Do you still doubt who will read your story? Oh dear, but! Dare to write it for yourself first!

Now in 2026, I am finally choosing to let this post out after letting it sit in the draft section for more than three months. I am really sorry my dear soul. I know this is pure doubt and uncertainty towards how my writing will be perceived by others. But let me tell this out loud, if I still doubt to send this out, it will only remain here for three more months and I will keep blaming myself as someone small because her insecurity stopped her from expressing herself out to the world. I will still be hesitating to meet the world with my words which i consider not so worthy to be read. Yes I understand I don't write about memories so good but when did I even let that stop me from expressing myself. So here we go, please be patient with my story of my first flight journey with my father because it can be as vulnerable as me, but I have done it anyway! This shows 20 minutes of reading time for you and contains more than 4000 words. I am sorry if it will bore/drag you too much ( you can choose not to read, but I would appreciate your effort, haha, to stick with a writer like me).

23.11.2025. Air India Express. 18:15 boarding. 18:55 departure. BLR to VNS. seat 23A and 23B. Well, that was on the boarding pass I had. mine and my father's. Neither of us knew how any of this flight journey would work. The Bangalore airport seemed very gigantic at our very first step into the entrance. Though we were guided well by the instructions given by my elder sister's husband and friends, the reality felt like it was constantly peeping at us through its invisible eyes. right from our first bus travel from our hometown to Bangalore, or the Uber auto we had booked to get to the nearby bus station to reach the airport. Or the hurried lunch we ate at the bus stand. Or the cab we booked from there to the airport Terminal 2, finally. My father slept silently as it took nearly 45 minutes to reach the airport. the decision was just an idea. an opportunity I wanted to take up if in case everything went well. sending an abstract on AI and Memory from a thinly held hope to finally having my first flight journey with my 72 year old father, i found how much silent courage it actually took to be on my own for the first time in life, having to face how that would really look like in reality. though my father believed i would take care of everything. the journey. the voice in me was crying that i am only a little girl who is going to go to the airport for the first time in her life just as her old father and board a flight which she never thought would happen soon. yes i am 27 years old.you know that. but you’d be laughing at me if you'd been close with me in these moments. I want to write the whole serious experience here without filtering out anything. so. i am not shedding out anything. the money seemed less important not because I had the privilege of owning it myself. but I wanted to see my father have his first flight journey. alongside me.

And after entering the airport, the reality felt so weird that it was still asking us to behave casually, all while we were feeling only primitive in the new place. But as we started walking, we felt so excited to enter the airport. The officer at the checking entrance looked very strict. But as we got the checking done and entered the main entrance, we slowly felt the fresh air freeing us from our tight ribs of newplacepressure. We kept staring at the amazing, wide-open walkway full of greenery surrounding the walls. We sat down in the middle of the space to gaze at the slow scene passing before us. the people. the moment. We clicked selfies and individual pictures. I asked a boy nearby us to take a picture of us. I now remember how suddenly life carried us slowly for a second. My father got beguiled by people who were walking alone to board their flights. women. men. everyone. He asked me how these people are traveling alone in flights. How bold and precarious they are. I smiled because I did not know how to answer to his puerility but you know what, I am still a child myself, marveling at this new place culture and people around me and only I knew that well.

now reflecting back I understand how unintentionally or intentionally I was daring enough to swipe off all the scholarship money I had then. but you know what. the ache. the curiosity. the excitement. the first little happy take off. with my father. who was as silly as me. and his happy smile. all stand big before the careless luxurious desire I didn’t want to give in to.

our experience at the airport and flight can be summed up with two strong emotions. Ignorance along with innocence and happiness along with excitement that couldn't be simply written off neatly here but let me try. and I admit I am very bad at story telling. and i stumble more at reminiscing the past memories. but I am trying anyway. I am picking big emotions into tiny fragments of words so that I can express something special out of everything. and understand that something is everything I can.

