The Journey
This was my first international flight - the first time that I was moving away from home for the long haul.
When I saw the morning sun that day, the hills, the cloudy sky, the Kathmandu skyline that I am so familiar with, I wept. I thought of Baa, Aama and dai. I thought of my beautiful dogs who I miss so much (I have smiled at every dog I have passed by here and called them a sweetheart).
As the day began, I felt rushed - weirdly, all my bags had been packed a while back. I just felt like I had a lot to do, lists of mental checklists to go through. The rush was real. But it didn't "hit" me at the airport like they said it would. It didn't hit me when I sat down for lunch that morning - a full plate of mam, dal and tarkari that Aama made for us. It didn't hit me when I sat with my dogs and held them close to whisper to them to be gentle and sit tight, nice and warm at home. It didn't hit me when family started coming in at home to see me off.
At the airport, I hugged everyone told everyone to just be well. Baa also got a hold of my rush, I think, because he came to the airport in his slippers. He said he just completely forgot about his shoes.
There was so much to do there - paperwork's to sort out, that huge trolley to push, the security checks and questions to answer. I still couldn't sit with my feelings then. But I made phone calls and said my goodbye to friends who were at the airport but I was already at my terminal three hours early. First-time flyers, anxiety - you know the drill.
On my first flight from Kathmandu to Abu Dhabi, I called my dad twice before take off just to let him know that I was now on my way. I watched Kathmandu from my window seat for as long as I could see her. I watched the hills, our curvy roads and rivers. And then I took a nap as soon as the view outside my window changed to endless clouds.
When I woke up later, the crew asked me if I wanted to have my Chicken Biryani now. Startled, I told them to recheck their list and see if they could squeeze in a vegetarian meal for me. They said they booked the biryani for me in advance and if I wanted to I could purchase a meal on the flight itself. This is when the guy sitting next to me offers to buy a meal for me and take the biryani that was supposedly for me. I asked him if he was sure three times before the crew handed me over my green salad.
Here I was surrounded by clouds, thousands of feet above the ground with a big bowl of green salad and a small tub of yogurt in front of me. One spoonful of that yogurt, and then the tears wouldn't stop. I thought of my mother - who would never let me have unsweetened yogurt because she knows I don't like it. I thought of home. I was barely hours away but all I had around me were strangers and a sky full of clouds that were far too big than what I had ever known. I was hungry but all I had was a salad that a stranger offered to buy for me and unsweetened yogurt that I hated. I wept for the kindness that still seeps into the world, despite it all. And I wept for the all that was ahead of me. I have miles, and miles to go.
At touchdown in Abu Dhabi, Sabin dai (he bought me the salad) was immediately on a phone call with his little baby boy explaining how was finally where there was network coverage. Sabin ji had told me he has been working in Abu Dhabi for over seven years and he quite liked his work here. He said I should come visit one day and wished me luck for my journey ahead. I am still indebted to him.
I had plenty of time to spare at the airport. So I just leisurely walked through the terminal and called my father to let him know where I was. As I was searching for a charging port, I met another dai from Nepal who was searching for the same. His transit was over 24 hours, he told me. So we just walked around together for a bit and then found a nice, warm spot to sit. At 8:30, he suggested that we get dinner. He said he is senior than me so of course he would buy me food. So he got me a full plate of rice with chana masala - the taste of which still lingers in my tongue. I sent a photo to my dad of the meal telling him how his daughter is still ordering rice at this alien land.
I spent some time reading and people watching at the terminal after dinner. I overheard a bunch of people talking in different languages, many of which, of course, I had never heard before. I overheard a few groups talking in Korean and understood all of it with ease which gave me a good giggle. Before my flight, I bid goodbye to a group of strangers - all headed to Canada and we wished each other good luck.
In my flight from Abu Dhabi to London, I mostly slept because I didn't want to think. I listened to a few Ed Sheeran songs, watched a few clips of Love Rosie, Brooklyn Nine Nine, talked to my seat neighbor about our journey so far. She was from Delhi, now headed to London for school, it was her first flight alone too. We both took long naps and woke up for meal time and ordered masala dosas. Maybe both of us wanted a tiny comfort of home in any possible way we could?
When I landed at Heathrow and called home, I was certainly more rested than before. But I felt like I had been traveling for weeks. I had no sense of time or of how far I actually was from home. I navigated through the gates easily, reached security. Three people addressed me as love and sweetheart and I got shy (yeah, like any normal person would, okay?). Then I got on the bus to reach the next terminal. The morning sun was bright and felt warm. I felt excited to be in London - the heart of my many dreams and wishes. I strolled around the stores, got myself a matcha latte and a cookie.
On my final flight from Heathrow to Belfast, things started feeling real. This was the final flight that was taking me so far away from home. I thought - if I wanted to, I could really go back home from the other airports; I could lie on the floor and weep and ask to be sent back home, maybe; I could tell them I missed home and my family and ask to go back home. But now in this flight, there was nothing I could do.
I was reading Karnali Blues by Buddisagar in between flights in this journey. And here I was, clearly in the middle of a near meltdown, still with that book in my hand. As I was trying to read here in this flight, I got to a sentence that made my tears unstoppable. Here's how the page ends -
When I saw the morning sun that day, the hills, the cloudy sky, the Kathmandu skyline that I am so familiar with, I wept. I thought of Baa, Aama and dai. I thought of my beautiful dogs who I miss so much (I have smiled at every dog I have passed by here and called them a sweetheart).
