My Experience

In the sprawling expanse of Delhi’s bustling Indira Gandhi International Airport (DEL), where the ceaseless tide of travelers ebbs and flows like the currents of fate, I found myself ensnared in the grasp of circumstance. With naught but a hurried mouthful of bread to appease the gnawing hunger within, I embarked upon my journey with a heavy heart, hopeful of partaking in a mid-flight repast.

My destination? The distant shores of Hazrat Shahjalal International Airport (DEC), a journey slated to commence at the stroke of noon.

Yet, as fate would have it, the hour of departure was delayed by a trifling ten minutes, a seemingly inconsequential span of time that weighed heavily upon my anticipation. When at last the cabin crew made their rounds bearing sustenance, my hopes were dashed upon the rocks of reality: the fare they proffered was not a gift freely given, but a commodity to be purchased with coin of the realm.

Oh, the bitter disappointment! For in the course of a two-and-a-half-hour flight, not a morsel of complimentary sustenance was to be had. The sting of injustice gnawed at my soul, leaving me bereft of solace in the face of such callous neglect.

And yet, the trials did not end there. The seat, once a sanctuary for weary travelers, proved to be a torment unto itself. Unyielding and unforgiving, it offered naught but discomfort, adding insult to injury in the midst of my ordeal.

For the currency they demanded was of a foreign ilk, dollars, and pounds that lay beyond the reach of my humble purse. With no POS machines in sight, I was left adrift in a sea of inconvenience, unable to procure the nourishment my weary spirit so desperately craved.

Thus, amidst the chaos of travel, I found myself a castaway upon the shores of adversity, longing for naught but a moment of respite in a world fraught with challenge and tribulation.