right after landing from the flight, we got our bags from the directed belt, waiting in the line horizontally. every next second my father kept peeping into my eyes saying to check our bags carefully. after reaching the exit, the uber drivers from the cabs i'd booked and the language they spoke started to test our patience slowly. i realized my father had only known basic Hindi. he said he couldn't understand the Hindi the Uttar Pradesh people spoke. i was scolding him all the way for that. but i feel sorry now. we are all only humans. and humans can speak whatever language they want. to howsoever limit they can try to understand and learn. our first stay was unexpectedly hilarious. we got fooled by the polished, glowing photos they'd sent earlier. And the whole room felt like a patchwork and the separate rest room outside, adjacent to the reception area made it even more worse. and our road to that stay was also very disappointing that it killed our excitement for the next day’s plan for my seminar and temple visits. my father felt more disappointed than i did. but we made up our minds not to be disturbed by this scenario. somehow he slept peacefully asking me to prepare for my presentation and see some other good stay for the coming days. we changed to another lodging the very next morning. all between the trembling cold weather and the barking horns. heavy traffic. dirt spilt roads. our second stay felt like a less serious test. we didn't lose our patience though. And my father felt okay. I was not much happy though. but we were tired to roam any further and had to reach the university soon. We didn't have our breakfast. the first day of the seminar and the college was not so much welcoming as we had to roam from place to place to find the right department. again because of the language. lol. the principal came to our rescue and everything from there went less embarrassingly. i met a cute little scholar. she seemed so calm and lovely. Manshi was her name from Lucknow university. she had come to present her paper as well. we both then met a foreigner who was also looking for the same seminar hall just like us. he spoke so freely and friendly that I didn't imagine he would be one of the guest speakers for the next day of the seminar which i knew only later. I loved the way he smiled at us. while we broke for tea, we happened to interact as we'd all gathered for an easy talk. when I told him, “whatever I am going to say has already been said”, he simply added, “of course but not by you”. that felt like a silent hug. I still love him for saying that to me. it was like saying “no, you don’t have to feel small, you matter and your thoughts matter, even if it has been sparked by thousands already.” it warms my soul even now as i am writing about it. I love him and his humanity.

All of us were seated as the session began. my father was sitting silently in the back seat. We had tea and samosa for break and some sweet and kachori for lunch. my father was shying away, avoiding eye contact with everyone present there. but I will add this, he is such a jolly type around people who are ready to listen him. he kept asking me, when would it be my turn to present. he was more excited about my speech but I was feeling quite nervous as the gathering seemed very different from the ones I had seen earlier. my father sat still and listened to everyone speak for the whole session. he waited for my turn calmly. That was the first time I saw him hold patience in public for a long time. it felt unusually cute. When I was called to present, I didn’t even notice what he was doing. I felt bit nervous as I started. But then, somehow, I managed to pull it out well. but I was also asked to finish soon. The way I had to rush up my slides then still makes me feel less, but I feel quite proud of myself for going such a long way and giving it a try rather than simply skipping out on every single opportunity I’d got . remember I said I don’t want to filter out or change anything here as I am trying to express the whole memory as however it felt then and however it still feels in my heart. As the first day of the seminar ended, my father and I enjoyed the way it was finally over. As I left the department, I spoke to one of the presenters. a kind and sweet lady. dark red lipstick. all curly hair, rounded as a sweet loose bun on top of her head. an easy smile and a friendly look. Her name was Joyshree or Joshree (I don’t know) from IIT BHU. I asked her to click a picture of my father and me posing together. She smiled and said Okay and also added it was so cute to see my father clicking pictures of me while I was presenting. Only then did I know he was gaining silent attention by covering his daughter’s not-so-worthy presentation.haha. But to realize how happy my father was to see me talk amidst such an intellectual gathering, even though he was completely exhausted and feeling hungry without proper food and rest on that day, made me feel good, less vulnerable, and more special. We then booked an auto to our stay again, against the horns barking, heavy traffic, and a cold evening. We completely rested then and also felt regretful for ordering bad food for dinner. most of which I’d passed on to my father's plate. haha.

