A Simple Flight

Over the past two years in Bangalore, I'd safely bet most of my salary has gone on flights—or at least, that’s been my go-to excuse for not hitting my savings goals. Every time I flew, I was rancorous. I'd rant about the outrageously priced airport coffee or the incessant queues. I can't count the times I've complained about vexatious co-passengers or a wailing kid on an early morning flight. And if there was a delay, my rants went through the roof.

The vicissitudes of being a regular flyer are that the wings piercing through the clouds and beyond the distant horizon lose their magic after a while. You start preferring your Netflix screen over the monotony. The food served on flights doesn't offer much solace from the boredom that comes with regular flying either.

While this might sound like a Gen Z whining about first-world problems, and on a usual day, I'd definitely be guilty of that charge, this time, the story was different. This particular flight came just after the news of the Air India plane crash, and waves of terror had swept through the hearts of most citizens. While on a usual flight, the air hostess’s explanation of safety instructions would go unnoticed, this time there was a stillness as she repeated those familiar safety jargons. When the captain announced the departure, there was silence, a few hands folded in prayer, and eyes stealthily stealing glances, as if assuring each other that nothing would go wrong.

As the aircraft spread its wings and soared high into the sky, a sigh of relief swept across almost all faces. Food packs emerged from bags, and the aroma of home-cooked lunches filled the air—a smell familiar to that of home, a smell that resonated with fondness and belonging. The usual bustle started after a while: wailing kids gripping close to their mothers, parents flying back after visiting their children, and people on vacation fixing their makeup before their fifth selfie in a row. And since it was a flight from Bangalore, you couldn't miss the mundane corporates catching up on their sleep or some still glued to their laptops, trying to make sense of a 300-step code at some 30,000 feet above the ground.

These scenes have long been familiar to me, yet this time, I found an unusual peace in that familiarity. The solace in knowing that it was all as usual, the comfort in knowing that nothing went wrong. My corn and cheese sandwich box read, "Today's Special." There wasn't anything amazing about it; it was just a quintessential cheese corn sandwich. But this time, what made it special was that I noticed the smile with which Asmita served me my sandwich, and I took a moment to smile back in appreciation.

This time, when I heard the announcement that the flight had landed safely, instead of rushing to grab my laptop from my handbag and check my emails, I paused and noticed the text saying "reached" on my phone. I was happy, pleased to know that someone was tracking my flight all the way, hoping I'd reach home safe. Finally, as usual, I saw people and their families waiting at the airport, and I rushed to mine.

In the comforting embrace of the familiar and the simple, mundane rhythm of life, I found an unexpected sense of peace. For once, I recognized the brevity of existence and celebrated the sheer joy that nothing went awry. The usual, the everyday, the unremarkable—these were not merely acceptable, but profoundly reassuring.