Solo Air Journey

Someone had rightly said that life is a journey. Through different stages of life, one has to traverse—and mostly, it is a journey where one has to be all by himself or herself. Metaphorically correct. Now let's talk about it literally.

Traveling, like most of us love, I also adore. During the 47 years of my life, I have traveled mostly from Haryana—the state known for the White Revolution—to Himachal, the state where Gods reside. It's not that I have commuted between these two states only. I am fortunate enough to have visited at least half of the states of our beautiful nation, India. But mostly, it was a journey by road. A couple of times, it was by train as well, but the number of train journeys that I have undertaken so far can easily be counted—around a dozen or so. And every time, there was a memorable experience.

But today, it's not the journey by road or train that I intend to mention. It is the journey by air, which was once considered royal and very dignified. People would brag about it for years, even if they boarded a plane just once. Not only that, even receiving or dropping someone at the airport was a hot topic.

Here, I must mention that right now I am sitting on an Akasa Airlines plane headed from Pune to Delhi. It's not that this is the first time I am on board a plane, but it is worth mentioning from my point of view because I am traveling back alone. I am really, really astonished reading my own words since I have been, so far, a person who would seek help from her friends even to go to Sector 13 Market in Kurukshetra, where I spent almost 23 years of my life in the same sector. My dependence on family, friends, and acquaintances has been tremendous. Right now, I need to grab the opportunity to thank them all for their selfless assistance.

I think that's enough digression for now, and I should immediately get back to the point. I had gotten a chance to travel by air thrice in the past under the shadow of my husband when my first book was published in Bangalore and Hyderabad. At that time, like a child, I had just blindly followed him without making that wonderful experience a learning experience. And that too happened almost nine years ago.

A desire had taken birth in my heart at that time—when would my children get a chance to travel by air? My siblings' offspring had already gotten the opportunity. Finally, the time came when, within a year, both of my children traveled to Canada for their higher education after twelfth. The day the ticket was booked—first for my son and after almost eight months for my daughter—I had a phobia which I tried my best to pass on to my kids: how to travel alone.

I started gathering and stuffing every bit of information online for safe travel. Being an over-concerned mom, I found the worst experiences of air travel—baggage lost, flights being missed, problems with immigration officers. I didn't stop there. I scared them about loss of documents and how somebody could pass prohibited things to them. I didn’t stop even at that point and searched videos on how to use the lavatory on board. My children were very much pissed off with my behavior but refrained from asking me to mind my business.

The day my son—and later, my daughter—was supposed to board the plane, first I cried because I was parting from them for a couple of years. Then, once I saw them being swallowed inside the airport gate, my heart began to pound, wondering how my children would manage formalities all by themselves. I heaved a sigh of relief once they called to inform that everything had gone smoothly. I was so proud. I felt it was one of the greatest achievements. Alas! I didn’t relax there and tracked their respective flights. I didn’t sleep even for a wink until the plane landed and they informed me that they had received their study permits. Both of them had laughed at my imbecility and told me that air travel was extremely easy and they didn’t face even the slightest trouble.

I had a strong feeling that the day I would be traveling to Canada, my condition before my kids would be such that one had to come to India to pick me, and the other had to, by any means, drop me back on my soil. I had no intention of taking the reins of the horse—that’s my life—into my own hands, especially when it meant traveling solo.

Life was all set, as per me. Then I decided to resign from my job and lead a life of peace, doing my favorite activities—reading and writing.

In May, my younger sister visited from Pune to Solan and asked me to accompany her to Pune. She had said that on one side, I would be traveling with her, and on the way back, with one of her sons—my dearest nephew—who, due to exams, couldn’t travel to North India. The ticket on the same plane in which my sister and her younger son were traveling was booked for me. But soon, even before reaching Pune, I got to know that I might have to travel back home alone. My nephew had an internship. It was one of the grimmest moments and situations of my life. The phobia of traveling alone overtook me. I was sure I would miss the flight or do something similar. I feared cutting a sorry figure at the airport.

