Sunday 01 / March / 2026
Muscat: Missiles, counter-strikes and shuttered airspace have redrawn flight paths across the Middle East over the last couple of days. But beyond the geopolitics and the billions lost in disrupted trade lies a quieter devastation - sons and daughters stranded thousands of miles from home, unable to perform their final duty to the parents who raised them.
The fallout from the US-Israel strikes on Iran - and Tehran’s retaliatory missile launches targeting American bases and residential neighbourhoods across Gulf nations - has left much of the region’s skies sealed. Airports fell silent. Departure boards flickered with cancellation after cancellation.
In much of the Gulf, airspace was abruptly closed. Only a handful of routes remained operational. Oman stood almost alone, keeping limited corridors open and operating a reduced number of flights, mostly to India.
For Manoj Didwania, a Muscat-based entrepreneur, that narrow window was his only hope.
When the call came from home in Udaipur that his father had passed away on Saturday night, Manoj did what every son would do - he rushed to his travel agent to book the earliest flight. He packed in haste. He informed friends and business associates. His travel agent informed there weren’t many options and those available had exorbitant prices. But he had to travel.
“I kept telling myself something would open up,” Manoj said, his voice breaking. “You grow up knowing that one day you will shoulder your father for the last time. That you will light the pyre. It is not just tradition - it is a son’s final duty. I thought I would make it.”
The earliest he can now reach Udaipur in the western Indian state of Rajasthan is tomorrow. By then, the last rites will already have been performed - by his younger brother and his own son.
“As a father myself, that hurts even more,” he said quietly. “My son will stand there in my place.”
Wars are often measured in strategic depth and military response.
The recent strikes and counter-strikes have already cost lives across the region and inflicted millions of dollars in losses. Airlines are bleeding revenue. Insurance premiums are soaring. Supply chains are bracing for impact.
But no economic figure can capture what it means for a son to miss his father’s final farewell.
“I would trade every business deal I have ever signed to be there today,” Manoj said. “Money can be earned again. This moment cannot.”
Across the Gulf, similar stories are unfolding — grief compounded by distance.
In Dubai, another Indian expatriate received news late last night that his mother had died. With flights grounded from Dubai, he made a desperate choice. He packed a small bag, got into his car, and began the long drive across highways and border posts to Muscat - chasing the faint possibility of boarding one of the few outbound flights still operating to India.
“I just need to reach her,” he told friends before setting off. “Everything else can wait.”
Airports in the Gulf are accustomed to tears — the silent sacrifices of migrant life, the long goodbyes, the emotional reunions. But this week, the tears have been different. They are edged with helplessness.
For expatriates, distance is the unspoken price of opportunity. Parents age in photographs sent over messaging apps. Festivals are attended through video calls. Milestones are postponed.
Yet most hold on to one certainty: that when the final call comes, they will go home.
For Manoj, that certainty dissolved with the closing of the skies.
“Even if I reach tomorrow,” he said, “I will stand before the ashes knowing I was not there when it mattered most.”
As a grieving man waits for a seat on a plane - a reminder that while wars redraw borders and flight paths, their deepest wounds are often carried silently, in the hearts of those left behind.
