CHAPTER -ONE TAKE OFF

The impact of the cold in Melbourne caught me off guard. It wasn't just about the fogs, snow, and occasional drizzles of rain, or the hills veiled in clouds. It was about the exhilarating task of gathering wood for a warm fire and sipping on hot tea. However, this cold was distinct; it pierced through my skin, causing my heart to pound. The relentless cold breeze from the Southern Arctic swept over my head, making me wonder if the people here shared the same frigid demeanor.

As the flight crew warmly greeted us with a "Welcome to Melbourne," I couldn't shake the feeling of void. Lost in the icy grip of Melbourne, with 248 people on board, I pondered the possibility that the residents might be as chilly as the weather.

In June 2017, Kathmandu bid me farewell with warm goodbyes. Laden with heavy bags and an even heavier heart, I made my way to the waiting Malaysian airline that would carry me into the unknown. My mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, much like the monsoon drizzles I had left behind. Numerous questions circled my thoughts - where would I go upon landing, how would I find a cab, what would I eat, who would I talk to, how would I navigate to the university, could I excel academically, and would I survive in that alien world?

As I constantly checked the contents of my handbag - passport, CoE (Confirmation of Enrolment), NOC (No Objection Certificate), cab confirmation, a few essential phone numbers, and the list of items in my bags - I experienced a restlessness like never before. It marked the first time I traversed several oceans in a single day, embarking on a journey to a distant land entirely on my own.

I patiently waited in the airline's queue to check in my bags, well aware that they exceeded the allowed weight limit. Packed within those two sizable suitcases were not just pencils and erasers but also a pressure cooker, cookies, and noodles. Contrary to the stereotype that people abroad survived solely on pizzas and burgers, my luggage told a different story. Placing my bags on the weighing machine to obtain my boarding pass, I was fortunate that the crew overlooked the extra 3 kilograms. In my haste to avoid excess weight charges, I had overlooked confirming a window seat.

Despite my general dislike for waiting, the atmosphere at Tribhuvan International Airport turned this wait into an enjoyable one. Observing the diverse faces around me, each with their unique reasons for leaving the country, added a layer of intrigue. Some silent faces spoke volumes, while others wore expressions of excitement for new adventures. The airport buzzed with a mix of personalities, all embarked on their own quests.

As I stood in the immigration clearance queue, a lady from behind unexpectedly jumped in, offering a vague explanation for her sudden appearance. Surprisingly, no one questioned her integrity. It seemed that everyone was deeply engrossed in their dreams, contemplating the uncertainties of the journey ahead. No one dared to delve into her story further.

The immigration process required us to fill out a form handed to the immigration officer. Ever-prepared, I had a couple of extra pens on hand. Clad in a formal shirt, jeans, and Nepali-brand shoes, I likely defied the stereotypical image of someone leaving for a first-world country. A lady behind me politely asked, "Dai, extra pen cha?" (Brother, do you have an extra pen?) Although I disliked being addressed as "brother" without reason, I chose not to engage in a defense and simply reached into my pocket to offer her one. She began filling out the form as we stood in the queue.

"Thank you, kaam ko silsila ma jaana laagnu bhaako? (Thank you, are you travelling abroad for work?)," she inquired. A part of me smiled, contemplating whether she was making judgments based on the red forehead tika and my formal attire, assuming I was traveling for work. "No, going for further study," I replied, not inclined to extend the conversation. Throughout the queue, the only thing that bothered me was her not offering to return the pen.

Facing the immigration officer felt akin to the viva exams we used to detest but eventually found joy in during our undergraduate engineering studies. He asked about my name, date of birth, destination, purpose of travel, and the whereabouts of the NOC. I confidently responded, reminiscent of the externals we encountered in every external exam. The officer nodded, stamped my passport with a departure date, and my passport was no longer unmarked.

After taking a few selfies and making some phone calls, I boarded the flight, finding myself in an aisle seat. The airline's crew dispersed a pleasant aroma as the once-empty flight quickly filled with people. I overheard some voices saying, "Ah aba pugera call garchu hai (I will call after reaching)" and more. Struggling with my seatbelt, the crew noticed and offered assistance. Whether it was magic in her hands or my inability to make the knot work, I couldn't figure out, but it was effortlessly resolved with her approach.

The captain's voice broke through the cabin speakers for the first time:

"Good afternoon, passengers. This is your captain speaking—welcome onboard Flight MH 171 with service from Kathmandu to Kuala Lumpur. We are currently third in line for take-off and are expected to be in the air in approximately seven minutes. We ask that you please fasten your seatbelts at this time and secure all baggage underneath your seat or in the overhead compartments. We also ask that your seats and table trays be upright for take-off. Please turn off all personal electronic devices, including laptops and cell phones. Smoking is prohibited for the duration of the flight. Thank you for choosing Malaysian Airlines. Enjoy your flight."

As the aircraft ascended, the architecture of Kathmandu gradually faded from view. With each passing moment, the capital city appeared smaller, eventually becoming a distant memory surrounded by clouds.