Chapter 3 – The Journey to Makkah

Newark to Istanbul to Jeddah

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Ten hours. That was the flight from Newark to Istanbul. Ten hours in a crowded cabin, seats too narrow, legroom too scarce, bodies too restless. Comfort was not a word that belonged to this part of the journey.

Shehnaz was taller than the rest. Her frame didn’t fit easily into the cramped space. She shifted, adjusted, stretched what little she could. Sleep wouldn’t come. Not for her. Not for Nazia either. The air felt still and heavy, the hum of the plane constant but soothing.

Soni, somehow, managed to sleep. Her head tilted against the window, her breathing steady and her sleep mask covering her eyes helped.

If sleep wouldn’t come, at least they had conversation.

And so they talked. For hours. About the past, memories folded into laughter and gentle ache. About the present, the surreal fact that they were actually on this plane, actually doing this. About the future, what awaited them in Makkah, what duas they would make at the Kaaba, what changes they hoped to carry back into their lives.

They talked about the afterlife. About what mattered. About what didn’t. About how they wanted to live — not perfectly, but intentionally. Honestly. Faithfully.

They were the best of friends. The kind who could talk about nothing and everything, who could sit in silence without discomfort, who could laugh until tears came and then cry without shame. Blessed, they were, to have such company.

Time passed. Slowly, yes. But it passed.

Eventually, the pilot’s voice crackled through the speakers, announcing their descent into Istanbul. It was raining, he said. A wave of relief washed over them. The first leg of the journey was complete.

Now, they had to find Saji and her sons. Then — only then — would Team Umrah be whole.

— • —

Reunion in Istanbul

Once the plane stopped, they waited. The crowd moved slowly, impatiently, bodies pressing against each other in the narrow aisle. When the path finally cleared, they stood up, retrieved their bags from the overhead bins, and made their way toward the exit.

They thanked the cabin crew with brief, polite nods, and stepped out into the arrival section.

Istanbul’s airport was vast. Bright. Filled with movement. They walked through it, riding escalators up and down, navigating signs in languages they only half understood. Soni tried repeatedly to reach Saji on the phone. Once. Twice. Finally, she got through.

Saji and her sons were resting in a lounge somewhere in the terminal. She had flown in from Chicago. That’s where she lived with her extended family. Her two sons, Yazen and Saif, were both with her. Saif had recently performed Umrah, but when he heard his mother was going for Umrah, he insisted on joining her again. Even at his young age, he understood what it meant.

Both boys were mature beyond their years. Grounded. Calm. The best shape one could be in when embarking on a holy journey.

Now came the task of finding them.

They had three hours in transit — enough time, but not limitless. Soni stayed on the phone with Saji, describing landmarks, reading signs aloud, moving through the terminal like detectives piecing together a map. After a lot of back and forth, direction given and received, they finally spotted each other.

Saji’s face broke into a wide smile. She hugged each of them, long, warm embraces that said more than words could. Shehnaz loved hugs. And warm hugs made her feel good about everything that was happening around her. Now, Team Umrah was complete.

They found a small café and grabbed some food. Nothing elaborate. Just enough to quiet their hunger and settle their minds. Then they made their way toward the gate for the final leg of the journey.

They couldn't wait to step on the Holy Land of Makkah.

— • —

The Flight to Jeddah

At the gate, they stood in line together. Boarding began, and they walked onto the plane. The seating arrangement was different. On the flight from Newark, they had all sat together. This time, the seats were configured in a 2-1 layout.

Nazia and Shehnaz sat together. Soni sat in the row behind them, next to a young girl with a peculiar haircut, who Shehnaz thought looked remarkably composed and cool, even, in the way children sometimes are when they carry quiet confidence.

Saji and her sons had seats elsewhere. She came by before takeoff to let the others know where she was sitting. Saji had always been a free soul, comfortable in her own world, unbothered by separation. She moved through life with a lightness that others admired. Shehnaz was learning more about them.

The plane filled quickly. Most of the passengers were heading to Umrah. You could feel it in the air — the shared purpose, the collective anticipation. It made the journey feel powerful. Sacred.

The plane began to move. Slowly at first, then picking up speed, then lifting into the sky. As it rose, so did their longing.

Nazia and Shehnaz continued their conversation, the kind that had no clear beginning or end. They talked about things they’d never spoken of before, and things they had revisited a million times. It didn’t matter. The act of speaking, of being heard, of being understood — that was all that mattered.

Blessed, they were.

The flight was just under five hours. Time moved differently now — faster, lighter. And then, with about an hour and a half remaining, an announcement came over the speakers.

Meeqat. The designated boundary. The place where pilgrims prepare themselves spiritually and physically for Umrah. This was where they would change into ihram, the simple white garments that symbolise purity, equality, and humility. No perfume. No adornment. Only intention.

The recitations began.

