I was still fighting my long battle with depression and anxiety when we planned our Goa trip. To be very honest, my mind was crowded with questions. Will I be okay there? What if a panic attack hits? What if I need to come back immediately and can’t because of all the travel? Every possible setback kept replaying in my head.
My partner kept reminding me that I was overthinking. You’ll be okay, trust me. I’ll be right there with you. My brother, too, kept counselling me patiently, telling me not to think too much, that I wasn’t alone—that they were all with me. Still, the fear of losing myself felt heavier than the excitement of the trip.
One night, exhausted from fighting my thoughts, I gave in. I closed my eyes and prayed to the god I believe in, my Baba. I told him that if he had been holding my hand through the hard days, I needed him to stay with me through this trip, too. I didn’t really want to go, but I didn’t know how to stop myself either. So I asked him to come with me, to hold my hand for the entire journey, and bring me back home safely.
With that faith sitting quietly in my heart, I started packing. The trip was short—just three days in Goa—and I kept reassuring myself that it would end soon. Patting my own back, repeating it like a mantra, I finally said, Okay, let’s do this.
Three couples were travelling together, along with one little kiddo who, without even trying, helped distract my mind more than anyone else throughout the trip. We had already booked a taxi from our place to the Delhi airport. Since our flight was early morning, the plan was to stay overnight at a nearby hotel and head to the airport fresh.
As planned, we began our first ride—from home to Delhi. Around 10 p.m., we stopped at Karnal Haveli for dinner, spent almost an hour there, and then got back into the taxi, the road stretching ahead of us, and my thoughts slowly learning to quiet down.
It was past midnight when we finally reached Delhi, and our first task was to find a decent hotel near the airport. Our taxi stopped at a parking lot along the highway, and we walked into three or four nearby hotels, explaining that we only needed a room for the night and would be checking out early for our flight. Unfortunately, all of them were beyond our budget. Without wasting much time, our taxi driver suggested looking for smaller hotels tucked behind the main highway lanes. We searched on Google, took a turn into a narrow back lane, and finally found a hotel that fit our budget and allowed a full-day layover.
To be honest, the reception looked fairly decent. The rooms were on the second floor, and while the hotel felt like a basic two-star—mainly because it was clean—it was good enough for us. We arranged our luggage, made some space for ourselves, and rested until around 6 a.m.
After getting ready, we booked a taxi and reached Delhi airport by around 8–9 a.m. I was anxious yet excited—it was my first-ever flight. My mind was flooded with questions and unnecessary fears. When you’re already dealing with depression, negative thoughts somehow find their way in, even when you don’t want them to. What if the flight got cancelled? What if the plane crashed? All those dramatic scenes from flight-disaster movies started replaying in my head. My racing thoughts finally paused when my husband said, “Let’s go inside, our flight is at 11 a.m.” Since it was just 9 a.m., we decided to complete check-in early and look for breakfast or a small snack within our budget.
As we entered the airport, one side opened into a wide space with washrooms and drinking water taps, while the other side was buzzing with people—it felt like everyone was rushing out of the country. I vaguely remember trying to drink water from the taps, though quenching thirst there wasn’t easy. We moved ahead and saw multiple lanes marked A, B, and C, airline staff with luggage, passengers moving in every direction, and complete hustle and bustle. Someone suggested checking luggage weight one last time, so we searched for a weighing machine and found one tucked away in a corner. Each couple weighed their bags—most of us had at least two—and for fun, we even checked our own weights. Thankfully, everything, including our luggage and bodies, was under the limit.
We then moved ahead and randomly stood in a lane, only to be redirected by staff to the correct one. Forming a little chain with our luggage, we proceeded to the suggested counter, completed check-in, and finally felt relieved to be free of our bags.
Inside, the airport was filled with branded stores. We only window-shopped since nothing fit our budget. Our next stop was the first floor for breakfast, as we planned to use our cards for free lounge access. But things didn’t go as smoothly as planned. Out of nearly five or six cards between us, most were rejected at the lounge counter. We stood there wondering what to do next. Eventually, two cards were accepted, and surprisingly, two more that we assumed wouldn’t work actually did. Out of six people, four of us got lounge access. The two men kindly sacrificed their turns and told us ladies to enjoy the lounge while they grabbed something outside.
Inside the lounge, there were different seating arrangements—some in the centre, some near the corners, and some by the windows. We chose a central table that could seat four to five people. One by one, we explored the food stations. There was a drinks counter with everything from soft drinks to alcohol, a U-shaped buffet with muffins, bread, jams, sandwiches, bread rolls, pav bhaji, and seasonal fruits, and a South Indian counter serving masala dosa and idli sambhar, with a long queue. The tea and coffee station was right behind our seats.
We decided not to eat too much, unsure how a heavy meal might affect us before the flight. We settled for sandwiches, coffee, masala dosa, and a few muffins, which we packed for the two men outside. They were sitting beyond the lounge, having burgers and Coke, and as a small gesture of love, we shared muffins wrapped in tissue paper.
By around 10 a.m., we roamed the airport a bit, clicked pictures, made short videos, and then headed to the boarding area for the final security check before the bus transfer to the aircraft.
Taking my first flight felt surreal. From the bus window, I saw several aircraft parked around—Emirates, Vistara, and others. At a distance, we finally spotted our plane. My emotions were all over the place—fear, excitement, curiosity. The bus stopped near the aircraft, and I watched our luggage being transferred from a small van into the plane. I even counted the bags to ensure all of ours had arrived. Once satisfied, we stepped off the bus and walked toward the IndiGo aircraft.
Most passengers moved in one direction, so we followed. There was a staircase leading up to the plane, with security staff checking tickets and seats. After verification, it was finally my turn—just a few steps away from my first flight. Two crew members welcomed us inside and guided us to our seats. All our seats were toward the back, aisle-side, so we didn’t walk far. Each couple had one window seat. I sat by the window, my partner beside me; parallel to us were my brother and his wife, and behind us sat another couple with their child.
Our scheduled takeoff was 11 a.m., but like most Indian flights, it was delayed. At around 11:35 a.m., the aircraft finally began moving. I peeked through the window, watching the left wing as the plane slowly turned, picked up speed, and then—within seconds—the tyres lifted off the runway. Just like that, we were airborne, taking off from Delhi airport, and my first flight experience had officially begun.
Sometimes, healing doesn’t mean the fear disappears.
It means you fly anyway.
Thank you for reading and holding space for my story.
This was just the beginning.
Stay tuned for Day 2, where the journey continues and healing slowly unfolds.