One of my well-wishers, who always wants me to be on my own and to spread my wings—though my wings are weak and old—and be responsible and self-reliant, came up with the meanest idea that my sister should let me manage everything alone even while going. The fear that was to grip me 22 days later gripped me earlier. Thanks to my coach—my youngest mentor—my nephew who was traveling with me, he gave me a wonderful tutorial on the do’s and don’ts at an airport and braced me for the journey back home.

I reached Pune. Enjoyed a lot with my sister and her sons. Then one day, my bold and beautiful sister came up with an idea—that even from her residence in Pune to the airport (precisely an hour’s journey by cab), I should head alone at 4 in the morning.

I agreed. Everything was fine till 48 hours back when I felt I was back to square one. My nephew repeated my class. When yesterday I had commented that this journey would tell how good my tutor had been, he smiled back and said that it would also show the capability of the pupil. I told him, “What if I miss the flight?” He laughed it off, saying it would bring disgrace to me. To save my reputation—or my skin, you could say—I watched the workings of Pune airport on YouTube ten times, and at night was guided by one of the most pious souls alive on earth, step by step, in everything.

Finally, the D-day approached. I couldn’t sleep even for a second at night. I woke up at 3 a.m., took a shower, had a cup of hot tea to relax myself, and finally sat in the cab.

Google Maps showed 45 minutes. My eyes were glued to the stand where the driver had kept his phone for directions. I had all kinds of grey thoughts—all the apprehensions one could have about a driver if one has been a regular viewer of Crime Patrol. But in 25 minutes or so, I felt fine. Then the strong urge to talk to the driver overpowered me. Being a writer, I feel drawn towards people. I wish to know about them so I can get something good to write.

One thing needs to be mentioned here: the cab driver had played music the moment the journey to the airport started, and beautiful songs of Lata Mangeshkar were playing. First, I thought I should ask him to raise the volume, but then I felt precaution is the best policy. One needs to be extra vigilant when one is far from one's home state. I wished in my heart for him to raise the volume. God misheard—and instead of the volume, he raised the speed to 90 km/h. But the driver was a master of his job. Therefore, I kept quiet. Yet, I wished to talk to him. The itch to know about people was pestering my soul. I reached the conclusion that when five minutes were left for the journey to end, I would talk to him.

Finally, the time came, and I broke the silence. I asked him if the airport was near, if he would drop me right in front of the gate, and if he would help me with my suitcase. He was a good man; he nodded in affirmation. Later on, I asked him if he drove throughout the day. He addressed me as “sister” and said he worked at night only. I wished to know more, but there wasn’t any time. He dropped me at the gate.

Surprisingly, without any mistake, I managed everything and patted my back when I boarded the plane.

Sitting on the aisle seat, I had a victorious smile. Then the time to fasten the seat belt came. This is where I failed. I tried multiple times from all angles. I struggled with it for some time. Until a boy, aged around twenty, traveling with his mom sitting beside me, offered to help and guide me. He was amused to see me handling that. Within a few moments, I realized that this small act had become my Achilles' heel. I gave in and asked the young boy to guide me. He helped to fasten it.

Though in the mock drill the procedure for using the seat belt was taught later on for passengers like me, I now know that I have to pull the flap up to unfasten it. What if I fail again? Then I hope the young child sitting next to me will surely aid me again. I can sense his curiosity, since he is trying to make head or tail of what I’ve been typing for the last one and a half hours. His mom, sitting on the window side, is also wondering. I wish they could read my blog, but I shouldn’t mingle with strangers.

I hope the remaining part of the journey goes well. I reach the right conveyor belt. My sister’s words are echoing in my mind—that I just have to follow all the people, recognize my suitcase, and go towards the exit, and tell the exact pillar number in front of which I would stand once out of the airport to the taxi driver who is supposed to pick me up.

Need to end my blog. An announcement is going on about the plane being about to land at the airport.

Finally, so far I did well. Hope to reach my destination without any hassle.