A few days back, I had an unusual air travel experience. It all began innocently with a booking confirmation that said “Afternoon Departure” which, in their mysterious world, means anytime between your post-lunch nap and pre-tea hunger pangs.
Then at 9:30 PM the night before, I got a call (which I miraculously picked up – usually I only answer if it’s Zomato or spiritual awakening). The voice on the line casually dropped, “Sir, your flight has been preponed to 10:30 AM.” Preponed? I didn’t even know that word was still in circulation.
Next morning at the airport, I strolled in, only to be stopped. “Sir, this is not a regular flight,” the security guard informed me. “We’re waiting for the passenger list.” I called the airline, so a guy came running with a handwritten list of the passengers and then he gave me a handwritten boarding pass!!!
And the baggage policy? Brutal. Just one bag of 7kg.
Had to make hard choices – deodorant or dignity, power bank or extra pants.
And then… I saw it.
The Plane.
A majestic piece of antique aviation. The rotating blades looked suspiciously like someone had unscrewed a ceiling fan from my old ancestral house and stuck it on the nose.
I boarded with private jet swag… but inside? Reality slapped. I couldn’t even stand upright. No “fasten seatbelt” announcement. Just 9 passenger seats, 2 pilots, and 0 safety instructions. Which is ironic, because this plane needed emergency instructions more than Titanic needed lifeboats.
Also NO TOILET. For a flight like this, the airline should mandatorily issue a dietary warning: “Dear Passenger: Kindly avoid chhole-bhature, rajma-chawal, or any item on the ‘gastronomic grenade’ list the previous night. Mid-air ventilation not possible.”
Once we took off, the turbulence hit. Oh, boy. It was like driving on Mumbai potholes during monsoon, just in the sky. I clutched my seatbelt like it owed me money. I avoided the window like it was showing horror movies. Either I was reading a random magazine on Magzter or whispering every prayer I remembered from childhood.
No one spoke. Silence of the lambs.
You could hear hearts pounding and minds wondering, “Did I write my will?”
When I saw the runway during descent, I had this insane urge to jump off early and just roll my way to the terminal. The landing, though, was surprisingly smooth.
As I touched ground, I ran like I was being chased by debt collectors. Relief was real. But then… a dark realization struck – I had to fly back the next day.
That night, sleep played hide and seek. I kept imagining fan blades spinning in my dreams and seatbelts that doubled as emotional support. And now that I’m safely back on Earth, I thought why not share the tale?
So, if you ever get the urge to fly in a 9-seater… lie down until it passes. Or better – book a train.