Suspended in Air

of dreams and possibility

Airplanes and airports have always excited and amazed me — since childhood. Something about them feels liberating — the anonymity of moving around a place which is a non-place, feeling a sense of disconnectedness from the world. I remember telling my parents whenever they planned a holiday that I didn’t really care where we went as long as the destination had to be reached by air. Why though? I never liked travelling by car or rail. It seemed that you remained connected with the world and the everyday surroundings, and travel for me meant going somewhere unknown. People like car journeys but for me, it feels that because of its gradual nature and the fact that you see the world change around you one mile at a time, there is no newness which happens. In an airplane, the journey over the skies where you peer out of your window — as I am doing as I write this — you don’t know which cities, villages you are passing over. Your phones are on airplane mode — no emails or text messages. You are suspended.

For some reason, a journey by air also ignites in me hope and a sense of possibility, of anticipation, of looking forward. Listening to Hum Dekhenge on my earphones as I peer into the window somehow makes me believe that the world can be a place of non hate but I know as soon as I land in Delhi, the vulgarity of authoritarian power is going to stare right into my face.

Yet why does being suspended in the sky makes one imagine? Is it the horizon? We keep saying “expand our horizons” and push the horizon. Maybe when we are on earth, we can’t really see the horizon so we are also limited by it?

Well, I am on earth now — this paragraph onwards. As you must know by now, my writing muscles have not been in good exercise especially for this blog. Every time I try to write something new, I drain out in a few paragraphs and close my device. That’s what happened on the airplane too. But I am a little “free” now. It’s a Sunday afternoon, I am sitting at my brother’s desk in an apartment in Delhi with the balcony open — some sun coming in. It’s been raining since yesterday afternoon — which is unusual for Delhi.

I will come back to Delhi some other time (there’s a lot to say there if only I gather the energy), but let’s try and complete the thought about airplanes, shall we? What, I ask myself, is the magic of being in air? With all the technology humans have developed, flying on an airplane is, in its awe-inspiring character, second only to space travel. The rush one feels when the plane accelerates at rocketing speed for a take-off, the momentary pleasure of weightlessness one experiences when the wheels depart from the ground, the desire to press one’s face into the window and see the earth below, the feeling of being nowhere when the plane cruises high above the ground — what unites all of this?

As I said, for me, it is a sense of aspiration and possibility, almost invincibility even. The fact that I can soar in the sky and be removed from the drudgery of my immediate, everyday life prepares some ground for reimagining the everyday itself. That is why perhaps a lot of us dream of becoming pilots. I, for one, told my parents I would love being an air-host, cabin crew member too. In hindsight, and at the danger of over-theorising stuff, I feel that was an expression of a desire to escape. Escape what? The monotony of the lives I saw and continue to see around me — including my own now. This other time I wrote a small verse (yes, this one too was incomplete) trying to put into words something like this:

---

Sleep descends. I resist.
Sleep comes. It comes. 

The fan whirs with a (pleasant?) sound 
I play soft music on my phone 
The pillow doesn’t fit 
I hold it as a teddy bear 

I am tired
Of moving around 
Of walking
Of thinking what to do next 
Of having friends 
Of not having them
Of learning
Of wanting to learn
Therefore, sleep comes
But I resist
I am tired of sleeping too

What does tomorrow hold?
An alarm at 8:05. A hit on the phone 
Another at 8:10. Twitter opens 
Another at 8:20. Lights on 
Brush, Bathe, Clothe 
Breakfast 
Class/Library/Room
Lunch 
Library/Room 
Dinner 
Sleep comes. I resist. 

A circle of endless effort 
And of endless tiredness 

---

As I write this, I feel the pressure to say, and rightly so, that the vocabulary of escape, drudgery, horizons is a vocabulary of privilege (or maybe not, maybe assuming that one needs privilege to speak this language is itself a self-conceit and maybe this sense of possibility and escape is common to us all). Yet, for this moment, I want to step away from that question, and simply explore what this escape means. And how is it that an airplane, of all things, represents that escape? Dreams and Possibility — such wonderful words. Of course, words also curated by the individualistic, capitalistic discourse we are constantly surrounded by, but wonderful words regardless.

There’s another possibility which airplanes give — the possibility of revealing one’s deepest secrets. For some while now, there’s something on my mind I wish to share with a close friend, and every time there’s an opportunity to travel or be alone with them, I have an impulse to take the plunge, but especially so when there’s a possibility of flying together. On earth, someone I know might overhear me, the other person may be looking into their phone, some work will require immediate attention, someone will call and we will need to depart very soon. In air, we will be unreachable — I so wish airplanes keep with their rule of putting things on an airplane mode! In air, we are confined by both space and time which is to say that a 2 hour flight will remain a 2 hour flight and no one can take that away from me. In air too, the other person too may just slightly be more open, more raw, more trustworthy — or so I feel.

And then there is the shock of the touchdown, the thrust of speed which the airplane always had but which becomes perceptible only now before it slows down. The landing represents a culmination to me, an alarm clock, my mom shaking me to wake me up from my slumber. “you are back in action, in reality, my dear friend” — the touchdown seems to say to me, “don’t dream too far”. And thus, I pause, not stop, my dreaming for a while — waiting for another flight and another leap of unfathomable possibility. I part with this other verse which I wrote another time I was on an airplane, on my way back home.

---

Sunset by my side
Clouds Beneath me
Up in God’s Sky
Music in my Ears

The window is dirty, speckled
I can’t click good photos 
It’s dark inside - pinkish actually
The lyrics are the same I hear down on earth

I feel … weird?
A little tired 
Scared 
Nostalgic 

Is it possible to not get down on earth.
And just be in here forever 

I wonder what that would be like
Boring. Yes.

Not sure if the earth isn’t boring itself.
So the sunset and the clouds look more beautiful and dreamy - yes that’s the right word

It’s not a beautiful dreamy… it’s a mixed, tragi-comedy dreamy 
That is life no - tragi comedy

---

Curious to read more ? Find my selected posts here.

Please keep all comments respectful.