, too soft-spoken — because the public expects him to be invisible. He’s fighting another stereotype entirely.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. Which is why the solution isn’t to keep separate rules — it’s to have one that values skill over gender. A common standard would dismantle both cages.”

Host: The sound of thunder rolled in the distance, echoing faintly through the glass. Jack turned back toward the window, his reflection caught between lightning flashes — two versions of the same man, torn between cynicism and conscience.

Jack: “You really think equality is possible in an industry that still markets femininity as a brand? They want soft smiles and calm voices, not strength or intellect. Uniforms tighter than flight schedules — that’s not a mistake, it’s a design.”

Jeeny: “Then tear up the design. Someone has to. Every industry once said change was impossible — until someone refused to play by their rules.”

Jack: “You make it sound easy.”

Jeeny: “It’s not. But it’s necessary. And it starts with one simple idea: fairness shouldn’t depend on how we look.”

Host: The announcement board flickered, reflecting on the wet glass. For a brief second, the reflection of the world outside — drenched, chaotic, honest — overlapped with the polished interior. It felt symbolic, like truth trying to seep in through the cracks of comfort.

Jack: “You know, when I first started consulting for airlines, I asked why attendants couldn’t wear flat shoes. You know what they said?”

Jeeny: “What?”

Jack: “‘Because heels symbolize grace.’ Not safety, not practicality — grace. As if survival depends on posture.”

Jeeny: quietly, almost to herself “Grace shouldn’t be pain in disguise.”

Host: The rain slowed, a steady drizzle now, like the soft exhale after confrontation. Jack’s tone softened too, his defenses thinning.

Jack: “You think Barkha’s right — that one standard could fix it all?”

Jeeny: “Not fix it. But it would make hypocrisy harder to hide. That’s a start.”

Jack: “And what if the standard turns into another cage — one so rigid that individuality suffocates under it?”

Jeeny: “Then we keep refining it. Standards aren’t prisons, Jack. They’re mirrors — they show us who we think we are. And right now, ours still reflect bias.”

Host: The terminal lights dimmed slightly as the clock ticked past midnight. The crowd had thinned. The rhythm of the space changed — slower, softer, more introspective.

Jeeny looked out the window again, her reflection pale against the dark rain.

Jeeny: “Someday, maybe, uniforms won’t mean conformity. They’ll mean readiness. Men, women — doesn’t matter. Just capable humans, doing their jobs with dignity.”

Jack: after a long silence “You always make it sound so possible.”

Jeeny: “Because if we stop believing it is, nothing ever changes.”

Host: A plane roared to life outside, its engines rising with a steady, confident hum. The rainlight shimmered across its metal wings, painting them gold for a fleeting instant before it took off — slicing through the darkness, leaving behind the noise, the arguments, the weight of gravity.

Jack watched it climb, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

Jack: “Maybe common standards are like flight — unnatural at first, resisted by gravity, but inevitable once you understand the physics.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. Fairness isn’t natural — it’s engineered.”

Host: Their reflections merged in the window — two silhouettes standing side by side, not as opposites, but as balance.

Outside, the last traces of rain faded. The runway lights blinked in rhythm, guiding one departure after another — proof that even in storms, humanity learns to rise.

And in that quiet airport night, between cynicism and hope, Jack and Jeeny stood not as debaters, but as witnesses to the same truth:

That equality, like flight, demands both structure and courage — a shared horizon built not on uniformity, but on dignity strong enough to lift everyone.