In which forgotten tickets, missed flights, lost passports and found laughter
When everything that can go wrong, goes wrong!
Everyone loves and lives to tell their travelogues - there is something unnatural that happens to everyone on their journeys; it could be that you forgot to put locks on your checked-in bags or lost your luggage, missed your flight, or even left your tickets at home, and even a disastrous one, ‘Lost the Passport’. I, for one, am proud to say that I have been through all of these - not all at the same time, of course- but every trip is full of stories that I would love to share here.
When I forgot to lock my bags
It was my first ever international trip. Actually, let’s be honest, it was the first time I was stepping on any plane. I was buzzing with excitement, heart thumping, feeling like I was about to unlock a whole new chapter of life.
After a round of long, emotional goodbyes that could have been a movie scene, I marched into the airport, luggage in tow, ready to take on the world. I was heading to the UK for my higher studies, for a year and a half no less, and I was so sure I had everything perfectly under control.
At the check-in counter, I smiled with quiet pride as the scale blinked 63 kilos. The student limit was 64. I was, in that moment, a picture of efficiency and calm. My bags glided away on the conveyor belt like obedient little ducklings following their mother. I clutched my boarding pass, chest puffed with confidence, and strolled towards security feeling unstoppable.
And then it hit me.
The locks. The tiny little locks that were supposed to keep my precious luggage safe and sound were still in my pocket. My brain froze. My stomach sank. My inner voice screamed.
The rest of the journey was a beautiful mess of fear, anxiety and excitement, all swirling together at 30,000 feet. I sat through the flight with the expression of someone who had accidentally set their kitchen on fire but was too polite to tell anyone.
When I finally landed and saw my bags waiting for me, untouched and unharmed, I almost hugged them right there at the carousel. In that moment, it truly felt like I had landed too.
When Vandana left her tickets at home
In January 2004, Vandana was told she had to travel to Denmark for two months of training through her office. The news came only a week in advance, and she was an absolute wreck. There was hardly any time to pack, plan, or even process. Since she was the first in our clan to travel abroad, none of us had the faintest idea what to expect.
Her parents, my brother, and my mum decided to drop her off at the airport. For reasons I can no longer remember, I chose to stay home instead. About an hour and a half later, my phone rang. It was my brother, sounding completely frantic, with some serious commotion in the background. I could hear someone yelling, and I didn’t even need to guess who it was. My mum was in full panic mode.
I tried to focus on what he was saying, catching only a few scattered words — “Vandana,” “tickets,” “at home.” It took a few seconds for my brain to connect the dots, and then it hit me. She had left her tickets at HOME.
I jumped from my seat and began tearing through the house like a detective on a caffeine rush. Ten minutes later, there they were, sitting peacefully in an envelope on the bed, completely untouched and utterly useless. The flight was in two hours, and there was no way I could make it to the airport on my own in the middle of the night.
Just as I stood there wondering what to do next, the doorbell rang. It was my neighbour, helmet in hand, looking every bit like a hero from a movie. He already knew what had happened and was ready with his scooty. Without another thought, we set off into the cold night. It was freezing, and by the time we reached halfway, I could no longer feel my face. But we made it to the airport in 45 minutes flat. A personal record.
I handed over the tickets amidst the usual mix of tears, hugs, and chaos. Everyone was relieved, and Vandana finally boarded her flight. As I watched her disappear through the gate, one thought ran through my head. When you travel, always check your documents. Not once. Not twice. Check them again and again.
When I lost mah luggage
It was December 2007, and I was all set for my trip to Australia. My flight on Malaysian Airlines from Mumbai to Brisbane, via Kuala Lumpur, was delayed by two hours. I started getting a little panicky because my connecting flight from KL to Brisbane was scheduled soon after arrival, and the math was not in my favour.
After several enquiries and many polite assurances, the airline staff confirmed that special arrangements would be made for all passengers with transit connections. I landed in KL at the exact time my connecting flight was supposed to take off. What followed was straight out of an action movie. I was whisked off from the runway directly to another waiting aircraft. One moment I was landing, and the next, I was back in the air again.
Feeling relieved, I settled into my seat and fell into a deep, satisfied sleep. When I woke up, I was in Sydney, chatting happily with some fellow passengers who had also been “airlifted” from one plane to another. But as I waited for my luggage, an uneasy feeling crept in. Sure enough, my bags were nowhere in sight. They were still lounging in Kuala Lumpur while I was already in Sydney.
