When Dark Clouds Bring Back October 2014

 (3 mins read)

Even now, whenever I see a wall of dark clouds gathering a few kilometres ahead, my mind quietly leaves the present.

For a second, I'm not driving to work or looking out from my apartment balcony anymore. I'm back on a motorcycle, somewhere on the Karnataka coast, staring at the same kind of sky.

October 2014.

It was a five-day bike trip with a few friends and an office colleague. We covered around 1,400 kilometres, weaving through places like Mangalore, Udupi, Murudeshwar, Gokarna and eventually back to Bangalore through Jog Falls.

We weren't chasing tourist checklists.

If a place looked beautiful, we stopped. If it didn't, we kept riding. That was the plan. Or rather, the lack of one.

Somewhere along the way, just before sunset, we noticed it.

A thick line of black clouds sat about 10 or 15 kilometres ahead of us.

One of us looked ahead.

"Ten minutes?" he shouted.

"Maybe twenty," the other replied.

We all did the same calculation without saying much more. The clouds were moving towards us. We were moving towards them. There wasn't going to be a way around it.

Normally, we would've just pulled over and waited.

But it was already getting late, and we had one thing on our minds, we had to reach our destination before midnight.

So we kept riding.

Straight Into the Rain

The rain didn't begin politely.

It arrived all at once.

One moment we could still see the road stretching ahead. The next, it felt as though someone had emptied an entire lake over the highway.

Our raincoats were technically doing their job.

Or at least they were trying.

Against that kind of rain, they didn't stand much of a chance.

The sound of raindrops hammering against the helmet almost drowned out the engine. Water splashed up from every passing vehicle. The visor kept fogging up. Visibility dropped. Traffic slowed to a crawl. Water had started collecting on the road, and before long there was a jam.

Every few minutes, I'd think, "Surely this will ease now."

It didn't.

So we kept riding.

There wasn't anything heroic about it. We were just wet, tired, slightly cold, and focused on the bike in front of us.

After about an hour, the downpour finally relaxed. Not stopped, just relaxed. The heavy sheets became a steady drizzle.

Good enough.

We carried on.

Then hunger arrived.

Not the usual "let's grab dinner" kind of hunger.

Hungry-as-wolves hunger.

The kind where even a biscuit packet starts looking like fine dining.

A little later, through the drizzle, we spotted a roadside dhaba.

I've forgotten its name.

I don't even remember exactly where it was.

But I remember exactly what we ordered.

Maggi.

Bread omelette.

That's it.

We sat there dripping onto plastic chairs, jackets hanging wherever they could, helmets piled in one corner, steam rising from those plates.

I don't know if I've ever enjoyed a meal more.

Not because it was extraordinary.

Because it arrived at exactly the right moment.

Sometimes that's all good food needs.

Today, when I catch myself watching dark clouds gathering in the distance, that evening quietly returns.

It's funny how memory works.

Out of nearly 1,400 kilometres of roads, beaches, hills and towns, it chooses a rainy highway, soaked gloves, and a plate of Maggi to remember.

Maybe that's because comfort has a way of feeling much richer after you've spent some time without it.

Among the Sacred Cities, I Collected Scents and Memories

(4 mins read)

If you ever ask my friends what gift I like the most, they will tell you two things: books or ittar.

I have always loved scented oils. There is something very personal and soulful about them. A small bottle can hold so much character, so much memory. Memories from Kolkata, from Bangalore and currently from different places in Hyderabad. I already had a small collection at home, but after my recent Umrah trip in January 2026, that small collection has now grown into something much bigger.

During my Umrah pilgrimage to Makkah, my only intention was to make the most of my visit to the holiest place in Islam. I wanted to focus on prayers, reflection, and gratitude. But as the days passed, another thought slowly entered my mind that I should take something special back home. Not just as a souvenir, but as a memory. Dates were obvious. And then, of course… perfumes.

Now, Saudi ittar is world famous. When it comes to concentrated scented oils, the Middle East, especially Saudi Arabia and the UAE, makes some of the finest in the world. French perfumes are popular too, especially the spray ones. But technically speaking, they are different. French perfumes are usually alcohol-based sprays like Eau de Parfum or Eau de Toilette. They project more, spread faster in the air, and are often lighter in feel. Ittar, on the other hand, is oil-based. It is concentrated, alcohol-free, and sits closer to the skin. It lasts longer and evolves slowly over time. It feels deeper, warmer, more intimate.