As the day began, I felt rushed - weirdly, all my bags had been packed a while back. I just felt like I had a lot to do, lists of mental checklists to go through. The rush was real. But it didn't "hit" me at the airport like they said it would. It didn't hit me when I sat down for lunch that morning - a full plate of mam, dal and tarkari that Aama made for us. It didn't hit me when I sat with my dogs and held them close to whisper to them to be gentle and sit tight, nice and warm at home. It didn't hit me when family started coming in at home to see me off.
At the airport, I hugged everyone told everyone to just be well. Baa also got a hold of my rush, I think, because he came to the airport in his slippers. He said he just completely forgot about his shoes.
There was so much to do there - paperwork's to sort out, that huge trolley to push, the security checks and questions to answer. I still couldn't sit with my feelings then. But I made phone calls and said my goodbye to friends who were at the airport but I was already at my terminal three hours early. First-time flyers, anxiety - you know the drill.
On my first flight from Kathmandu to Abu Dhabi, I called my dad twice before take off just to let him know that I was now on my way. I watched Kathmandu from my window seat for as long as I could see her. I watched the hills, our curvy roads and rivers. And then I took a nap as soon as the view outside my window changed to endless clouds.
When I woke up later, the crew asked me if I wanted to have my Chicken Biryani now. Startled, I told them to recheck their list and see if they could squeeze in a vegetarian meal for me. They said they booked the biryani for me in advance and if I wanted to I could purchase a meal on the flight itself. This is when the guy sitting next to me offers to buy a meal for me and take the biryani that was supposedly for me. I asked him if he was sure three times before the crew handed me over my green salad.
Here I was surrounded by clouds, thousands of feet above the ground with a big bowl of green salad and a small tub of yogurt in front of me. One spoonful of that yogurt, and then the tears wouldn't stop. I thought of my mother - who would never let me have unsweetened yogurt because she knows I don't like it. I thought of home. I was barely hours away but all I had around me were strangers and a sky full of clouds that were far too big than what I had ever known. I was hungry but all I had was a salad that a stranger offered to buy for me and unsweetened yogurt that I hated. I wept for the kindness that still seeps into the world, despite it all. And I wept for the all that was ahead of me. I have miles, and miles to go.
At touchdown in Abu Dhabi, Sabin dai (he bought me the salad) was immediately on a phone call with his little baby boy explaining how was finally where there was network coverage. Sabin ji had told me he has been working in Abu Dhabi for over seven years and he quite liked his work here. He said I should come visit one day and wished me luck for my journey ahead. I am still indebted to him.
I had plenty of time to spare at the airport. So I just leisurely walked through the terminal and called my father to let him know where I was. As I was searching for a charging port, I met another dai from Nepal who was searching for the same. His transit was over 24 hours, he told me. So we just walked around together for a bit and then found a nice, warm spot to sit. At 8:30, he suggested that we get dinner. He said he is senior than me so of course he would buy me food. So he got me a full plate of rice with chana masala - the taste of which still lingers in my tongue. I sent a photo to my dad of the meal telling him how his daughter is still ordering rice at this alien land.
I spent some time reading and people watching at the terminal after dinner. I overheard a bunch of people talking in different languages, many of which, of course, I had never heard before. I overheard a few groups talking in Korean and understood all of it with ease which gave me a good giggle. Before my flight, I bid goodbye to a group of strangers - all headed to Canada and we wished each other good luck.
In my flight from Abu Dhabi to London, I mostly slept because I didn't want to think. I listened to a few Ed Sheeran songs, watched a few clips of Love Rosie, Brooklyn Nine Nine, talked to my seat neighbor about our journey so far. She was from Delhi, now headed to London for school, it was her first flight alone too. We both took long naps and woke up for meal time and ordered masala dosas. Maybe both of us wanted a tiny comfort of home in any possible way we could?
When I landed at Heathrow and called home, I was certainly more rested than before. But I felt like I had been traveling for weeks. I had no sense of time or of how far I actually was from home. I navigated through the gates easily, reached security. Three people addressed me as love and sweetheart and I got shy (yeah, like any normal person would, okay?). Then I got on the bus to reach the next terminal. The morning sun was bright and felt warm. I felt excited to be in London - the heart of my many dreams and wishes. I strolled around the stores, got myself a matcha latte and a cookie.
On my final flight from Heathrow to Belfast, things started feeling real. This was the final flight that was taking me so far away from home. I thought - if I wanted to, I could really go back home from the other airports; I could lie on the floor and weep and ask to be sent back home, maybe; I could tell them I missed home and my family and ask to go back home. But now in this flight, there was nothing I could do.
I was reading Karnali Blues by Buddisagar in between flights in this journey. And here I was, clearly in the middle of a near meltdown, still with that book in my hand. As I was trying to read here in this flight, I got to a sentence that made my tears unstoppable. Here's how the page ends -
"मेरा बाजस्तो माया गर्ने मान्छे यो मटेरामा कोहि छैन।"
Translation: There is no one in Matera (a small area in Karnali) who loves like my Dad does.
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