It was the summer of 16’,
We were bitten by the travel bug,
A vagabond bunch of young students,
We were spirited to reach new cities.

A WhatsApp and a splitwise group were fast created,
One assumed the role of the travel agent,
The other became the logistics guy,
And the other just lay low, waiting for the plan to be dismissed.

It took a week to plan travel across two countries,
The light trolleys were spread out on the floor,
Disgusted by how much the hard shells shrunk the inside space,
We managed to do our budget packing.

The makeshift airport on the outskirts of the big town did not dampen our spirit,
Moments were posted instantly on the gram,
Of fake candids, white sneakers, and passports decorated on huddled-up trolleys,
After making it through the manual queue, we were in for a surprise.

Our carrier was a mini propeller!
It looked like a private jet,
But the small wing expanse also made it look like a toy,
And with matching childish spirits, we boarded on it like a flock.

The day was sunny with candy floss clouds,
The airplane looked like a dwarf house on the inside,
Only that there were orderly seats.
We were looking forward to having fun, what else did we have to think about.

The plane was cruising smoothly with a few reasonable dips,
The boredom of going nowhere pushed all into deep slumber,
The dips suddenly became more muscular and jolted us out of rest,
The seat belt sign blared at full blast, and the situation got tense.

The day outside was still clear with no signs of visible danger,
The plane was rising and diving like a fallen flower in a stream,
And then suddenly, akin to screeching brakes, the plane seemed to stall,
Gravity pushed us deeper into the clouds in the blink of an eye.

Every cell in my body was in free fall,
And the heart-pounding hard against the rib cage,
My friend next to me squeezed my hand against the armrest,
Pale and wide-eyed, tears trickled down her face.

The world seemed to collapse vertically,
And stuck in a flying grave, we could all see the end,
A stream of cola trickled down the aisle,
It marked the downward trajectory from the back row to the front.

After an uncertain quantum state between life and death,
The propeller blades rose again from rest,
The goosebumps on my skin, still not sure of what to do next,
This event marked my life forever as before and after. 

The remainder of the time was spent in prayers and crazy laughs,
There are only those two kinds of humans, I guess. 
The landing was smooth as that of a paper plane,
No bumps, no dips, the plane looked like a toy again.

Why do people talk of travel as an achievement of sorts?
Why no one talks about the perils of flying?
I hope not that your plane ride is as adventurous as mine,
But for now, I’m just fine, not flying on a plane but just trotting with the globe!

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