My uncle had already been to Makkah before, so he had some idea about what to buy. My younger brother and I were the curious ones. We contacted a friend who works in Masjid al Haram (lucky him!). He came along with his friend and guided us on what to look for in perfumes. He personally liked “Ranan” and “Ilbrince” from the Majed Al Oudh brand. He also took us around the area near the Haram.

And what an experience that was.

There are so many malls around Masjid al Haram. Every alternate shop is a perfume shop: Oud Elite, Ajmal, Arabian Oud, Rose Perfumes, Al Haramain, Surrati, Ahmed Perfumes, Al Majed, Osma… the list goes on. We tried so many fragrances. Honestly, very few instantly clicked. Sometimes the packaging was beautiful, but the fragrance was too strong. Sometimes it was nice, but too expensive. Choosing a perfume is such a personal thing.

Then we explored some local shops. We were mesmerised by the designs of the ittar bottles. Small 6 ml and 12 ml bottles, beautifully crafted, some with crystals, some with intricate patterns. Even the bottle felt like a souvenir. We spent hours trying different oils, testing them on our wrists, discussing notes, and shortlisting a few. But we decided not to rush. We were going to Madina next, so we thought we would explore the shops there before making final decision.

When we reached Madina, we were almost certain about one brand — Surrati. It felt right for us. Reasonable pricing, strong essence, and fragrances that suited our taste.

We searched on Google Maps and found a Surrati outlet very close to our hotel. Surrati is actually a heritage perfume house from Saudi Arabia. They are known for blending traditional oriental notes like oud, musk, amber, and florals with a slightly modern touch. They offer both concentrated oils (attar) and Eau de Parfum sprays. Their scents are usually deep and long-lasting, perfect for evenings or special occasions.

After trying many options, we finally bought three 100 ml bottles (Escape, Bakrat Rouje and Monte Blanc). These came in aluminium tin containers. From these, we have to refill smaller bottles for daily use. It may sound like extra work, but honestly, it was worth it.

Apart from that, we bought many smaller 12 ml bottles from different places:

• During ziyarat in Makkah and Madina, we bought Ameer Al Oud from guides who were introducing the historical places in the bus we hired.
• Outside Masjid e Qiblatain, we found some beautiful options.
• In Madina, we were so impressed by one guide’s ittar collection that we called him again and bought a full box of 24 pieces!
• At Lulu Mall near Masjid al Haram, we shortlisted one beautiful oud fragrance but didn’t get time to go back and buy it. Maybe next time, InshaAllah.
• On the second floor of Al Safa Tower near Makkah Clock Tower, we found a small shop with an amazing collection. We wanted smaller quantities of Surrati fragrances like Zamzam, Rawdah, Ehsas and others. The fragrances were truly mind-blowing.

Looking back, I realise it was not just about buying perfumes.

Each bottle now reminds me of a moment: walking near the Haram after prayer, exploring streets in Madina, sitting in the bus during ziyarat, discussing fragrances with my brother, debating over which one smells better. Every time I apply one of these ittars now, it takes me back there.

Umrah was, of course, a spiritual journey first. But these fragrances have become a beautiful extension of that journey. A scent has memory. And my home now carries the soft, warm memory of Makkah and Madina.

Maybe next time I go, I will come back with even more.

And if you are still wondering what to gift me… you know the answer. Books or ittar. 😊

One Evening Outside the Prophet’s Mosque

(4 mins read)

On that particular evening, after Isha namaz, we exited from gate 310 instead of 365.

We were in Madina last month. Anyone who has been there knows how many gates Masjid e Nabwi has. Each gate opens into a different world. For our family, Gate 365 had become our routine. We would meet there and exit from there because our hotel was straight ahead from that gate. It was simple and familiar.

That evening, we decided to change that habit. We said why not take gate 310 and explore a different path. We wanted to see the other side of the masjid. The pathways, the hotels, the shops, and the small museums outside. There was no hurry. We were happy and relaxed, just walking and taking it all in.

As we were moving along, an elderly aunty came up to us. She asked if we were going towards Masjid e Bilal, where our hotel was. We said yes, and she started walking with us. From gate 365, our hotel would be straight. But from gate 310, if you look at the map of the masjid, you have to walk diagonally to reach that side.

