Between Departures and Memories

Between Departures and Memories As I sat in the lounge in Munich, waiting for my connecting flight to Mumbai, my mind wandered — or rather, it clung — to thoughts of Sana. Munich had always held a special place in my heart. It was where I lived right after getting married, a city that left its imprint on me in soft, familiar ways. Sana and I had often talked about visiting it together. She was curious about the places that had shaped my early years, and I was eager to show her the quiet beauty of Bavarian streets, the old bookstores, and the cozy cafés. Today, sitting alone in this city — even just in its airport — I felt her absence so deeply. This trip to India brings with it a whirlwind of emotions. There’s a wedding in the family, and while that usually means joy, celebration, and warmth, for me, it’s laced with anxiety and a quiet sense of dread. The thought of meeting people, of navigating the well-meaning but often painful conversations, makes my chest tighten. The last time I visited, I had managed to stay cocooned in the safety of close family. I didn’t see anyone else, didn’t venture out much — I simply couldn’t. Colaba, in particular, holds so many memories. It was our thing. Whenever I went to India, I’d walk those streets picking up little trinkets, books, accessories, or snacks for Sana. She loved that I brought her pieces of the city — a city she adored from a distance. The last time, I couldn’t bring myself to walk those streets. It was too painful, too empty without her presence and her excitement waiting for what I’d return with. And now, with this wedding, I imagine how much she would have enjoyed it — the celebration, the outfits, the music. She loved dressing up, feeling festive, being part of a moment. She had a way of lighting up spaces. So this journey, while wrapped in festivity, feels heavy. It’s joy touched by grief, anticipation mingled with sorrow, and excitement shadowed by anxiety. Grief doesn’t take breaks for weddings or travels. It quietly travels with you — as an ache in your chest, a lump in your throat, or in the soft tremble of a memory that creeps up when you least expect it. This trip is one more reminder of how loss reshapes even the most familiar journeys.