The day Murphy apologised
The universe runs on Murphy's Law: "If anything can go wrong, it will." Travelling from Sikkim to Chandigarh for the much-awaited summer holidays with my mother, I expected an exciting journey. I had no idea Murphy himself had booked the seat next to us.
Sikkim has no airport. Hence the adventure began as we set course on a four-hour road trip to Bagdogra. Those Instagram-worthy mountains are beautiful to photograph, but brutal to survive. By the time we reached the airport, the snaky roads had churned out much of the matter inside my stomach. Then Murphy struck; our flight was delayed due to bad weather, with cancellation looming. Oddly, I wasn't complaining. Every extra minute on stationary ground felt like free therapy for my battered abdomen. Little did I know, this delay was merely the universe's warm-up act for the real chaos ahead.
After a long wait, we finally landed in Delhi, just in time to watch our connecting flight depart without us. The airport instantly transformed into a zoo as grown-up adults accosted the airline staff, demanding answers they didn't have. I noticed three species roaming the terminal. First were the yellers, convinced that if they shouted loudly enough, the airline would assemble a brand-new aircraft for them. Next came the weepers, slumped on staircases as though they had been marooned on a deserted island. Finally, there were the runners, sprinting frantically from counter to counter like headless chicken, chasing answers as if their life depended on it.
Ignorance is bliss. Ours ended the moment we discovered that although we'd missed the flight, our luggage hadn't; it was by now probably enjoying the city beautiful. Panic instantly replaced smugness and my mother too enlisted in the very zoo we'd been laughing at. To add to the chaos, my pocket buzzed. Dad was calling, while my phone politely informed me it was about to die too.
"Why isn't your mother answering? Where will you stay tonight? Will the airline organise another flight for you?" my soldier dad fired a barrage of questions. I silently wished Mum had never updated him. We finally cornered an airline employee, flashed our half-dead boarding passes and extracted the only useful sentence we'd heard all evening: "Tomorrow's flight."
I was all set to turn my backpack into a sorry excuse for a pillow and spend the night in that zoo with hope packed up and phone dead. Then, Murphy blinked; The airline staff towards whom we'd been only comparatively civil, offered us a night's stay at a five-star hotel. I later learnt the offer wasn't for everyone. We quietly slipped away while chaos refused to subside.
The hotel appeared like a divine compensation. The Wi-Fi was fast, the pool washed away the chaos and the buffet felt like emotional therapy on a plate. The madness finally ended after I charged my phone and rescued my father from imagining every possible catastrophe. As I sank into the gloriously comfortable bed, I smiled at the irony of travel: the worst days produce the best stories. Murphy throws in a complimentary five-star upgrade just to keep things interesting or perhaps to apologise.
The writer is a student of Class X, Army Public School, Gangtok