After walking for a bit, the aunty suddenly got confused. She realized that her hotel was not exactly near Masjid e Bilal. Fear took over her face. She told us she did not remember the name of her hotel. She did not want to call her son because she was afraid he would scold her. Her son was sick and had not traveled with her. She was in her late 60s, but her love for the Prophet was so strong that she still wanted to visit the Prophet’s mosque.

We tried convincing her to call her son. Finally, she did. But that did not help much. He was new to Madina too, and we were new as well. The directions were not clear, and none of us could figure out exactly where the hotel was.

I was with my full family. Elder parents, young kids, brothers, uncle, aunts, all of them. I could sense their discomfort. Keeping so many people waiting while solving one problem did not feel right. So I asked everyone to continue towards our hotel. I told them I would take the aunty alone and help her reach her son and the hotel.

I took her son’s number and called him. I asked him to share his live location on WhatsApp. That helped a lot. But by then, we had moved a bit far from her hotel. There was an underpass between us and the hotel. We had to walk ahead, cross the road, and then make a U-turn to come back. This made the walk feel longer.

The aunty kept saying this is not the route, the hotel is not this far. I kept calming her down. I told her again and again that we were on the right path. Her bag was not heavy, but she was also carrying her chair. It was difficult for her to walk and carry everything. I offered to carry both for her.

Slowly and steadily, we reached the location her son had shared. He was standing there waiting. The relief on his face said everything. He shook my hand and thanked me. The aunty gave me lots of blessings and duas. In that moment, my heart felt full.

But during all this, something else was happening. While I was crossing the road and talking to her son, my phone kept ringing. First, my wife called. Then my mom. Then my aunt. They all wanted to know where I was and how far I had reached. They were worried because it was night and I was alone. They were scared that this could be a scam. That someone could make up a story, take you to a secluded place, and rob you.

I was surprised, but not shocked. In today’s world, these fears are real. These perceptions have been built over time.

Still, it made me think. I am really intrigued and not convinced about how we as a human race have reached this point. We question and doubt so much before helping anyone. We ask many questions, and only rarely do we decide to help. I have seen it many times. People stand around, watching, but holding themselves back.

It reminded me of something from my college days. A friend and I were walking and trying to cross the road. Suddenly, we heard a scream. A man had been hit by a running bus. He was bleeding badly. A crowd gathered around him. He raised his hand, asking for help. No one moved.

My friend and I looked at each other. No words were needed. We called a taxi and took him to the hospital. We then called our eldest uncle who lived nearby. The first thing he said was, why did you do this. He did not mean it badly, but his concern was clear. He said there were so many people on the road, why did you take the initiative. Now you will have to answer police questions and deal with trouble.

This is the reality today. Many people step back from helping because of fear. Fear of questions, fear of authorities, fear of being blamed, or fear of scams. These reasons are real, but they should not stop us.

That night in Madina reminded me of this again. Sometimes helping someone may slow you down, worry your loved ones, or put you in an uncomfortable situation. But the peace you feel afterward is something else. And maybe, just maybe, that is what truly matters.

Dreams Do Come True, Prayers Do Get Answered

(5 mins read)

From 7th to 21st January 2026, Allah blessed me with the opportunity to perform Umrah with my family.

Seven days in Makkah, four days in Madina, and then two final days back in Makkah.

On paper, it was just a travel plan.
In reality, it was a quiet spiritual turning point.

This is not a guide on how to perform Umrah.
This is just my experience, how it felt, what changed inside me, and how Allah swt gently upgraded my heart.

When Allah Finally Calls

For almost six years, I carried a dream of taking my family - spouse, kids, and parents for Umrah.

Every time we tried, something delayed it. There were document issues for my Abbu, due to which his passport could not be generated. Then came COVID. After that, work commitments, family responsibilities, and one reason or another kept coming in between.

Over time, you begin to understand something very deep. It is not about planning. It is about destiny and what Allah swt has ordained and planned for you.

Only those whom Allah swt calls are able to go. When the call finally came, it felt less like we planned the journey and more like we were invited.

Taking Kids Along, Fear and Faith

Many people advised us against taking children. They said there is a lot of walking, the crowds are huge, kids can get lost, and it is physically exhausting.

We have three kids, 8 years old, 4 years old, and 1.5 years old, and we were worried. I know people meant well, but honestly, it was scary. Especially for my wife. She would often say, “Let’s postpone it till the kids grow older.” I had to keep reassuring her that we would manage and that Allah swt would make it easy.

