By Suraj Nandrekar
The recent air crash in Ahmedabad has done more than just make headlines — it’s quietly taken root in the minds of many, mine included. It has unsettled something I thought was solid — my trust in air travel. We all know that statistically, flying is still the safest mode of transport. Safer than cars, buses, or trains. Yet somehow, facts don’t always soothe emotion, especially when fear enters uninvited.
I say this not as an occasional traveler, but as someone who has practically lived in the sky.
Over the years, my work — as both a journalist and an entrepreneur — has taken me to nearly every corner of India and around 12 countries across the globe. There have been times when I’ve taken four flights in a single day. Early morning landings, midnight departures, delays, diversions — I’ve experienced it all, but never once did I feel fear. Tiredness, yes. Frustration, occasionally. But fear? Never.
Until now.
Something has changed. Ever since the Ahmedabad crash, and the string of technical faults and emergency landings reported almost daily — especially with Air India — there’s a lingering unease. It’s subtle but persistent. A kind of mental static that won’t go away.
And so, I find myself hesitating at the thought of my next flight. Not because I believe flying has suddenly become unsafe, but because fear is no longer a stranger. It arrives in questions that echo in quiet moments: What if it happens to me? What if something goes wrong mid-air? What about my family?
These aren’t just distant, abstract thoughts. They feel close. Personal. Real.
I know the math. I’ve written stories quoting aviation experts. I’ve covered tragedies and reforms. I’ve reported on safety protocols. I understand that thousands of flights take off and land safely each day. But when fear sets in, reason feels like a distant passenger — present, but not in control.
It feels strange to be caught in this emotional limbo. On one side lies experience — years of safe travels, the thrill of takeoff, the calm of watching clouds from 35,000 feet. On the other side lies a sudden vulnerability, a crack in the armor of confidence I’ve worn for so long.
But I also know this: death doesn’t come only from the skies. It doesn’t wait for you at the airport gate. It can come on a calm walk, at a traffic signal, even during sleep. If anything, the unpredictability of life is the only predictable thing about it.
So what will I do?
I will probably board that next flight — a little more aware, maybe a little more tense, but I will fly. Not because I’ve conquered fear, but because I won’t let it conquer me.
Fear may have entered the cabin. But it doesn’t get to choose the destination.
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Let me know if you’d like a version with a headline more poetic, punchy, or hard-hitting.
