Travel Tales

A tourist once told me Spiti looked 'like the moon, but sadder'. I laughed for a week. To me these cold brown mountains are the warmest place on earth — you just have to stay long enough to hear them.

Went home to Pauri for four days, no proper network, and slept better than I have in two years. There's a specific silence in the Garhwal hills that a noise-cancelling headphone will never fake.

People drive six hours to my Kangra homestay to 'find peace', then spend the evening hunting for phone signal. I just point at the apple trees and say sit. By day two, most of them forget the phone exists.

At 62 I finally took my very first solo trip — a week around the Odisha temple towns, alone, with no family managing my schedule. Turns out I'm rather good company for myself. I only wish I'd met this woman a few decades sooner.

Took a slow train to a village near Chilika just to sketch the fishermen at dawn. The light on that lake at 5:40am is a colour I've genuinely never managed to mix properly. Went for two days, stayed five.

Dassam falls before the tourists wake

Reached Dassam at 6am before the picnic crowds and their loud speakers. Just the roar of water and one grey hornbill watching me. This is my Jharkhand, not the one in the crowded weekend reels. Wake up early, meet the real thing.

Took a solo train to Mussoorie when the business nearly broke me. Sat in a dhaba, drank someone else's chai for a change, and came back with a new packaging idea. Sometimes stepping away from the problem is the actual work.

Poore staff ke saath ek din Kushinagar ghoomne gaye the. Bacchon jaise excited the sab. Ek sahyogi ne kaha 'master saab, aaj aap bilkul apne students jaise has rahe hain'. Kuch jagahen aapki umar wapas laut deti hain.

Flew home to Kochi for Onam and the moment I smelled the wet earth at the airport my shoulders dropped two inches. Ate a sadya, got scolded lovingly, slept like the deadlines never existed. Gurgaon pays the bills but Kerala refunds my soul.

I've never left Punjab but I've watched so many 'winter in Toronto' vlogs that I feel I already know the bus routes. My dream isn't even the money — it's just to send my mother one photo of me standing in the snow. That's it.

I have never sat in an aeroplane in my whole life. My daughter says next year she will take me to see the mountains and the sea. At 52 I feel a little scared and very excited, just like a small child. Wish me luck, my friends.

At 62 I took my first solo train journey to a temple, terrified, clutching my tiffin like treasure. A young couple shared their oranges and a stranger saved my seat when I dozed off. The world is kinder than the news lets us believe, I promise you children that.

We took our daughter to the Achanakmar forest edge last month and she saw wild deer for the first time. Her face — I'll keep that expression in my pocket forever. You don't need a plane ticket for wonder; sometimes it's two hours from home.

Rare day off, so I took the ferry across Bada Talab and just watched the city drift by from the water. Bhopal is at its prettiest when you're too tired to rush through it. The lakes, thankfully, don't keep office hours.

Finally took the family to Gir — no laptop, no signal, no excuses. We saw one lioness for maybe eleven seconds and my daughter's face during those seconds was worth the entire trip. Note to self: log off more often, Nikunj.

The farthest I'd ever travelled was the taluka market, until the bus carried me to the city. Every festival I go back and the fields look smaller but dearer. The city quietly teaches you that your village was never small at all.

Every Ugadi I ride back home down the ghats to the coast, windows down, and the smell of the sea hits you before you even see it. No five-star trip on earth beats that one turn near the water.

Took the train up to Araku Valley on my own for the first time — coffee hills, tunnels, cool air, spent almost nothing. Sometimes your own state is hiding the best trip you'll ever take.

My travel these days is a slow evening walk along the Mangalore shore, notebook in my bag. The same beach gives me a new poem depending on the colour of the sky. You do not always need a plane ticket, sometimes you need to notice the place you already stand.

I have seen 30 ports and still miss one

In this job I have watched sunrise over Rotterdam, Singapore, and half the world's harbours. People envy the passport stamps. But I will trade all of them for one ordinary evening walking Marine Drive in Kochi with my daughter's hand in mine.

My son took me on the backwaters near Kozhikode last week, first boat ride in ten years. The water was so still that the coconut trees were standing upside down in it. I did not take a photo, I just wanted to keep it in my eyes.

Took a solo trip to a quiet retreat near Kotagiri. No phone, only birds and burnt-orange sunrises. Came back and my students said I was calmer. Sometimes rest is the real workout.

Drove up to Valparai for two days just to switch my brain off. Tea estates, one flask of kaapi, zero network. Came back and realised half the 'urgent' WhatsApps solved themselves.