We planned carefully, took precautions, and kept praying. Using safety straps for the children turned out to be one of our best decisions, especially on the ground floor and during the rush of Sa’i.

The First Time Seeing the Kaaba

The goosebumps started much earlier than expected.

After landing in Jeddah, we boarded the bus to Makkah late at night, around 1 AM. We were tired, but excitement kept us fully awake. As the bus moved closer, the clock tower slowly appeared on the horizon, glowing in all its glory. Those green LED lights felt majestic and comforting at the same time.

Even the air felt different. Breathing the air around Makkah itself felt special.

When we finally entered Masjid al-Haram, and my eyes fell on the Kaaba for the very first time, words simply disappeared. After I returned, my friends asked me how it felt to see the Kaaba for the first time. I told them I had no words to describe it. And honestly, I believe no words can do justice to that feeling. It can only be felt. The heart fills with humility, peace, and overwhelming gratitude. Standing there among millions, you still feel incredibly close to Allah ﷻ. It is emotional, calming, and deeply transformative.

Performing Umrah Together as a Family

We performed Umrah on 8th January 2026, around 10 AM, as a family.

Doing Umrah alone is powerful. Doing it with your parents, spouse, and children is something entirely different. It brings tears without warning and gratitude without limits.

Tawaf was a bit challenging due to overcrowding, especially near Hajar al-Aswad and Maqam Ibrahim. There was some unnecessary pushing, which momentarily breaks focus. But the holiness of the place is so immense that these moments fade away very quickly.

Children See It Differently

Our kids experienced Umrah in their own beautiful way. They were fascinated by the lights, the people, and the kindness around them. They would often receive lollipops and candies from strangers, though in Islam, there are really no strangers.

One day, they excitedly told us that they also wanted to distribute candies to other kids. And they did. Watching that innocence unfold in the holiest of places was a reminder of how pure faith really is.

Life in Makkah, A Different Rhythm

Life in Makkah revolves entirely around prayer.

On Fridays, people start preparing for Jumu’ah very early. Imagine a place where Jumu’ah is at around 12:30 PM, yet people bathe, dress, and leave for the Masjid al-Haram by 9 AM.

On the only Friday we were there, we left our hotel at 9:30 AM and were already worried. The last hotel bus had left, so we took a taxi. All the way, we kept praying, “O Allah, please let us pray Jumu’ah inside the Haram.” And Alhamdulillah, Allah answered.

Madina, Where the Heart Slows Down

Madina has its own charm.

If Makkah humbles you, Madina calms you. There is no rush. The heart naturally learns to stay still. After all, this is the city of the Prophet ﷺ, a place where companions were taught gentleness, humility, and to keep their voices low.

Even today, Madina teaches you how to behave, without saying a word.

in Masjid e Nabwi (Prophet's Mosque)

Learning, Ziarat, and Small Details

During our ziarat in both Makkah and Madina, I made a conscious effort to note important historical places. I pinned them in Google Maps so I could remember and revisit their stories later. It helped me connect history with faith in a very personal way.

Dates, Perfumes, and a Little Shopping Bag

And then there were the shops.

The varieties of dates, the perfumes and attars, the colors, and the fragrances were simply mesmerizing. I was honestly astonished. Spiritual elevation and shopping seem to coexist very peacefully in these cities.

Coming Back Changed

Every prayer felt deeper.
Every dua felt more sincere.

Even with the crowds, there was a calm that stayed with me, and it still does.

You return spiritually upgraded.
More sabr, more shukr, and yes, more shopping bags 😅

A Small Dua Before I End 🤲🕋

🌙 Masjid al-Haram is a place every believer longs for.

May Allah grant everyone the opportunity to visit again and again, with ease, patience, and peace.
Ameen.

One summer afternoon, I discovered something ...

(3 mins read)

image created using a feature of ChatGPT

I believe we all carry a core memory within us, tucked away quietly, in a small corner of the mind. It doesn't always have to be something big or life-changing. Sometimes, it’s just a quiet moment, an afternoon, a smell, or a glimpse of a room that stays with us. As the years pass, these memories blur around the edges. We begin to wonder, did it really happen that way, or have we imagined parts of it?

