All that passengers truly ask for is modest — that flights take off on time, that announcements are honest, and that queues don’t feel like trials for invisible crimes. But here, irony is the national airline: when one jet crashes, another company’s profits take flight. Ticket prices leap as if possessed — five thousand becomes fifty thousand — and the market wizards tell us solemnly, “It’s just demand and supply.” Demand, my foot! This isn’t demand; it’s daylight robbery with a boarding pass and a plastic smile.
Apologies and refunds now thrive as hashtags — traded in the marketplace of performative remorse. Where shame perishes, the law loses its wings too. The true offender isn’t the airline that declares delay, but the one that quietly stops caring — not for its technical lapses, but for the wounds it inflicts on its weary passengers.
How tragic that the skies, once a metaphor for freedom, have turned into a monopoly board for the rich. The heavens above no longer echo the dreams of the people; they hum only with the engines of privilege. Perhaps, when the nation finally awakens, the skies will reclaim their rightful owners — not the profiteers, but the dreamers who still look up every night, believing flight belongs to everyone.😊😊
