Leisure for one; Luxury for other
During my travels, I’ve often found myself struck by the stark differences in how people live. What’s routine for one person can be a dream — or a daily struggle — for another. And these realizations don’t always come from planned sightseeing or bucket-list moments. Sometimes, they sneak up on you in the most ordinary settings.
Ever since I gained the freedom to travel on my own, I’ve made it a point to explore new and interesting places. When you’re on the road, there are moments when everything quiets down — your mind, your worries, even time itself. You enter a strange kind of stillness where you’re completely present. And in that state, something fascinating happens: your ability to observe sharpens. It’s subtle, but powerful.
I’ll admit I’m not the most observant person in my day-to-day life, rather I am the lazy kind. Maybe it’s because I already know the rhythm of my surroundings. But when I travel, I start noticing everything — the people, their routines, how they adapt, and why they do what they do. I find myself asking locals about their lives, how they handle everyday challenges, and the answers often reveal a reality far removed from my own.
I remember being in Shangarh, a small, quiet village far from the tourist vibe of Manali. While chatting with some locals, I learned that just a year earlier, landslides and floods had cut the area off so severely that food had to be airdropped. Until then, I had only heard about such things on the news. But hearing it from someone who lived through it hit differently — it became real.
A more personal wake-up call came during my trip to Ladakh, specifically in Karzok village near the Tsomoriri Lake. I was having dinner at a local place with a friend when the electricity suddenly went out. The owner, a kind local woman, came in with candles and said softly, “Yaha pr light thodi der hi aati hai, aap log city se hain, to aapko aadat nahi hogi bina light ke lekin ham aise hi manage krte hai”
(“Here, electricity comes only for a short time. You’re from the city, so you’re probably not used to being without it but we manage like this only”)
That one line stayed with me. Back home, we hardly think about electricity — we take it for granted. But here, people live without it for most of the day. In Hanle, another remote region in Ladakh, electricity comes from generators and is available for just two hours a day — for tourists.
But you don’t have to go to Ladakh or Shamgarh to gain perspective.
One Sunday, I went on a short bike ride — about 60 km round trip — just for fun. While riding, I noticed others commuting alongside me. For me, it was leisure. For them, it was necessity. I saw people putting in just ₹100 worth of petrol, carefully budgeting for the rest of their needs. Meanwhile, I barely gave a second thought to my fuel cost.
Recently, I drove with a friend to a Ganga Ghat around 50 km from my hometown. While there, it struck us that for many people around us, this was the farthest they had ever traveled. And we had just come back from a wedding 200 km away, having spent over ₹3000 — just for the fun.
These small moments — quiet conversations, flickering candlelight, a glance at a stranger’s fuel tank — have left a lasting impact. They’ve challenged my assumptions and made me question my own life choices, my habits, and most of all, my gratitude.
Travel does that to you. It opens your eyes. It humbles you. It shows you how diverse — and unequal — the world is. How comforts you never think about are rare luxuries for others. And when you come back, you return a little more grounded, a little more thoughtful. Some questions get answered. Others linger, unresolved but necessary.
Let me be clear — this isn’t about guilt. It’s not about shaming privilege or romanticizing struggle. It’s about perspective. It’s about being grateful for what you have, even as you strive for more. It’s about staying curious, staying aware, and staying humble.
So if you ever feel stuck, lost, or uninspired — take a trip. Not for the Instagram posts, but for the people you’ll meet, the stories you’ll hear, and the silence you’ll sit with. You might just come back changed.
Thanks for reading!
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