One of my fondest memories goes back to a summer afternoon in my maternal grandparents’ village. Back then, their home was a beautiful mud house, not very fancy, but full of warmth and character. That house doesn’t exist anymore; it has been rebuilt with bricks and concrete. But in my mind, it still stands the way it was. I was around seven or eight years old, and it was the kind of hot, lazy afternoon. As it happens on a lazy summer afternoon, everyone had a stomach-filled lunch and went off to sleep. But I was restless and curious. I decided that the two-hour nap would ruin my productivity! :P So while my parents and siblings took the nap, I began to wander, quietly exploring the corners of that peaceful house.

I went to the first floor: yes, the mud house had a first floor, which still feels quite fascinating to me. There were two rooms on the terrace. One was used to store rice, wheat, onions, and potatoes. The other had a charpai and a small pile of books on a table near the window. That room was empty, but I had a feeling someone would come up soon, so I knew I didn’t have much time. I flipped through the books, searching for something, found no pictures, so I gently placed them back. But then I found a small black notebook. Inside, it was something bluish and mysterious, a carbon paper. I don’t remember whether the notebook belonged to my uncle or my nana, but I did know what it was, and that made me feel oddly proud. So I placed it between two sheets and started drawing something, just to see the magic of two copies being made at once. What did I draw? I don't remember. Did I tear out the page and saved it? I don’t remember. How I left that room? I don't remember. But I do remember the feeling.

That hot breeze outside. The quietness of the house. The joy of finding something new. It’s a small memory, really. But it has stayed with me all these years. I’ve spoken about it to my wife with childlike excitement, and now I find myself sharing it with my children. They may not understand what carbon paper is, or why that afternoon meant so much. But maybe someday, they too will carry a quiet little memory from their own childhood. A simple, forgotten moment that refuses to fade.

My First Eid as a Father of Three: A Celebration to Remember

(2 mins read)

This Eid was a little different. For the first time, I didn’t travel to Kolkata, the place where Eid always feels the most real. My parents, younger siblings, in-laws, and so many friends are all there. Every year, it’s the same: hugs, laughter, home-cooked food, and the warmth of being home.

I’ve lived in Hyderabad for nine years, but only twice have I celebrated Eid here; once during the pandemic, and now, this year. At first, I was worried - would Eid feel empty without the chaos of our big family in Kolkata? But Hyderabad surprised me. 

The city I’ve called home for nearly a decade finally felt like home on Eid. This year, Hyderabad wasn’t just where we lived—it became our home away from home. I celebrated Eid with my wife and our three kids. The youngest is just 10 months old, the other two full of energy at 7.5 and 3.5 years. It was our first Eid as a family of five. And somehow, that made it special.

Friends from our apartment came together with their families. We hugged, smiled, exchanged Eidis, and shared delicious food. The kids ran around happily, dressed in their new and bright Eid clothes, excited with every sweet and every smile.

Decorated my home

 

The youngest one is missing. And I realize it now that in the midst of enjoyment and meet-ups we forgot to click a full family pic on Eid.

Did I miss Kolkata? Of course. My parents’ voices on video calls made my throat ache. Kolkata is my roots, always will be. But this Eid, Hyderabad gave me wings.

Because happiness was right here. In my kids’ giggles. In friends who feel like family. In those quiet, grateful moments between spoonful of sheer khurma. Here’s to more Eids like this — full of warmth, love, and memories made at home, wherever that may be.

Buzzing with Inspiration: Lessons in Excellence from the Humble Bee

(2 min read)

Have you ever watched bees buzzing around, wondering what makes them so special? In a captivating lecture by Nouman Ali Khan, he explores the fascinating world of bees and the valuable lessons we can learn from these tiny creatures. Let's dive into the hive and uncover the secrets of these industrious insects.

One of the most remarkable traits of bees is their strong sense of teamwork. Just like a well-oiled machine, bees work together to build their hive, gather pollen, and create honey. This spirit of cooperation is a lesson for us all, showing that we can achieve great things when we work together.

Bees are also perfectionists! Bees also teach us the importance of always striving for the best. They always choose the best flowers and the smartest ways to work. They never settle for less and constantly seek the most efficient ways to accomplish their tasks. This drive for excellence is a quality we can all cultivate in our own lives, pushing ourselves to be the best we can be.

