Fight or Flight

It was with that dream that Esther Douglas’s bout of bad luck began. She hoped it was a bout at least because she did not know who she was if not lucky. Her whole life, perhaps even before she was born, good luck had followed her. 

When Pinky Douglas was eight months pregnant with Esther, she visited Mrs Jency, a woman too young to be on her deathbed. At just sixty four, Mrs. Jency had suffered quite the stroke that had left her weak and practically immobile. Hope was chipped away with each visit of a doctor, even the ones from the more distant neighbouring villages. When Pinky visited, there was resignation in the family’s eyes and Lallu, who was quite talented with charcoal was being commissioned to sketch out a final portrait of Mrs. Jency. 

But somehow, after the visit, things turned around and Mrs Jency had miraculously recovered. Some even said she had started walking the same day and quite a few passing by had even caught a glimpse of her weeding out her garden. Pinky had gone into labour two days later and by then, word had spread of the miracle baby. And amongst many well wishes, Esther had been born, a little premature but healthy nonetheless and noticeably fairer skinned than all of her cousins. 

And thus, it had begun. When she took her first step in the backyard of their house, Esther had stepped on her grandmother’s gold ring that had been lost for months. She had learnt to walk and talk earlier than most toddlers and by three she could recite some of the longer prayers by heart. Well adored by everyone in the village, Esther grew up bright and full of life and curiosity. In the little village tucked between two mountains and away from the world, Esther was the lucky star. 

By the time Esther had reached the age of eight, Mrs Jency, the very one who Esther had saved, had built the first school for girls in her village. The school was just a classroom with about 30 chairs but there was a nice collection of books and a tidy little blackboard where the girls learnt their numbers and alphabets. Esther who loved reading was delighted with all the books she could get her hands on. Even at school she was popular and well liked by all the children, some of whom were even hoping to have some of her luck rubbed off on them. 

When Esther went apple picking with the girls, she never got a sour one. When a swarm of bees attacked her group of friends, she was the only one who returned without any stings. When her shoe got swept away by the ocean, it somehow washed back up on the shore, a couple of metres away. Some of the villagers even swore that once the rain had stopped the minute she stepped out of her house. At the communion, people would rush to shake her hands. And what she wanted, she always got. 

And then came the dream. Just a few weeks shy of her nineteenth birthday, Esther dreamed that she was flying. It wasn’t just regular floating but something in the air was pushing her forward and she was seated in a chair softer than the one at her grandmother’s. The exhilaration, the vast view of the world below her was something she could not forget even after she woke up. She wanted to fly. No, she was going to fly. She didn’t know how a human being would grow wings and take to the sky but she had to.

At first, people laughed thinking she was just running with her imagination. But when she would bring it up repeatedly, they looked at her with worry in their eyes. Her father asked the priest if it was because of all the reading she did that she was caught up in fantasies like that. People started questioning if they were pinning so much admiration on the wrong person and all this while she had just bewitched them with her delusions. 

The village folk wouldn’t understand the dream Esther had because they hadn’t experienced it. She started noticing all the sidelong glances she would get as she walked along the street. That summer, she ate two sour apples. Once she got toppled over by a speeding bullock cart and fell into muddy ditch ruining her white dress. On one of the days when she forgot her umbrella, it started raining for the first time that month. She had to sit on the last pier at church and her grandmother would often suggest that she stay at home instead of go out. 

For Esther, this was not something she knew how to handle. She only knew how to want things and then get them. The only difference to the people was that her desires had been realistic before and now she was dwelling on something that was not in the realm of possibility. Birds had wings, not humans. And like the good folk of the village, she needed to plant her feet back firmly on the ground.

At nineteen, she was of marriageable age, but no suitors were lined up at the Douglas household to ask for her hand in marriage. After many months, her mother decided to put word out to the neighbouring village and it had caught the ear of a travelling businessman looking for a wife. When he came to visit her and laid his eyes upon her, he knew he had made the right decision. Esther, on the other hand, told him of her dream of flying despite her mother's insistence that she remain quiet. The businessman merely chuckled when he heard this and said that he would ensure that she would one day fly. They were married at the church the very next week and left for the city. 

A year later in 1932, Esther’s father in law founded the first commercial airline in India. In 1954, Esther finally flew in a passenger airplane, sitting beside her husband, on a seat definitely softer than the one at her grandmother’s. She watched out of the window as the mountains grew smaller and smaller and far away from her. She was lucky after all.