A Miraculous Escape from a Sri Lankan Nightmare
There are journeys you plan, journeys you cherish, and journeys you simply survive. Our trip to Sri Lanka—meant to be a quiet Ramayana trail pilgrimage—slowly turned into the third kind. What began as a serene family excursion, tracing mythological footsteps across the emerald island, ended in a 16-hour battle of nerves inside Bandaranaike International Airport as twin cyclones battered the country.
When we finally landed in Hyderabad, we carried back not souvenirs or photographs, but memories etched by fear, fatigue, and a strange sense of gratitude for having made it home at all.
Throughout our journey across Sri Lanka, we found ourselves running ahead of the storm—quite literally. Every city we reached felt like a refuge, until, within hours, the weather charts would turn red and the warnings would begin again. Even Bentota—popularly known as one of the safest coastal stretches—felt uneasy under the brooding sky.
By the time we reached Colombo, the twin cyclonic systems had plunged the island into chaos. Indigo had already cancelled its direct flight to Hyderabad and moved us to a rerouted journey via Chennai. Even that felt uncertain. We spent the entire Saturday in suspense, clinging to updates, praying that the early-morning Sunday flight wouldn’t disappear from the electronic board like so many others.
The fear wasn’t just of delays. It was the fear of being stuck indefinitely—of becoming storm refugees in a foreign land.
The Airport That Looked Like a Relief Camp
Bandaranaike Airport on that fateful night was a sight none of our family members will ever forget.
Hundreds of passengers—locals and foreigners alike—slept on floors, tucked themselves into corners, and leaned on backpacks for support. The airport resembled a temporary shelter more than an international transit hub.
Eateries made a killing, selling whatever was left. Lines never ended. Tempers did.
Even foreign tourists—those calm, ever-smiling, postcard-perfect global travellers—were snapping. I watched one of them shout at a helpless airport worker: “While we cry, you laugh!” The staffer wasn’t laughing; she was simply exhausted. Many Sri Lankan Airlines pilots and crew members were reportedly stranded in their own residential areas and could not report to duty. With manpower missing and the weather worsening, authorities had little choice but to cancel flights from Friday through Sunday and attempt rescheduling from December 1.
Also read: https://orangenews9.com/wp-admin/post.php?post=58025&action=edit
Indians Stranded, Conferences Cancelled, Hope Draining Out
If this was the condition for private airline passengers, it was far worse for those booked on Sri Lankan Airlines—and shockingly, even Air India.
Among the many stranded, one group broke my heart: five young PhD scholars from Pune University’s Archaeology Department. They had flown in for a two-day conference only to discover—after landing—that the event had been cancelled without any intimation. Their return tickets were of no use either, as Air India had suspended operations.
With limited money, uncertainty looming, and no place to go, they spent two nights at the airport, pleading with Indian Embassy officials to send them back to any part of India. “We just want to go home,” one of them said. It was a sentence that summed up the sentiment of everyone stuck under that storm-ridden roof.
Our Night of Prayer and Waiting
Meanwhile, as our own return depended on a single rescheduled Indigo flight, anxiety clung to us like a second skin.
Our homestay owner—kind and understanding—let us extend our stay till 5 pm. After that, we had no choice but to join the weary crowd at the airport. Every hour, my daughters went to the Indian Embassy desk, only to receive one piece of advice:
“Keep watching the electronic board. If your flight survives the next update, you’re lucky.”
Luck—something we had not asked for on this pilgrimage—became our only hope.
And then, at around zero am, it happened.
The screen flashed: “Check-in Open – Indigo Flight 6E … ”
It felt like seeing daylight after a long night in a tunnel. Relief washed over us, but also guilt—knowing that hundreds around us were still stranded, waiting for a miracle of their own.
Tail piece: If this nightmare taught us anything, it is this: when crisis strikes, private airlines deliver, government airlines disappear.
Even in a storm-ravaged country, Indigo managed what Air India couldn’t on a clear day.
For us, this journey ended with gratitude. For many others, it ended with bitter lessons.
And for the future, one truth stands tall: When the sky turns dark, trust the airline that actually turns up. (Concluded)