But bees aren't selfish! Another crucial lesson we can learn from bees is the value of giving rather than taking. Bees play a vital role in pollinating plants, like tiny superheroes of nature they help them to reproduce and thrive. In return, they only take what they need from the plants, showing us the importance of sustainability and balance in our interactions with the environment.

In the Quran, Allah says,

"And your Lord inspired to the bee, 'Take for yourself among the mountains, houses, and among the trees and [in] that which they construct. Then eat from all the fruits and follow the ways of your Lord laid down [for you].'" (Quran 16:68-69). 

This verse highlights the importance of bees in nature and encourages us to reflect on the wisdom of their ways.

In conclusion, bees are not just insects; they are teachers, showing us the importance of teamwork, excellence, and giving. By emulating these lessons in our own lives, we can create a better world for ourselves and for others. So, the next time you see a bee buzzing by, take a moment to appreciate its industrious spirit, its collaborative nature, and its selfless giving. Let these tiny creatures serve as a constant reminder to strive for excellence, to work together, and to leave a positive mark on the world. Remember, just like the bee, each of us has a unique role to play, and by embracing hard work, unity, and generosity, we can all contribute to building a sweeter, more fulfilling world.

This is how memories are made!

(2 min read)

As a parent, watching your child grow up and move on to new stages of life can be a bittersweet experience. Recently, my elder son had his graduation day ceremony from Senior KG and was promoted to Grade 1. It was a day full of excitement, joy, and a few tears.

The ceremony was held in the school auditorium, which was decorated with colorful balloons and streamers. The children were dressed in their best attire, and their beaming faces were a sight to behold. It was a proud moment for all the parents to see their little ones being recognized for their hard work and achievements.

My son had participated in a Naat performance, and I could see how much effort he had put into it. He was so excited to be on stage and showcase his performance, and seeing him with his classmates filled my heart with joy. I couldn't help but feel proud of him and his classmates for their courage and confidence.

As the ceremony proceeded, memories of my own childhood came flooding back. I remembered my own graduation day, and how excited I was to move on to the next phase of my academic journey. The joy and pride that I felt as a child were now mirrored in my son's eyes.

It was also a reminder of how quickly time flies. It felt like just yesterday that my son had started his journey in Senior KG, and now he was already being promoted to Grade 1. It was a bittersweet feeling, knowing that my little boy was growing up so fast.

But at the same time, I felt grateful for the memories we had made together. From his first day of school to his first performance on stage, every moment had been special. And I knew that even as he moved on to new experiences, we would continue to make more memories together.

As we left the auditorium, I looked at my son and saw how much he had grown in just a year. He was no longer a little boy but a confident young child ready to take on the challenges of primary school. It was a proud moment for me as a parent, but also a reminder to cherish every moment and make the most of the time we have together.

A train journey where the questions wouldn't stop

(3 min read)

Couple of months ago I travelled back to my home town - my very own and old Kolkata. I was travelling with my family - my wife and my 2 young sons (One 4.5 years old and the other 6 months old). Although I have travelled several times in the past, this time it was different.

We booked the train tickets for the journey (yeah blame it on the high prices of air tickets). Secondly, because this was a last-minute decision; Eid was approaching and we didn't want our kids to miss celebrating the festival with their loved ones. So, a train ticket was booked under the Tatkal scheme and we began our journey.

A layover in Vizag

(5 min read)

A story of an adventure which I didn't want, but was enforced upon me and I had no choice but to plan for it.

Prologue

"Is there nothing you could do?" I asked

"Sorry sir, we can't do anything else. There are only 2 things you could do. Either cancel the ticket and get a full refund or choose an alternate flight within 7 days of the travel"

I thought for a moment and said, "Cancelling is not an option for me. Is there any other direct flight in the next 7 days?"

"Sorry sir!" again from the other end. "No direct flight within a weeks' time."

I was dumbfounded. I disconnected the call. I sat there for a moment to decide on my next course of action. In the past few days, I had similar set of calls with the customer services of SpiceJet - supposedly the second largest airline of India in terms of number of passengers it caters to. And after the end of each of the calls I was left wanting for hope.

A month ago, I had booked a direct flight from Hyderabad to Kolkata which would take me only 2 hours. A week before the travel, I received a message from SpiceJet that due to operational issues my journey would have 6 hours of layover in Gwalior. Then, 2 days later I would receive another message that instead of Gwalior, the layover would be in Visakhapatnam (Vizag). A one and half hour journey to Vizag and then a stay of 16 hours and then a flight to Kolkata which would take another 2 hours. A 2 hour journey would become a whopping 20 hours journey. More than the duration of the journey my mind was focusing on the night sandwiched between the flights. Where would I stay? What would I do?

