Spoorthi’s First Flight - Aakashada Ananda

Thaatha had always believed that small surprises made life worth living. But even he did not expect one to arrive inside the folds of his Kannada Prabha newspaper. There, tucked between the editorial and the crossword, lay a bright yellow slip—letters dancing: “Lucky Dip Winner! Trip for Two to the Delhi!” For a minute, he read the line twice, then thrice, adjusting his glasses as if luck itself was blurry.

Everyone in the colony heard the news. Some grinned, a few grumbled, most offered advice from how to pack the new suitcase (“plastic cover, don’t forget!”) to navigating airport security (“don’t take idli chutney in your bag!”).

Inside their small home, Thaatha sat quietly, thinking about whom he could take. Both his daughters lived far away now, and his friends, he decided, had seen enough of city traffic. He looked up as the front door banged and a familiar whirlwind entered with tangled hair and bright, eager eyes.

Spoorthi was searching for her cat, but Thaatha stopped her with a gentle, “Come here, kanda!” He patted the seat beside him and, with a twinkle, dangled the yellow slip in the air.

“Guess who’s flying to the capital?” he whispered, lowering his voice like they were plotting a secret.

Spoorthi’s eyes grew wide. “You, Thaatha?” she gasped.

“And who will keep me company?” he asked, tapping his chin. Spoorthi’s heart skipped. All at once, she pictured grand adventure: of airplanes, clouds, and city lights. Would she be chosen?

Thaatha smiled, pulling her close, “Of course, my favorite granddaughter! No one else I’d rather take to see the world from the sky.”

And just like that, the rush and worry, the nerves and wonder, all began—not with a flight, but with a little slip of luck, and even more, with the love of Thaatha for his Spoorthi.

The city air was thick with the whispers of early dawn and a rush Spoorthi had never known. Today was not an ordinary day. She bounded from her bed, her heart drumming so loudly in her chest she thought Amma might hear. Today, she would fly above the world.

Shoes half-tied, hair barely brushed, Spoorthi darted around the house: “Thaatha, we mustn’t be late! The flight will leave us behind!” But the world outside seemed determined to slow her down. Their taxi crept through the sleepy streets, every red light and impatient scooter magnifying her worry. As they slid into the airport with minutes to spare, Spoorthi’s fingers trembled—more from thrill than cold.

Inside, everything gleamed: long queues, snaking belts, screens blinking mysterious cities. Spoorthi’s stomach somersaulted, but Thaatha squeezed her shoulder, his eyes twinkling above his glasses. “We’ll make it, kanda. Adventures like us, we’re never too late!”

At the gate, she pressed her nose to the window. The airplane gleamed silver, its nose pointed bravely to the sky. Soon, she was walking down a tunnel, clutching her boarding pass, the world behind her shrinking.

Takeoff was thunder and magic. Spoorthi gripped Thaatha’s hand, knuckles white. The airplane shuddered, wheels leapt off the ground, and her stomach plunged as if she’d tumbled down a well. For a moment, fear fluttered in her chest. But then—up, up, and through shimmering clouds!

A gasp escaped her lips. Below, everything was tiny—the buses lined up like bright matchsticks, roads curling like silvery threads, the rivers a lazy snake winding to the horizon. Spoorthi leaned into the oval window, cheek pressed close, her breath leaving a little fog patch. Above the clouds, sunlight dazzled her. She imagined tumbling from the wing, jumping from cloud to cloud, her clothes dusted white, arms outstretched like a great heron flying with the wind.

Far below, a river melted into the back of the sea—a swirl of blue and brown, twirling together like the ends of her mother’s sari. She watched in awe, enchanted by the world’s quiet secrets.

The plane’s wing stretched beside her, wide and unshakable. Spoorthi traced its shape with her finger, loving how the sunlight danced and skipped across the metal. Somewhere ahead, gold faded into sudden dusk—a blush of sunset behind them and, peeking shyly from the other window, a sliver of moon. Two worlds in the sky at once. She whispered, “Krishna, are you watching from home?”

A gentle voice interrupted her wonder. “Would you like some juice, my dear?” The air hostess had a smile like borrowed sunshine. Spoorthi stared, enchanted. “Do you fly every day? See all the countries?” The air hostess laughed, a bell-like sound. “Almost every day! Every flight is a new adventure.” For a moment, Spoorthi dreamed herself in uniform, rolling her suitcase down city after city, helping children like her watch the clouds.

As the plane dipped for landing, it rattled and bumped. Spoorthi’s hands clasped tight—was this the end of sky magic? But the wheels skidded, bounced, and then settled with a mighty thud. Spoorthi clapped,  Thaatha joined in, soon everyone on the flight joined, grinning as the whole cabin swelled with cheers.

Spoorthi caught her reflection in the window. Eyes wide, cheeks pink—a girl who had left the ground behind and found the world anew, dancing on clouds and dreaming bigger than ever before.