Labbayka Allahumma labbayk.
Here I am, O Allah, here I am.

Labbayka la sharika laka labbayk.
Here I am, You have no partner, here I am.

Innal hamda wan ni’mata laka wal mulk.
Surely all praise, grace, and dominion belong to You.

La sharika lak.
You have no partner.

The voices filled the cabin. Some loud, some whispered. Men, women, children, all speaking the same words, carried by the same yearning. Goosebumps rose on their arms.

All four of them — Shehnaz, Nazia, Soni, and Saji continued making duas. Preparing their hearts. Steadying their minds. Readying their souls for what was to come.

The plane descended. Below them, the city of Jeddah came into view — lights scattered across the dark landscape like stars. They were almost there.

— • —

Arrival in Jeddah

The plane touched down gently. A collective exhale moved through the cabin — relief, anticipation, gratitude all at once.

As they stepped off the plane and into the terminal, the anxious feeling intensified. The need to be at the Kaaba, to see it, to touch it, to stand before it, pressed against their chests like a living thing.

Immigration was easier than Shehnaz had expected. She had had difficult experiences on a previous visit, memories that still made her wary. But this time, things moved quickly. Smoothly. As if the path had been cleared in advance.

They walked toward baggage claim. They decided to use the restroom since they had the time for their baggage to arrive. By the time they came out of the restroom, their bags had already come through. The luggage was waiting lined up neatly, as if someone had arranged it for them. Another small mercy.

Aamir, Saji’s nephew, was also at the airport. He had flown in separately and would be joining them for Umrah. Now they were seven. A full family, moving together toward the same destination. Alhamdulillah.

With their bags rolling beside them, they headed outside to call an Uber. Seven people. 10 plus pieces of luggage. One car. It was going to be tight. But they made it work. The driver, an Arab man with kind eyes and patient hands helped them fit everything in without complaint. He didn’t make it difficult. He simply made space. The drive to Makkah began.

— • —

The Drive to Makkah

The road unfolded in pockets of silence. City lights passed by the windows — soft, blurred, dreamlike. Each person retreated into private reflection. Thoughts drifted between gratitude, longing, and quiet awe, as if everyone instinctively understood they were approaching something sacred.

Saji took her phone case off to charge her phone in the cab. She would forget to pick it back up. Somewhere along the way, the driver made a quick stop for a restroom break. Saji stepped out to buy water for the boys. Then they resumed the journey, moving through the almost-empty highways. The early morning hour made the drive easier. Fewer cars, fewer distractions, just the steady hum of the engine and the soft glow of streetlights.

They spoke about their families. Saji brought in some interesting conversations about her extended family, the family's history in Mumbai and so much more. The rest listened with curious interest.

Slowly, silence covered them. No one spoke much. There was nothing left to say. Everything that mattered was waiting ahead.

Eventually, the skyline of Makkah came into view. Hotel Anjum rose before them — tall, welcoming, standing like a quiet guard against the night sky.

— • —

Hotel Anjum

At the front desk, two Arab gentlemen greeted them. One had a charming smile, the kind that puts weary travellers at ease. He checked them in smoothly, efficiently, without unnecessary questions.

They asked for a Harram view room. In their excitement, they didn’t realise they should have specified Kaaba view. But the man nodded and smiled again, handing over the keys and gesturing toward the elevators.

The ride up felt endless. Exhaustion competed with excitement, each pulling in opposite directions. They had been assigned two rooms next to each other, connected by a door in between. It was more than perfect. They requested extra beds in one room for the boys, and within minutes, the arrangements were made.

When they finally entered their room, they moved immediately to the window. They pulled back the curtains. There it was — the Harram. Glowing. Majestic. Alive with light and movement even in the early hours of the morning.

Their eyes scanned the view, searching for the black cube. That’s when realisation hit, they hadn’t asked for the Kaaba view. Their window looked out over the Harram, but the Kaaba itself was not visible from this angle. For a moment, disappointment flickered. But it passed quickly.

Because everything was real now. They were in Makkah. No longer dreaming. No longer planning. No longer waiting.

They stood still for a moment, absorbing the view, letting the weight of it settle fully. Then they moved.

— • —

Preparing for Fajr

Their next task was to freshen up — quickly, efficiently. There was no time to rest. Fajr was near, and the adhan would sound soon.

Despite aching limbs and heavy eyelids, they moved with purpose. Their feet guided by something deeper than physical strength. Something older. Something eternal.

They changed. They made wudu. They gathered what they needed — prayer mats, water bottles, a few essentials tucked into small sling bags that Turkish Airlines had gifted. They would be the partial owners of all the good deeds that are earned while performing Umrah.

And then, with their hearts beating loud and fast, they walked toward the door. The next stop was what they had been waiting for. The Harram. The Kaaba. The journey of a lifetime.

Alhamdulillahi Rabbil Alamin.

— • —