Last Thursday, 12th June, I was deeply immersed in work when my screen showed a Whatsapp notification from my husband. AI171 had crashed. Over two hundred souls who boarded with everyday hopes – a business trip, a reunion, a return home, a new start – didn’t make it back. Families. Children. Oh my God, the Children…. That was almost too heavy to comprehend. A cold, clammy hand gripped my heart, squeezing out every ounce of blood. A stone dropped in the pit of my stomach. This couldn’t be happening. Such things are not supposed to happen. Aren’t airplanes one of the safest modes of transport?
And no, I did not have anyone I personally knew on the flight. But the feeling of dread and terror gripped me completely. The visuals on the news took me back to the vivid airplane crash nightmares I used to have in my 20s – even before I started flying frequently. A plane going up in flames mid-year, a seat falling through the air, sometimes I was in the plane, sometimes I was witnessing the crash. Some of those visuals from my nightmares are still preserved in my memory and so is the heavy feeling associated with those dreams. But this was no nightmare, this was no ‘Final Destination’ movie or the series ‘Manifest’ that we used to watch with a mix of horror and fascination.
This was a real, live tragedy and I along with millions of others was finding it hard to come to terms with. In the last of couple of years, I felt I had lost all my ability to feel. There has been a creeping numbness taking over me slowly. The multiple ongoing wars across the globe, famines, tragedies closer home like the terror attack in Pahalgam, stampedes in Kumbh and Bangalore, Impact Guru and Keto ads showing dying kids – even premature twins in need of medical help (my own twins were premature) – nothing really ‘reached me’. I guess it is just easier to build walls around our feelings to keep going. But this crash cracked through those walls. It shook me awake. It reminded me how fragile life really is. Some moments demand that we feel everything, even when all we want is to stay numb.
With the family spread across two countries and multiple cities, we are a flying family. And I travel very often for work. So, we are very familiar with the flying rituals, the airport photographs, the airplane selfies, the hugs, the farewells, last minute packing, weighing and so on. We carry the usual mix of excitement, nerves, and routine that comes with taking to the skies.
Just yesterday my entire family flew back to India. I flew for work the evening before. My extended family took to the skies just 3 days before the crash… in the last 6 weeks, my family took some 10+ flights within and outside India.
How thin the line really is between here and gone. We live as though time is endless — that there will always be more chances to say what matters, to show up, to make things right. But there may not be. Perhaps we need to start believing that a normal day is enough of a blessing, in these times. Perhaps we should hug more and harder, say ‘I Love You’ more often, try to be more present – to really listen, to show up, to hold on to the moments that matter. And perhaps I should finally make my will. Because, you never know. “Kal Ho Na Ho” (There may be no tomorrow).
We like to think we’re in control — of our schedules, our plans, our futures. But moments like these remind us otherwise. The sky, a symbol of freedom and possibility, can suddenly become a place of unimaginable loss. It’s humbling to realize how little we actually control. And how much our safety is in the hands of others… Maybe control has always been a story we tell ourselves. We plan, we prepare, we board flights assuming we’ll land. But the truth is, we are always – always – just a heartbeat away from being reminded of how fragile it all is. My Kazakh driver in Almaty always used to say, “Happy Up and Happy Down” after dropping us at the airport – and now it seems more like a prayer rather than a cheerful send off.
And so tonight, and always, I offer that simple blessing — happy up, happy down — to every soul in the sky, to every heart left waiting below, and in remembrance of those who never made it home.
Happy Up, Happy Down. Every time. Always.
This blog post is part of ‘Blogaberry Dazzle’
hosted by Cindy D’Silva and Noor Anand Chawla in collaboration with Ratna Prabha.
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Regards, Sakshi aka tripleamommy
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