Customer is the king? Well, maybe not!

I tried few more options before finally accepting my fate. I tried Twitter - wrote an emotional post as a helpless customer. Got a reply to contact the customer service. I said I already did that. A response came, "Sorry sir!" 

Sent an email to the customer relations. Again, the response came, "Sorry sir!" I asked for compensation - an accommodation and couple of meal vouchers. Response came, "Sorry sir!"

On the fateful day, I reached the Hyderabad airport, vented out my frustration to the SpiceJet lady who asked me for my ticket. There too I heard the same words, "Sorry sir!" She also said she can have sympathy on me, but she can't be of any help. By that time, I had made up my mind to see how Vizag welcomes me. So, I told her she can keep back her sympathy. I also told her, that it wasn't my job to bear the problems of SpiceJet and that too without any compensation.

She wanted me to take my luggage with me while departing the Vizag airport and bring it back the next day when I will be travelling to Kolkata. I said that they are testing my patience and I wouldn't obey to this command of theirs. They should own this task and manage internally to send my luggage to Kolkata. They agreed without saying 'sorry sir'.

Help found in a surprising place

When I landed in Vizag, the first thing I checked on my phone was Google Maps. I was trying to see if there is any Masjid nearby. It was getting darker, and I was getting late for my evening prayer. Thankfully, I found a Masjid within 2 kms of the airport. I went straight to the place and offered my Namaz. The Masjid wasn't very big and the locality nearby wasn't much populated. After the prayers I spoke to the Imam (his name I got to know later was Muhammed Mustaqeem sb.). I explained my situation to him and told him that I would love to visit the beach and then probably find some place to spend my night before I go back to the airport.

 
"You can spend the night in this Masjid if you want" These words sounded so comforting at that moment, that I cannot explain here. A help straight from the divine. I thanked him profusely. I shared with him my ID card, just so that both of us can trust each other.

 
Imam Mustaqeem was probably my age if not younger. He explained to me the route to the beach and the places where I can have dinner. Another boy near the Masjid was about to leave to a place which was very near to the beach. I hoped on his bike and on we went.

Recalling Phil Knight's memoir

On my way to the beach, rain came pouring down. It was a proper welcome in Vizag. A couple of pit stops later I reached RK beach. On one side to me was a brightly lit Beach road, while on the other side was the roaring sounds of Bay of Bengal, fully dark with no moon to light it. Only a few boats at a distance would set up twinkling dots on the sea.

A sense of accomplishment engulfed me. I thought, "I was not supposed to be here. The weather wasn't kind when I landed in Vizag a couple of hours ago. Now, I am standing here and witnessing something brilliant." Although not completely visible but splashes of waves on the rocks beside the road would put me in state of immense gratitude.

Not long ago I had read Shoe dog by Phil Knight - the founder of Nike. At that moment I remembered he wrote that how often he would go on a run. Without thinking twice, I started running on the pavement beside the road. I looked up to the sky, drizzle falling on my face, the sweet sound of the waves - I wanted nothing but to keep running. I would have run a kilometers or so, when I realized that I had to go back to the Masjid.

Wait for an early day tomorrow

It would have been a10:30 PM when I reached the Masjid near the airport. I met with the half-asleep Imam. He was kind enough to provide me with a pillow and a mattress (which he had it in the Masjid for weary travelers like me). Before I dozed off, we exchanged our stories, talked about our native places, and about the locals surrounding the Masjid and their likes and dislikes. He also explained to me as this is an airport area, police would often do a round and ask about people's ID (hence I was asked to share my ID earlier).

The Imam woke me up at dawn for an early morning prayer. We had breakfast together and after that I bid goodbye to him not unknown to both of us of a mutually formed friendship.

Epilogue

On reaching Kolkata, I reflected on the memories that I have gathered, on the new friendship that I built. All these were good memories, happy memories. But I couldn't forget what SpiceJet had done and the treatment I received. In one of our conversation with the customer care executives, I told them without any hesitation that they have lost a customer in me. 

Problems are one thing but the way you deal with it is another. 

I guess that I applies to both me as an individual and SpiceJet as a company.