WELCOME ABOARD: FLIGHT WITH NO SCREENS, JUST MEMORIES

October came in loud — birthday candles, Diwali lights, the studio launch, the pop-up — basically me running around like a one-woman fire drill. By November, my brain calmly informed me, “Madam, if you don’t take a holiday now, your own family might unfollow you in real life.” So off we went. Bags packed. Kids packed. Sanity left at home.

And somewhere between the check-in counter and the security line, it hit me: travel today feels like an exam, while travel back then? A festival.

A full community event with more chaos, more laughter, and fewer wires.

Holidays were planned like NASA missions. Tickets booked months in advance. Hotels confirmed with one crackly STD call where we prayed the person on the other side correctly understood “non-smoking room” instead of “room with no balcony.” Travel was a privilege — something we prepared for, saved for, and bragged about for weeks.

Remember, when the only thing we rolled through airports was our eyes at how early our parents made us reach?

And not to forget, the only identification our bags had were the red threads tied to the handles so they could be spotted on the conveyor belt… only to realise every single bag had one.

Duty-free was the height of excitement. Parents marched straight to the liquor bottles, and we sprinted to the Toblerone towers like Olympic athletes.

And then came the inflight entertainment.

One TV screen. At the centre. Near the ceiling. Playing one movie that absolutely no one had voted for.

Honestly, We did not need entertainment. We were the entertainment

We watched our parents fill up those landing cards like they were writing a board exam paper… a sight we will unfortunately never witness again.

We argued about window seats, accidentally elbowed strangers, and turned the seat pocket into a treasure chest of items we never needed.

We slept in impossible angles. We counted clouds. We stared at the seatbelt sign like it was a movie. Sometimes we pressed the call button by mistake and then pretended to be asleep when the crew arrived. And we loved every minute of it.

Oh, then there was the Meal Tray. The foil-wrapped cutlet that looked more scared of us than we were of it. The bread roll so solid it could survive a minor earthquake. That tiny slab of butter that just refused to spread. The tiny packet of peanuts… opened like treasure, counted like treasure, and still somehow fought over like it decided the fate of the universe.

And then , the ultimate suspense of what we would get : orange juice orapple juice?

Cards were our Netflix — bluff, patte pe patta, memory — all played on a tray table one wrong move away from collapsing. We flipped through the in-flight magazine like we were genuinely considering buying a $68 neck pillow or a portable foot massager! And if the cabin crew handed out those tiny souvenir wings? Our personality changed for the entire vacation.

Even the landing had drama. People clapped — loudly, proudly, as if the pilot had personally battled thunderstorms, turbulence, and two misbehaving cousins to deliver us safely.

Coming home was its own event. We didn’t post updates; we told stories. We waited 10 days for printed photos — half of which came out blurry or covered by someone’s thumb — and somehow, they still became family legends.

Cut to now.

We don’t “go on holiday” anymore — we escape. Trips start over coffee, get re-planned over coffee, debated in five different family chats, then cancelled over coffee. By the time we actually leave, we’ve had more meetings about the trip than the trip itself.

We pack like we’re moving countries: chargers, backup chargers, adapters, wipes, skincare minis, snacks that could feed a small army. Airports look like fashion weeks. People do full outfit transitions near charging stations. Even the latte is posing.

Kids? They don’t walk. They glide past on motorised suitcases like tiny CEOs. They know the trending cafés, the hotel pool angles, the exact “aesthetic wall” for Instagram. Meanwhile, I’m in a battle with my tote bag for an ID that vanished into thin air five seconds ago.

Maybe they’ll never know the sacred joy of guarding a peanut packet like it’s gold, or the high-stakes drama of choosing orange juice over apple juice. But they’ll have their own stories — smooth flights, artisanal snacks, photos that won’t end up forgotten in a dusty drawer.

And yet, somehow, the result is the same: a moment that becomes a memory, a trip that becomes a story, and a family that laughs about it years later.

Screens or no screens, cutlets or croissants, chaotic or curated — the magic doesn’t change.

Ours were fridge-magnet-backed. Theirs will be cloud-backed.

Both are perfect.