On my recent trip to India—before the lockdown—I travelled from Delhi to Goa to celebrate a friend’s birthday.
On either side of my aisle seat were two honeymooning couples. While I was navigating my way through the in-flight entertainment instructions, I heard the young girl sitting next to me say to her husband, “But I want to do this. It’s only been a week since we got married and you’re already saying no.”
Curious, I turned towards the couple, and heard the husband calmly explaining to his wife why she couldn’t video the inside of the aircraft or the take-off.
“But all my friends do it, and I want to put it on Facebook. My friends won’t believe I flew to Goa,” the girl continued.
The husband looked sheepishly towards me, willing me to understand his predicament. “Peer pressure,” I mouthed, and he nodded, relieved.
Soon the couple exchanged seats—the young girl happily clicking photos—while the husband and I struck up a conversation discussing life in small town Haryana, his responsibilities towards his parents, his marriage and the importance of both partners working, and India’s financial state.
Suddenly the plane hit turbulent weather and it dipped. It was so severe that the flight attendants—serving lunch—had to grip onto the overhead luggage hold. The couple on the other side of the aisle were holding onto each other for their dear lives—with the man whimpering uncontrollably. The wife, scared too, kept saying, “Shab theekh hai, main hoon na.” (Everything will be okay, I’m with you). While the flight attendant kept reassuring the young man that everything would be fine within minutes—once the pilot flew a little low—his tears wouldn’t stop, and he didn’t let go of his wife’s hand.
The aircraft steadied soon after and the young man said to me in Hindi, “Didi, I don’t want to die—at least not yet. You see, I’ve always wanted to sit in an aeroplane and for the past 10 years have been saving 500 rupees each month to make it happen. I have saved enough for both our tickets and a good hotel. I want to give my wife a holiday that she’ll remember for the rest of her life. Because, once the holiday is over, I will go back to my peon’s job and my wife to hers. And, I have my parents’ responsibility and two unmarried sisters. I’m scared but I can’t die.”
I nodded—unable to say anything.
I turned towards the other couple to check on them. The young girl smiled and said, “Nah, mujhe daar nahin lagta … Manoj hain na.” (I’m not scared; Manoj is with me)
When I disembarked, I saw both the couples, walking hand-in-hand, with not a care in the world—confident that their love will see them through the turbulent times.
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