There are moments in life that stop us cold. Moments so tragic, so senseless, so heartbreakingly real, that we don’t just pause — we freeze. The recent Air India crash in Ahmedabad was one such moment.
A flight that began like any other, carrying a cross-section of humanity — families, students, professionals, crew members who were just doing their jobs — ended in unimaginable loss. On the ground too, lives were cut short — young medical students gathered for a quiet meal, a homeless teenage boy caught in a moment no one saw coming. All gone, in the blink of an eye.
And yet, one passenger walked away. By a twist of fate — or grace — a life was spared. A life that now carries the weight of everyone who couldn’t walk away.
These stories are not just headlines. They are reminders — a deeply jarring one — that life is incredibly unpredictable.
When the News Hits You Differently
In between scrolling through updates and reading survivor accounts, I found myself just sitting still, trying to process the weight of it all. It wasn’t just the numbers — the dead, the injured — but the stories behind them. Who they were. Where they were headed. What dreams they carried in their bags, what words they might’ve left unsaid.
Each day since the fatal accident, I have begun to process my life. I don’t want to scroll anymore.
I wanted to feel. The ground under my feet. The air in my lungs. The comfort of being home. The sound of a friend’s voice over the phone. The silence between my thoughts.
I started thinking about how many times I’ve rushed through the day without stopping to actually live it. How often I’ve taken people for granted. Or ignored the quiet voice inside me asking, “Is this really what matters?”
We Live Like We Have Time. But we don’t.
That’s the hardest truth to hold — and maybe the most important.
We say, “I’ll call them later.” “I’ll take that trip next year.” “I’ll slow down once things settle.” But what if there is no later? What if this is the only version of life we get?
The people on that flight probably had plans for tomorrow. Some might’ve been nervous fliers, just counting the minutes to land. Others may have looked out of the window for one last view of the clouds. And the people on the ground? They weren’t even on the plane. Just at the wrong place, at the wrong time.
There’s something gut-wrenching about that. But also… something deeply grounding.
What Are We Even Chasing? Success? Comfort? Likes? Approval?
None of those things were in that plane’s overhead compartments. What was there were stories. Relationships. People just trying to get through their day. Strangers united by a common flight path — one that would end too soon.
And here we are, still lucky enough to be breathing. Still lucky to be holding the hands we love, even if they annoy us sometimes. Still lucky to have difficult conversations, unmade beds, dishes in the sink, dreams that feel just out of reach.
I’m not saying quit your job or chase waterfalls. But maybe today’s a good day to pause. To notice. To remember that the little things are not little.
That now is the only guarantee we’ve got. That people we love are not permanent fixtures.
That we must allow ourselves the discomfort of slowing down, of feeling more, of saying what needs to be said.
And maybe we need to stop judging others so quickly. Let’s not dismiss people too fast or give up on them before giving them a chance to grow. The world is already unkind enough. We don’t need to add to that.
A Quiet Prayer
To the families who lost loved ones — I have no words, only a silent prayer.
To the lives lost — I hope you felt loved, even in your final moments.
To the survivor — I hope healing finds you, in every way it can.
And to the rest of us — may we not sleepwalk through our lives.
The world will always be chaotic. Unfair. Unexpected. But it’s also filled with sunsets, music, children’s laughter, kindness from strangers, and the warmth of someone remembering your name.
If you’re reading this, you’re still here. And maybe that’s reason enough to whisper a small thank you — to life, to love, to whatever divine force watches over us.
I know I am.
— From a heart that feels deeply, and a soul learning to slow down. I bow my head with folded hands.