The second day arrived as neatly as planned. strikingly cold though. but not so wonky as the previous one but i had to leave in between the session to visit the library on the central campus. A scholar from the same seminar hall, the same university, helped me reach the library. I then took an electric auto. saw students from different academic streams taking such regular rides every day to reach their respective departments, which were randomly built here and there across the large campus. The thought of leaving my father alone in the seminar hall did not occur to me until later. He thought I would be getting my presentation certificate amid all of them. haha. But no, you know what. He was the one who finally got my certificate while I was stuck between the books inside the library. Can you imagine the curiosity of the place I am talking about? Yes. the countless rows. filled with limitless books from literature. science. architecture. And yeah, the arts section. it sent a lingering ache to my soul. I wanted to stand there for a little longer time. It had books on ancient murals. painting of deities. The dim light under which they were all kept preserved for years, didn’t let me go, even when the call from my father sounded immediate. The research scholar, Bavesh, who has now become a friend, helped my father board an auto to get to the library. He also helped with collecting my certificate from the board and handed it over safely to my father. As I went out to receive my father. The literature wing I was wandering around, unfortunately, got closed, and they said it was supposed to be kept open only till 3.30 pm. I had gone astray for a while after hearing that and quietly walked out of the entrance, taking my bag. My father was staying outside with his towel laid out on the grass; he was sitting on it to avoid the moisture settling on it. He was watching the news and his favorite television show on YouTube. I wanted to sit back for a while. I spoke to a friend over the phone, and then we slowly started to walk out of the library to visit a nearby Vishwanath temple. My father was happy since he himself is a god worshipping, diligent temple priest who believes that praying to God can give us everything we want. We saw Shiva. We saw Nandi. He prayed. I roamed. We clicked pictures, and soon he couldn't hold onto his nature's call, so we hurriedly came out of the temple. We got two espresso coffees from the nearby coffee shop and sat down under a huge tree (I don’t know the tree’s name, sorry, but it was widely huge), observing the people who passed by us. all of them amused us with their flaunting attire and fleeting moments of a slow life, which they unfortunately couldn't see through their own eyes. My father again asked the same question he’d asked me earlier in the airport. How are these young ladies and girls traveling alone boldly? Why such outright modern costumes? because he also found it capricious. and careless. Their trendy outfits felt strange and dangerous for him. I replied with a smile and said it looks good on them. It’s the fashion. It’s also the weather. And we ought to wear whatever makes us happy and keeps our bodies warm. I loved the place as the evening sun started setting with a beautiful orange light peeping up mildly in the sky. I clicked pictures of the scenes slowly passing before me. The dogs were sleeping, and people were hurrying. Students kept waiting for their buses to start. We then ate the samosa as a snack, which we’d got from the seminar. It was not bad. We enjoyed it. Both of us finally felt very tired and wanted to reach the room as soon as possible. We booked an auto. reached the room. and rested fully. Later, we started to plan our next big day. It was our last day at Varanasi. The return tickets had been booked. Akasa Air. 19:10 boarding. 19:55 departure. seats 28C and 30F. Yes, my father and I unfortunately got separate seats for the return flight. but his corner seat had a window. I felt happy for him because he would feel even more uncomfortable and shy sitting between two people. With all these thoughts running through our minds, I called the hotel owner. He said he will arrange an auto for us with a driver who would pick us up early in the morning at 5 o’clock and guide us to all the places we had planned to visit.

The next day, we woke up early and got ready as planned. I didn’t know we were getting ready to be chiseled and fooled for money later. nothing serious though. the auto driver was mincing pawn and spitting them out every once in a while as we spoke to him. The ride started with the cold weather locking us closely to our noses, and I shut my ears as they both started to speak in Hindi, which again my father found a little difficult to decode, but I am proud he managed so well. I now don’t exactly remember all the names of the temples we’d visited that day. But let me try to slowly run through the warm, beautiful memories here. because it matters to my father so much as much as it does to me.He said it was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for him, and I felt both happy and sad inside as he kept saying it. out of all the memories, the one with ghats stays close to my heart. I was enthralled by the view before me: all the randomly arranged boats, the sudden surprise view of the Ganges and how the sun came out as we got down to hire a boatman. We drank hot tea and were negotiating with a man who seemed to be the owner of the boat about the charges for the whole ride. I clearly knew he was planning to get more money from us. But then we said ok. We carefully got into the boat. The auto driver who came with us explained each ghat again in a language I didn’t know, but my father was happy to finally be in Kaasi. He was excited to get the Ganga water in the two or three small containers we had purchased earlier near the ghats. The wind sent out a serene feeling to my soul as we kept riding. We clicked pictures. My father was happy and I was happy to see him like that. A couple of more temple visits followed. And as we got down to the Kaasi streets, our auto tire got punctured and the driver left us there to wait for a while. The smell of freshly boiled rice idly from the nearby food stall started sending signals to my stomach. Only then I realized I was feeling hungry. We had four hot Idlis each with coconut chutney and sambar that tasted so spicy and delicious. We had then gone to purchase a few more essentials that my father had a big list to tick on. Our last temple visit was Ram Mandir. It felt so relieving to have finally done all the visits. Then the auto driver took us back to the hotel we'd lodged in. We rested for a while and started to pack our bags since we’d to start early to reach the airport before without any hurry.

