AM

The day began early with this message coming in at 3.45 am.

‘Hi Naren. Having severe lightning and thunderstorms at Hyderabad. Hopefully the roads don’t get flooded and doesn’t impact travel and commute.’

My flight to Hyderabad was scheduled for 8 am. There was no message from the airline about any delay or cancellation. 

I tried to listen for the sound of rain. In Chennai. None. I looked out of the window. No streaks of lightning. So, all good. But I didn’t like the prospect of landing in bad weather at Hyderabad. Between a cup of coffee and getting ready to leave home, I looked for weather updates for Hyderabad. Reports of thunderstorms like never before, 110 mm of rain in just an hour. The storms had moved. It wasn’t clear if vehicles on the roads could. In the car as I made my way to the airport, I continued looking for the latest. There was none. Just numerous reposts from people disturbed by the storm or waking up to news of it, shocked and relieved. As is common, a tone of pride and self-congratulation, a note of personal significance creeps in, as if by posting they were letting you know how they engineered this massive storm.  

At the airport, there was nothing to suggest that my flight had been cancelled or rescheduled. Till boarding was announced, I wasn’t sure. I looked around for anxious faces. I tried to catch some buzz nearby about the Hyderabad weather. I picked up none. There were just the bored looks and the shut eyes, the harried looks, and the squeals of kids running around, There were clusters of office-goers nattily dressed; some with fake smiles and head nods, appearing attentive, while a gentleman with a mild stoop and hands joined together behind his back held forth.

Boarding was routine. We halted on the aerobridge for many minutes. Nothing of what I saw around me could really distract me from my apprehensions.

I realised I hadn’t boarded a flight for close to a year. Earlier, at security, I had removed my laptop and cables from my bag for scanning. A few seconds passed and I remembered the phone in my pocket. Then I hurried to remove my shoes. I thought that was it. Then security staff pointed to my belt, I removed it and placed it on the tray. Just as I was heading to the metal detector, I became aware of my watch and my wallet. I scampered to put them through the scanner and rush back, not wanting to lose my place in the queue.

The flight itself was unremarkable. I tried to make up for lost sleep, but I was restless. Even mild turbulence was enough for me to go into full alert and look out of the window. I am not sure what I expected to find. Other planes in the sky also bouncing about? Cookies, sandwiches and beverages were served with quiet efficiency, signalling that all was well and it was business as usual.  

Mild, bleak sun was out in Hyderabad. The clouds had departed and were perhaps busy chasing other destinations. There was no waterlogging on the way to the city and no tell-tale signs that a storm had visited just a few hours ago. We sped down the highway from the airport, but soon hit traffic crawling for miles, inching towards the hi-tech city. No puddle, pond or pothole en route. Just a sea of vehicles.

My meeting with the client lasted two hours and was followed by lunch. Nothing like a face-to-face meeting, I told myself. The jangled nerves brought on by news of the storm and the traffic snarls seemed to have settled.

PM

Soon after lunch came a news alert that an Air India flight had crashed in Ahmedabad.

Available information was sketchy, and for the next hour, I kept checking for updates, messaging furiously with anyone who I thought would be interested or may have more information. I gathered it was a Boeing Dreamliner and quickly remembered that this model had a troubled launch due to quality and battery issues. That was more than decade ago. This latest crash was a global first involving a Dreamliner.

I recall a friend—a former pilot and aviation safety expert—say that air accidents happen in threes. Is another one around the corner? As I made my way to the airport to fly back home that evening, unease crept in. A dear friend called to ask if I was doing alright. I wanted to get to the airport early. I wasn’t sure what I hoping to feel, but it seemed like a step closer to home.

At the airport, I searched in people’s faces for signs that they knew this tragedy had befallen us. I checked to see if there was any major rescheduling of flights because of the accident. There was nothing. Just the steady stream of people heading to the counters to check-in and drop their bags, and then on to security check. While the ticker in my head was on a loop going over what was known about the accident, there were people going through the motions with the practiced air of frequent fliers, yapping away or scrolling on their phones.

Waiting at the departure gates, I looked out to see if storm clouds were gathering once again. I kept switching between social media and the news to see if there were survivors or any new information of what may have happened. Everything around me was as it always was. People on their phones, small groups huddled to share notes from their work day, queues at eateries, people gathering around gates to board, many taking their cabin bags for a walk and occasionally stopping by bulletin boards to recheck departure gates. Would it have been appropriate for there to be announcements about the air accident and some expressions of concern and condolence? Would it have made nervous passengers become anxious? I wondered if people knew, and what they thought and felt? Did they too silently feel the same air of gloom, of loss, shock, bewilderment and fear?

I found myself taking calls and discussing the accident in a slightly raised voice. My inner disquiet against the backdrop of apparent indifference and ‘business as usual’ attitude disturbed me still more. Maybe the lesson in all this is that life goes on. The clock keeps ticking somewhere, even when yours isn’t.

The flight to Chennai was 60 minutes long. During this time, I must have shuffled about in my seat countless times. The cabin was noisy as if some inlet allowed the engine sounds to fill it. The crew’s announcements were inaudible and incoherent. I comforted myself by thinking that one just had to hear it loud and clear when they hollered, ‘Evacuate, evacuate, evacuate’. I noticed that the engine sounds mid-air were not even throughout. There were at least 4–5 different ‘hums’, ranging from the near quiet as if winding down to the urgent and insistent, as if they wanted everyone to engage with them. During mild turbulence, it was like the plane was wiggling its hips, a gentle horizontal shake-shake. I braced myself for the sudden drop and a bump up but it never came. I wondered if the landing approach would be sea-side. It is often a pretty sight but also nerve-wracking as the plane curls into a U-turn and lines up with the runway. Without the flight controls in my hands, I usually manage by tightly gripping the backrest of the seat in front. (That is just my little secret. Now you know.) In the end, we made a land-based approach and it all ended well.

On reaching home, I heard about the lone passenger who had survived. It was a remarkable story, a miracle. I was happy for him. But I worry for what lies ahead of him—first, the media interest, then, the unsparing scrutiny, the murmurs and the dismissal of his story as not credible evidentiary support for the investigation, the survivor’s guilt, and the envy and rage that will probably come at him from families who struggle to cope with their loss.

It was a long day. I was tired. But I couldn’t retire. I browsed the net till late into the night, looking perhaps for something that would help make sense of it all, that one might find words, meaningful and comforting to the affected families and to ourselves, that would allow us to slow down, avoid getting ahead of ourselves through speculation, and accept that this crash, with a huge number of fatalities, was a mighty blow. The heart aches. Maybe words are not the balm, maybe silence is. Activity is not a solution. Nothing needs solving. Just acceptance.

Then came the news about the attack on Iran. Just drove me to despair.