Why do I travel?
And why so much?
What do I travel for?
—
Perhaps a swift, breathless, round-up of everything that has happened over my last eight months of nomading through India will help you understand my why.
Here goes.
Celebrated my birthday in my birthplace for the first time since I was born. Met Shashi Tharoor. Went stepwell-hopping across Gujarat. Drank bhaang. Loved it. Drank it again. And again. Dined with Goans, with Malayalis, with Bengalis, with Punjabis, with Marwadis. Spoiler: we’re all the same, really.
Learnt how to swear in Hindi. Used said knowledge to get out of sticky situations. Picked up my camera again — for the first time in years. Felt free again — for the first time in years. Read Chetan Bhagat. A lot of Chetan Bhagat. And felt no guilt about it. (Why should I?) Completed a full day of work on a bumpy interstate bus journey. Said goodbye to far too many people, far too many times. Made my way through approximately 12958 tubes of mosquito repellent.
Fell in love. Fell out of love. Fell in love again. Decided it was best to fall in love with lassi instead (extra malai, please). Experienced peak Bengaluru. Experienced pink Bengaluru. Vowed to return for the latter, not the former. Learnt how to live in the goddamn moment and not on my goddamn phone. Watched Jasleen Royal perform live. Cried and sang along tunelessly. Devoured piping hot crispy dosa. Washed it down with equally piping hot filter coffee. Found out old things about new things and new things about old things. Jumped into the cold, salty sea, over and over and over.
Went out skateboarding and ended up getting cast in a wedding video. Turned up alone in a quiet, quaint village in South Goa, only to leave with lifelong friends, lifelong memories, and the discovery of my new favourite part of incredible India. Celebrated Christmas in Goa. Ate fire paan. Like, paan on fire. Strolled through Asia’s largest circular park (curiously niche flex, but we’re going with it). Remembered that the best company is your own company. Played Holi for the first time in my life.
Watched the sun rise over the Aravalli mountain range. Tagged along on spontaneous road trips across national highways, road trips soundtracked by Dil Chahta Hai and Dooba Dooba. Shared strong and tasty French press coffee with new friends in old hostels. Was issued my very first birth certificate — ever.
Found joy in hopping on the back of a zooming motorbike, clothes soaking wet from the latest waterfall I’d chosen to throw myself in. Shivering, but more content than ever. Bumped into one of my favourite authors at a pool party, became fast friends, and ended up working as her assistant (pinch me). Sipped on cold wine, gave warm hugs. Learnt more about my father and his life than I’d ever known before. Exchanged smiles with strangers; smiles that turned into conversations that turned into deep connections.
Became more courageous. Became more adaptable. Became the strongest version of me that exists to date.
Realised that my definition of happiness does not lie in arbitrary milestones or in tweet-worthy achievements, but in savouring the everyday beauty of the world with my eyes wide open.
Tasted, for the first time in a long time, what it means to really, truly, be alive.
Ended up building the life I’ve always dreamed of living but never dared to — until now.
A lot can happen, if you make it happen. If you let it happen.
Until next time,
S
FOOTNOTE
If all of this could take place over just eight months, imagine what could happen in a year, in two, in ten.
The inspiration to write something different — something staccato, something simple yet (hopefully) evocative, something that is perhaps a much-needed departure from my usual rambles — came from a kind supporter of my work online.
She shared a beautiful piece of writing by Molly Burford, and reading it made me want to pen my own, travel-themed version (duh).
Tell me: Why do you travel?
Cover image captured at sunrise over Bahubali Hill, Udaipur, India.