It took two more days for my bags to arrive, sent directly to my hotel. The airline compensated me generously for the trouble, and since only my formals were missing, I used the money to shop. So technically, I landed in Australia and the very first thing I did was go shopping. Not a bad start to a trip down under at all.
When I missed my flight
Just when I thought I had mastered the art of international travel, the universe decided to remind me who was boss.
In June 2008, I was flying to the UK for a conference. Everything was under control. My bags were packed well in advance, my web check-in was done, and I had my favourite window seat. Adi was away in Goa with his office gang, so I was feeling extra proud of managing the trip on my own.
A few hours before leaving for the airport, I decided to call the airline just to double-check my flight status. As the customer service agent spoke, I felt beads of sweat gather on my forehead. The flight departure time read “0130 hours,” which I had blithely assumed meant 1.30 in the afternoon. In reality, it was 1.30 in the morning. Which meant my flight had already left.
Tears started rolling down my cheeks as I called home to deliver the bad news. Baba, ever the voice of reason, insisted that I still go to the airport and try my luck. So, I did. My heart was pounding as I rushed to the airline counter, rehearsing apologies in my head.
The staff were kind. They listened patiently, gave me a glass of water, and said they could put me on another flight leaving in an hour if I had my bags ready. I only needed to pay a small “no-show” fee. I could have hugged them right there. I dashed out, grabbed my bags, and somehow made it aboard the new flight, grinning like someone who had just cheated fate.
That day taught me something important. Never give up too quickly when things go wrong. There is almost always a way out — and it usually begins with just showing up.
Hehehehe - when I lost my passport
This was one of those unbelievable moments that you only laugh about much later. On my flight back to London in 2006, my passport somehow slipped off my lap during the journey. I only realised it was missing when I reached the immigration counter. My heart stopped. I rummaged through every pocket, turned my bag inside out, and mentally retraced every step I’d taken. Finally, I decided to go back to the boarding area and tell security what had happened.
I must have looked completely flustered and like a tool when I approached the officer. I told him I needed to go back to the plane. He raised an eyebrow and, without missing a beat, said, “Don’t you like London?” I almost laughed, but managed to explain that my passport had fallen somewhere on the flight. His face didn’t change. He just asked, “Are you sure?” and all I could say was, “Positive.”
He made a quick call on his walkie-talkie and guided me through a series of doors marked Officers Only. Suddenly, I found myself inside the maze of the airport’s internal world, less glamorous than I’d imagined, but incredibly efficient. After a quick frisk and another security check, we reached the airline lounge area where all the desks were lined up.
There was quite a queue, but I was a woman on a mission. Summoning every ounce of courage and hoping people would understand, I walked right past everyone and reached the airline counter. The lady behind the desk listened to my story, nodded calmly, and said, “Hold on a minute.”
Then she picked up the microphone. A few seconds later, I heard my name echo through the airport: “Attention all passengers who have just arrived by *** Airways Flight ***, Miss Trupti ****, please approach the nearest airline counter.” It was repeated three times for good measure. I winced and squeaked, “That’s me!” but she kept right on with the announcement until she was done.
When I finally reached her desk, she gave me a look that instantly reminded me of my mother’s, the one that usually comes right before a well-deserved scolding. Luckily, she only smiled, handed me my passport, and said, “You should be more careful with these things.”
I thanked her and went back to the officer who had helped me. He smiled and said, “Well, I’m glad you’ll get to see London now and not fly back home again.” There was a hint of sarcasm, but also kindness. I couldn’t agree more. If that passport hadn’t turned up, we might have been on two very different flights back home that day.
Looking back, every trip has been a comedy of errors. From my first flight when I forgot to lock my bags, to Vandana’s Denmark episode that turned into a midnight ticket rescue. Then came the Kuala Lumpur luggage mystery, where my bags took their own vacation, and the day I mixed up 0130 hours for 1:30 in the afternoon and almost wrote my resignation in panic. And yes, the unforgettable London flight, when I dropped my passport and heard my name over the airport speakers like a missing child.
These are the stories behind all the perfect pictures and smiling memories. The small disasters that became the best parts of every journey. In the end, everything finds its way to alright, and if it is not alright, then it is not the end.