It was supposed to be just another lunch break at the office.

For the past two days, an Indian Navy P-8I Poseidon had been visiting Vadodara after flying in from the south. I knew it was around, and I knew exactly which aircraft it was. More importantly, I knew how badly I wanted a photograph of it.

The problem was that I was at work.

For two days, I watched the aircraft come and go while I remained stuck in the office. Every time I saw reports of it operating around Vadodara, I had the same thought: I need to photograph this aircraft.

But work had other plans.

Then, on one particular day, I checked the flight radar during my lunch break.

And there it was.

The same P-8I registration.

The aircraft was near Valsad. Its altitude and direction immediately caught my attention. I didn’t need much time to work out where it was heading.

Vadodara.

I looked at the clock.

I had roughly 20 minutes left of my lunch break.

There was no realistic way I could make my way to the usual airport spotting locations, find a good position and wait for the aircraft. By the time I got there, the P-8I would probably already departed

So I made a decision.

I knew I probably wouldn’t make it to my usual spotting location in time. But sitting there at my desk and watching the opportunity disappear wasn’t going to get me the photograph either. I left the office.

I jumped on my bike and started riding across Vadodara, trying to get as close to the airport as possible, literally from one part of city to another

The P-8I was travelling at several hundred kilometres per hour.

I was travelling at around 70 to 80 km/h on a motorcycle.

Obviously, I wasn’t actually going to win a race against a P-8I. But in my head, that was exactly what was happening. The aircraft was racing towards Vadodara, and I was racing across the city trying to get into position before it arrived.

I knew I couldn’t make it to the airport side in time, so I headed towards my home, which was relatively close to the airport.

Then I reached the roundabout near my house.

And the traffic signal turned red.

Of course.

After all that rushing, a traffic light had decided it was going to be the final obstacle between me and the photograph.

I sat there, watching the signal.

Then I looked up.

The P-8I flew directly overhead.

For a moment, everything else disappeared.

After two days of missing it, the aircraft I had been trying to photograph was suddenly right above me. I could see its flight path clearly, and from the way it was positioning itself, I had a pretty good idea of what it was going to do.

It would continue west, make its turn and line up with Runway 22 for a touch-and-go.

That meant I still had a chance.

The light turned green.

I took off.

I reached home, ran inside, grabbed my camera and started preparing everything as quickly as I could. There was no time for the usual routine of carefully choosing settings, checking the light or composing the shot.

It was simply:

Camera. Lens. Settings. Balcony.

I ran upstairs and waited.

I didn’t have to wait long.

Three or four minutes later, I saw it again.

The Indian Navy P-8I was approaching.

This time, I was ready.

I raised the camera and tracked the aircraft through the viewfinder. After spending the previous two days missing it, there was something almost surreal about finally having it right in front of me.

For those few seconds, I completely forgot that I was supposed to be back at work.

I wasn’t thinking about the clock.

I wasn’t thinking about being late.

I was just trying to keep the aircraft in the frame.

Then I pressed the shutter.

Click.

Another.

And another.

The P-8I passed through my field of view and continued its approach.

And just like that, it was gone.

I lowered my camera and stood there for a moment, taking in what had just happened.

Two days of missing the aircraft had come down to roughly twenty minutes.

A flight-tracking app had given me the opportunity. A motorcycle had taken me across the city. A traffic signal had nearly ruined it. And a mad dash home had given me just enough time to get my camera into position.

I packed my camera back into its bag and headed straight back to the office.

I arrived roughly 15 minutes late.

Thankfully, nobody said anything.

I sat back at my desk, but mentally I was still somewhere above Runway 22, replaying those few seconds in my head.

It wasn’t the most carefully planned aviation photograph I’ve ever taken.

There was no airport-side vantage point. No long preparation. No perfect setup.

It was simply an aircraft I desperately wanted to photograph, a flight tracker showing me that I had one last opportunity, and a very short lunch break.

Sometimes, that’s all it takes.

Some photographs are planned days in advance. Others happen because you happen to check a flight tracker at exactly the right moment.

And sometimes, you spend your lunch break racing an Indian Navy P-8I across Vadodara on a motorcycle, just for the chance to press the shutter a few times.

For this photograph, I wouldn’t have had it any other way.