Between Peaks and Delays: Our Journey to Leh... Eventually

You know those films where sweeping drone shots capture breathtaking snowy mountain peaks and you can’t help but think, “Wow”? I already knew Ladakh was beautiful. I knew the place we were heading to would be stunning. One of my favourite films, 3 Idiots, was shot there, and visiting has always been a dream of mine. But what was waiting for me turned out to be something else entirely—something different.

My nap lasted barely ten minutes, but it was just enough to give me a small burst of energy. After forcing down a few biscuits and spending half an hour with my head lolling from side to side in a hopeless attempt to fall back asleep, I gave up. Behind me, a woman was whispering excitedly. In my exhausted state, all I wanted was for her to stop—until I realised why she was whispering. I glanced to my left and saw the man by the window take out his phone. I couldn’t see outside myself, but I could see what he was recording: vast valleys of snow-capped mountains, their rocky peaks twisting and rising like frozen waves. I had never witnessed such a breathtaking symphony of nature—and all from a plane window. I rushed to the back of the aircraft in search of a better view, only to find the air hostess already filming. When I asked if I could look, she kindly agreed, warning me to keep my phone close as recording from there wasn’t really permitted. On the way back to my seat, I couldn’t stop gazing out of every window I passed. Each framed a different story, each view more astonishing than the last. I was in disbelief that such a sight could even be possible—so close to the mountain peaks it felt as if we could reach out and touch them.

Then came the worst possible news. Of course, being on a plane, there are far worse announcements one could imagine—but this was heartbreaking in its own way. After circling above Leh for nearly half an hour, the congestion in the skies proved too much, and the pilot delivered the decision that would alter the course of our entire pre-wedding shoot.
"Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. Due to heavy air traffic over Leh, we will be returning to Delhi. You will receive further information upon arrival. We apologise for the inconvenience."

Crushed. Left wondering what would happen next. Here lay our problem: we were supposed to arrive in Leh on the 28th and take the day to rest, to let our bodies adjust to the high altitude. The 29th and 30th were reserved for the shoot. The 31st was meant for relaxation—our photographers would be flying back to Delhi after that.That’s why both my fiancée’s and my face turned pale. Even a one-day delay would unravel the entire plan and bring our Ladakh trip to an end before it had even begun. The flight back to Delhi was filled with silence and sadness, our thoughts tangled in what-ifs and what-nexts. Eventually, exhaustion won, and I drifted off into uneasy sleep.

I woke to a gentle nudge.
“We’re going back to Leh,” my fiancée said, a mild grin spreading across her face.
“What?” I mumbled, still half-asleep.
She repeated herself.
Again, I blinked at her. “What?”
By the third time, she was visibly frustrated with me. It finally sank in when I looked around and realised we had already landed in Delhi. The decision had been made—we were refuelling, then heading straight back. Hope flickered.
When we finally took off again, I moved to the window seat and managed to squeeze in an hour and a half of sleep—the most I’d had in nearly 48 hours. As we descended into Leh, the views were unlike anything I’d imagined: villages scattered through winding valleys, framed by rugged mountain curves and jagged peaks. The scene was drenched in sunlight, impossibly peaceful. My fiancée was still moody, but I couldn’t let it seep into me. I was drained, yes, but the sight of those villages, so gracefully nestled into the landscape, brought me quiet joy. I found myself smiling, grateful simply to witness such beauty.

Once we landed, we were told to wait for permission to “park the plane”. And we’re still waiting—even as I write this. What began as half an hour has stretched into an hour, and now it just keeps ticking on. Around me, some passengers are fast asleep, others are standing to stretch their legs, and a few are deep in conversations that sound like the most important of their lives (great for them, though the man in front of me is far too loud for my liking). The only thing I dread now is hearing the pilot’s voice crackle over the intercom. Every time it does, my heart sinks, bracing for those words: “We’re flying back to Delhi.” For now, all we can do is wait and see how this plays out.