Woman of letters: It's the journey that matters

Dear lost passengers of Malaysia Airlines flight MH370,

I am on board a long haul flight as I write this and, believe me, it's pretty creepy thinking about what might have happened to you, so many miles high up in the sky, as the plane I'm in bobs and weaves through the clouds.

Perhaps because of the mystery surrounding your loss and the way it has seized the public imagination, I am aware of how fragile life really is and how the phrase 'hanging on a string' describes much of it.

Every time we hit an air pocket, I see my fellow passengers crossing themselves or rolling their worry beads; and a few minutes ago I was woken up by the hysterical screaming of the old lady on the seat besides mine, as we hit a nasty air pocket and our plane began to lurch through the sky as if it were a child's broken toy.

Half in dream, I had heard her shouting something like "Ya Allah!" and on seeing her eyes aflame with stark terror I had reached out spontaneously to pat her and say, "Don't worry, nothing will happen."

Once she'd calmed down and realised we were not going to crash, she had turned to me in surprise, not because she was not expecting such prompt kindness from a stranger, but because she perhaps wondered how I could display such little concern for my own life, faced with what she had imagined to be clear and present danger.

The thing is, I'd been lulled into the all too familiar state of dreamlike bliss that the cocoon of international flying puts us in:

The captain's gurgling ramble about seat belt signs being switched off, the seat button pressed to maximum recline, the tray table popped out for the first wave of refreshments (apple juice and salted nuts) and the pleasure of an Oscar-winning movie streaming on my personal screen.

This is what I and hundreds like me look forward to when we travel. Our own private cocoon-capsule in which undisturbed by phone, fax, cell or door knock and with the multi-sensory aids of music, food, wine and movies on demand, we attain a state of near bliss for a few precious moments of our hurried and busy lives.

Is this what you too were enjoying — this brief pleasurable lull in your lives — before the sky fell down on you and you entered a dimension we can only now fearfully grasp at?

I hope so.

I hope you spent the last few hours of your journey happy.

I hope some of you had been idly leafing through the duty free goodies on display, imagining which perfume you might fancy, which lipstick you might try or which gadget or gizmo you would reward yourself with and richly deserved.

I pray that some of you had been bouncing your babies on your knees, pointing their tiny faces towards the the stars, humming, "Twinkle twinkle little star, how I wonder…"

Perhaps the industrious amongst you had your noses buried in your laptops and were hacking away at the paper that you were going to present at a seminar the next day, or even perhaps composing a poem or writing the first words of your next book?

Perhaps there might have been a couple of you who'd been consumed by a sudden love or lust as you spied a beautiful face across the aisle from you?

At least one of you I hope had been overwhelmed with forgiveness for someone they'd left behind, who'd done them grievous injury.

One of you, I pray, had decided that when you landed you were going to call this person ( friend or lover) and were going to say, "Let's make up. Life is too short for bitterness."

I am sure some of you were praying in the final moments when you knew you were not going to survive, praying not for yourselves but for those that you were leaving behind. Praying that they would not grieve too much and that you hoped they knew how much you loved them.

I hope all of you had the sense to hold hands and sing out loud and strong as the plane you were in hurtled along in its dark and mysterious journey.

For we all will have to embark on that journey and if we do so holding hands and singing a song, our lives would not have been wasted.

One of you, of course, might have been writing a column for a Sunday paper which she would send as soon as she landed.

I can just see her now as the tears roll down her cheeks and she knows that the column might never see light of day and that this is the end but it's not such a bad way to go.

Wherever you are all 239 of you, I hope you know that we think of you and pray that the final moments of your life were happy.

And now I must put away the letter as the captain has announced our descent and the seat belt signs have been switched on and I know this letter will reach you after all.

Some of us take off and land and some of us don't. But it's the journey that matters.

Yours sincerely etc,

Malavika Sangghvi