The Fear Of Flying

Every time I travel by an aeroplane, my insides drop to my feet. I hear a roar in my ears, my stomach muscles work overtime and my heart beat accelerates. A friend, who also happens to be a doctor, tells me that I have some "underlying issues" and I need to go through some "cognitive coping strategies to deal with the anxiety disorder". Remind me never to have a doctor for a friend.

I feel if some one up there wanted me to fly, he would have given me wings. It is unnatural to fly strapped in a weird giant bird making a strange noise.  Every time I fly, I make it a point to sit next to my tolerant husband. That way, I can really grip his hands hard, twist his fingers  and squeeze his palms almost to a pulp. That is the punishment the guy gets for insisting I fly with him. If I had my way, I'd be walking or driving every where.

This time, when we went to Rajasthan for a short trip, I flew in the smallest aircraft I've ever flown in. The damn thing did not even require proper stairs. You could just haul yourself up the plane. And there was only one door. The familiar claustrophobic feeling slowly engulfed me. I thought a strong cup of tea or coffee would settle my nerves.  (Damn the puritan Indian airliners for not serving liquor on board).
 "Sorry ma'am, for your own safety, we would not be serving any hot beverages in flight," the cheerful air hostess informed me.
 " Why the hell not?"
 " Because bad weather and turbulence might cause your coffee or tea to spill."
 I nudged the husband. " Honey, may be we should just spend Diwali in Mumbai. I hear the lights have a spectacular effect on the otherwise dull city and makes it almost pretty."
"There, there," my husband just patted me indulgently. " Take a few deep breaths and count backward from 100 to 0, you'll be just fine."
 "Yeah but did you hear the air hostess? Turbulent weather ahead. What will happen if lightening strikes?"
"Chances are the bolt would pass through the nose or the wing tip and exit off through the tail." That explanation did not sound very comforting. What if the bolt decides to enter through the fuselage? That would be a disaster, right? My husband of course was blissfully unaware of my incessant worries. The flight was at an ungodly hour and he had slept off even before the plane took off.

Rajasthan is a lovely state. I have been there countless number of times and every visit I discover something new. This time the discovery was in Ranakpur temple, around 100 kms from Udaipur.

I saw this temple for the first time when I was in IInd year college. A gang of us had gone there during our
Holi break. That was quite a few years ago. The temple had looked absolutely breathtaking. Exquisitely carved pillars, underground vaults, beautifully sculpted domes, the temple looked majestic amidst the Aravalli range.This time though. it was a disappointment. The light marble looked black and ugly. There were too many people inside and we were barred from going up.Somehow the temple had lost its pristine looks. The peace that we found there so many years ago had disappeared.

Perhaps we looked lost. Or perhaps we looked disenchanted. A little girl came to us and offered to show us around. Her name was Yogini and she was the priest's daughter. Since the temple's inception, the men in her family had been the priests there, performing the Puja every day.. Her brother, who was only 5, would be the  the 20th generation priest one day.

She acted as our guide, telling us various stories associated with the temple, expertly weaving fiction with facts, history with mythology. She knew the story behind each pillar. She knew the temple like the back of her hand. Her command over Hindi was impeccable and I could not help but be impressed. She was only in Grade 5.

End of the tour, we asked her if she liked to study. Her beaming aunt, who was standing behind us for sometime, informed us that the girl stood first in her class every year.
" So what would you like to be when you grow up?" We asked, expecting the answer to be the standard 'a doctor' or 'a teacher'.
 " A pilot," pat came the reply.
 I was flabbergasted. " Why a pilot? Wouldn't you be scared to fly a plane? Going so high up in the sky?"
"Not at all. To be able to fly, to be able see the earth in a whole new way, to be able to soar... it would be so liberating"

So there. That is what I found in Rajasthan this time. The cognitive coping strategy to combat my anxiety.

 There is joy to be found in soaring after all. Even a little girl knows it.