Unfortunately, I got sick with a severe cold and a runny nose. Both of us badly wanted to have a good hot lunch. Our throats and stomachs had gone dry. We believed only good food could help us board peacefully. Luckily, we went to a good vegetarian restaurant nearby after checking out the room. I had hot Rasam rice. It's a one-pot meal consisting of steaming hot rice mixed with Rasam (a traditional South Indian soup or broth made with tamarind, tomatoes, lentils (optional), and spices like cumin and black pepper). It helped my throat heal better. My father ate bisibelabath. Bisi Bela Bath or Sambar Rice is a very popular, traditional South Indian one-pot meal from the Karnataka cuisine prepared using rice, dal, vegetables, and a special spice blend. There was one big family who were also speaking Kannada as we did. They looked at us and asked about our native. We started eating and my father was pointing out to me what they ate. I said, please mind that they are listening to our talk. Haha. He thinks he is not saying something wrong, but he doesn’t understand that being innocent also takes some doubting looks from others. He then ate one masala dosa as well. His meal never gets complete without hot coffee and I'd also wanted to fill my flask with hot water to help my throat heal soon. But the server looked kind of irritated to bring me hot water the second time as he’d already served it to me once in a small glass. Anyway, I got it, despite his irritation, and then booked a cab to the airport. I was speaking to my sister and my father had gone out to smoke. He never listens to what I say in this matter. I was scolding him until the cab arrived. Because of the traffic, the driver asked us to reach him by a quick walk, as he was only waiting nearby. Though it was not far, we felt drained out by the scorching sun, and my throat was killing my energy already. We reached the airport earlier and kept waiting. I saw doves flying there and a little boy quietly following them. I loved the sight of that little boy and his father playing and talking so quietly and compassionately. We then checked in after some time. My father was not seated because his nature never allows him to sit in the same place for a long time. He kept roaming, wanting to charge his mobile. I was simply sitting and passing the time, watching my phone and everyone around me. The guest speaker of the first day's seminar(a foreigner) was also waiting there for his flight. My father asked whether he could go and talk to him. I said no. Because he might not recognize us. Haha. But the truth is I was not really ready. We kept waiting, then boarded late because our flight got delayed. Though my father and I got separate seats, he wanted me to sit beside him. Somehow, he adjusted his mind and asked me to make him sit first as we boarded. The old lady sitting beside me near the window was too stubborn not to get to her centre seat. And the guy who was standing, waiting for his window seat, got frustrated by her. She asked me to convey him that it’s not wrong to adjust our seats. Haha. There was that old woman’s attitude in her voice, and I’d become a little convenient messenger for her haply sitting between both of them. It was her first flight, I guess, because she was taking out jelly chocolates and dry sour mango pickles from her bag maybe to avoid nausea. Yes, she gave it to the guy who was sitting next to me as well. She was trying to convince him through her snack because he went silent after losing his window seat. Haha. He first resisted getting the snack, but the old woman kept insisting as if her only goal was to convince this hard kid who seemed as stubborn as her. He eventually sounded gentle and got it silently. He also thanked her, and then slowly the flight started to take off. My return journey was not so good as my cold got worse and unbearable, and I found it hard to breathe in the flight’s cold air. I tried to sleep for a while, and finally we landed safely. We took our bags hurriedly walking towards the belt and then were looking to book a cab. It was a roundabout journey of our tired legs aching to rest and to finally get into a car. Now I hate Uber and how the cab services work at the airport. Because they allowed Uber go to start their rides only outside of the airport, and we kept roaming around to find the cab we had booked. We somehow finally boarded. My dad slept while I kept coughing. We then got a bus to reach our hometown. Finally, the exhaustion ended, but the excitement my dad had been holding onto even as we reached home tired, felt good. He was eagerly announcing that he would share everything he’d bought from Varanasi with his friends. Haha. Finally i was happy that I made our first flight journey possible.

This whole post has been in the draft for more than two months; I couldn’t bear my own narration. I kept running away from myself, about how silly the whole conversation here with myself felt like, or how it will look like to you, while i was still trying to write about it. I was also lazy and too tired to meet myself through all these doubts, self-criticism, and mere avoidance of accepting my own voice. It felt quite insignificant and silly with how it sounded. But here i go, it is my voice and i am choosing to embrace it with whatever it takes to finally let it out. I have to publish it for the sake of my own soul, who still believes in her own voice and expression. These are not just scribblings or random thoughts of how it had happened, but why it happened, because let me say it out loud, for once, I CHOSE MY STILL DOUBTING SELF and MADE IT HAPPEN FOR MY FATHER. I am proud of both of us now and of my terrible little soul who refused to let this story rot in the same draft. Now it is published anyway not to let even my doubting self stop me from choosing myself again.

PS: moments like self-doubt. insecurity. uncertainty. and vulnerability will happen regardless of your willingness to express freely and boldly. it may not be controlled or remove completely. but you can still try not to stop. not to shy away from this silent struggle of finally trying to understand your own way of expression and finding the courage to allow people to meet you there as however doubtful you are. it is not a weakness or it is being incapable(as how I'd imagined) but it is how you still simply keep choosing yourself regardless of your preconceived notion of self-sabotage. your soul is beyond all this. It will not stop you from trying. from talking. from writing. from loving. from believing. from anything.

I missed you and I love you as always!

With Peace

Revathi Ganesh