Singapore to Mumbai. Morning flights are cheerful, it feels like a holiday when it isn’t. It seems safer too, better than flying in the unknown dark.  I finished a mindless film called Ticket to Paradise which I’d started on my flight to Singapore. I seldom give up on anything. Books, music, films, or people.

Meals were served. I passed on wine and opted for tea instead. After the service, the lights were dimmed, window shades were drawn, and I decided to nap. A few hours later I felt the familiar rocking movement of turbulence. The seat belt sign was turned on. In my sleepy state I congratulated myself for using the bathroom when I could. Because I’m jinxed, each time I travel and squeeze myself in the tiny lavatory, the plane starts to shudder, and we’re advised to return to our seats.

A few minutes later the crew regrettably announced that they will not be serving any drinks.  I hoped the turbulence would pass, instead the pilot warns us to expect more. I tightened my seat belt. I remained in the sleeping position but was wide awake now. I thought of a conversation I had with my team in office as we shared food and our fears. Two of them were afraid of flying and one of them ribbed me about how unfazed I am during turbulence. Their confidence in me was a welcome source of courage.

The plane shook more violently, the pilot asks the crew to be seated too. The cabin is quiet. More jerks and jitters. Another announcement by the pilot barely disguising the anxiety in his voice, he informs us that we can expect the turbulence to last longer. He advises parents that infants should be removed from their bassinets and held in their arms.

Now I was worried. My first thought was one of relief that my husband and child weren’t on this flight. My mind started racing but my heart was oddly calm. I thought of how I’d like to die. Crash into land with no hope for survival or fall into the sea. I turned the TV screen and checked the flight map; we were passing over the Bay of Bengal. Sink or swim then.  I thought of my co-passengers. Could I count on the two burly Australian men? Strong swimmers I assumed. One of them was built like a tree trunk and his tattooed arm was crossed over the headrest. Would he save me?

I thought about my life and had no regrets. No vows to be fulfilled, no broken promises. My only failure would be the absence from my son’s life, but I know his father would more than make up for this loss. I would have liked to donate my organs but what good is that pledge when I’m at the bottom of the sea? I thought about how transient life is. The illusions of permanence we hold on to. The futility of filling our lives with routine and tasks. How we fall prey to expectations. A life prescribed by society with norms that either lull us or endorse a false sense of stability and control.

I was proud of my life. In these moments with a metal object hurtling towards a cyclone (?) I felt very lonely but also very satisfied. If you are happy alone as you are with loved ones, it is a life well- lived.

I decided to open the window shades. It was bright and sunny outside. How deceptive, I thought. The dark thoughts faded, the anxiety abated, and my fear lessened. And then, the plane steadied. TING! The seat belt sign was now switched off. I heard the clinking of cutlery and conversations resuming. The cliché came true, this too shall pass.

While I was preparing for BRACE BRACE, I was, in some poetic way, ready to kneel, surrender and thank the universe for giving me this life. The miracle was… that I felt anew.

How quickly life pulses on, we landed, and I rang my husband to send the driver. I searched for the receipt to pick-up the pre-ordered alcohol bottles from Duty Free. It’s been a week, but I was still carrying something from this life-affirming journey. I’ve only just set it down. On paper. Simply to say, enjoy the ride.