Krishna Kumar--First Flight

It was sometime around 2001, and I was going to Colombo for the first time. It was also my first flight.

The flight from Madras was scheduled for 10:30 in the morning. Since it was my first such experience, I travelled by suburban train, reached Tirusulam, and went underground to the other side to enter the international sector.

When I entered, my brother and his friend were already there, waiting. They hadn't rushed — they seemed unhurried, at ease.

At the counter, we found it closed. My brother's friend was a shrewd businessman. He knew most of the officers and their duty timings. He seemed remarkably calm. He had several packets of sweets with him, which, I understood, were meant for traders and friends in Colombo. He immediately took out a packet of sweets and offered it to the officer. Glancing here and there, the officer quickly took the packet of sweets and slipped it into his bag. At once, he stamped the passport and issued the boarding pass.

The rest of the check-in counters stood empty — the next flight wasn't until 12:30. After the 10:30 Colombo flight, the airport had gone quiet.

My tension increased.

Then came the final call.

The final announcement was made for three passengers.

My brother shouted at his friend, but his friend remained cool.

"I'll handle it," he said.

There was nothing more to do. The three of us walked towards the aircraft. The plane was ready to leave.

Inside, we found our seats according to our ticket numbers. The cabin crew instructed everyone to fasten their seat belts. I followed the instructions, still hardly believing that I was actually on my first flight.

The aircraft began to move, and soon we were in the air.

The anxiety of the morning disappeared.

Colombo was waiting.

We had very little time. We went to one of the busiest trade centres and split up so that each of us could finish our work quickly. We bought wholesale textiles, tea bags and other items, then met again at an agreed spot.

There was no leisurely sightseeing. We were watching the clock.

From the trade centre, buses and small eight-seater air-conditioned Matadors were available towards the airport. We squeezed ourselves into one and began the journey back. It took nearly two hours, but we reached the airport in time for our 6:30 evening flight to Madras.

At the airport, the duty-free shops were offering promotional items—bottles, cigars, perfumes and other goods. We bought some of them.

Then it was time to fly home.

When we landed in Madras, the day's business was not quite over. We waited for some bargain after exiting the airport and disposed of the duty-free items. Some people offered less; others gave us a better deal. We accepted the better offers and made our small profits.

By the end of the day, we had travelled to another country, bought goods, made a little money and returned home.

For me, though, the biggest thing was simpler.

That morning, I had almost missed my first flight.

By evening, I was already a seasoned traveller—or at least that was how it felt.

*****

Krishna Kumar is an independent writer focused on personal essays, creative nonfiction, and memoir pieces exploring human resilience, illness, and recovery. The Fluorescent and the Eternal is a reflective account based directly on his personal journey navigating lymphoma treatment and the quiet solidarity found within hospital wards. He currently lives and writes from India.