I didn’t plan a trip to India. Honestly, India wasn’t even in the same neighborhood as my travel goals this month. But the universe has a tendency to sprinkle side quests into my itineraries, and this time it delivered one mid-air on an IndiGo flight from Thailand to Bangalore, bound to Dubai. A flight so shaky it felt like the plane was doing Zumba in the clouds.

As we dropped altitude, the window view shifted from an endless patch of farmland spread out. But then, in the middle of all that green, one pocket of the city caught my attention, a dense block of buildings. The contrast was wild.

The plane touched down, and that’s where the “India transit experience” really started. Unlike other airports where connecting passengers glide smoothly from gate to gate, Bangalore decided to greet us with a little character development.

We disembarked the aircraft, walked through the aerobridge… and then suddenly found ourselves funneled into a corner of the airport that definitely wasn’t built for human comfort. No seats. No holding area. Just tired passengers collapsing on the floor, some leaning on railings, some half-asleep on their backpacks, all of us giving each other that universal “you tired too?” look.

And here’s the plot twist: even though we were connecting, we had to go through security all over again. Full screening. Bags included. And let’s just say the system didn’t exactly match Thailand’s efficiency.

Passengers from everywhere, Southeast Asia, the Middle East, and Europe, were grumbling in one giant, exhausted chorus. Strangers bonding through shared confusion. If there’s one thing that unites the world, it’s an airport procedure that doesn’t make sense.

Once we finally made it through the frisking and scanning, we scattered around the empty Terminal 2. I found a spot in a cafe, grabbed some coffee and cookies, and tried to revive myself before the upcoming flight to Dubai. There was no chance to step outside, no “Welcome to India” moment. Just a brief pause, a breath, and a tiny window into a country I technically entered but never truly visited.

I managed to capture a quiet sunset melting over the runway, the wing of the IndiGo aircraft across the orange-blue sky. That was my India. Just a few hours. A confusing layover. A sunset on borrowed time.

Not the grand Indian adventure most travelers write about… but sometimes the places we only pass through still leave a small stamp on us. Even if it’s just a memory of farmlands, airport floors, and strangers trying to figure out the same thing you are: “Why is it happening, and where is the aircraft?”

A quick hello, a quick goodbye, India, I’ll meet you properly next time.