Hi, I am – a wanderer at heart, a storyteller by passion, and someone who believes that journeys are often more beautiful than destinations.
Travel, for me, isn’t just about ticking places off a list. It’s about slow mornings in unknown cities, conversations with strangers who feel like friends, the taste of food I can’t quite describe but will never forget, and those moments when I discover a little more about myself along the way.
This blog is my space to share not only where I go, but how it feels to truly be there—whether it’s laughing in a bustling market, crying quietly on a solo getaway, or simply soaking in sunsets that make the world pause.
If you love stories that are light-hearted, honest, and sometimes a little raw, I hope you’ll feel at home here. Because in the end, travel isn’t just about moving from one place to another—it’s about moving closer to yourself.
So, come along. Let’s wander, wonder, and maybe get a little lost together.
The year that’s leaving didn’t come gently. It tested my patience, my faith, my strength — and sometimes my sense of self. There were days I felt lost, days I felt invisible, and days I questioned everything I thought I knew about life and about myself.
But this year also taught me something precious: I survived things I once thought would break me. I showed up even when I was tired. I held on, even when the road ahead was unclear.🌿
As I step into the new year, I’m not carrying grand resolutions or loud promises. I’m carrying lessons. I’m choosing peace over pressure, growth over perfection, and courage over fear. I’m allowing myself to start again — softly, honestly, and without apology.
Here’s to a new year that may not be perfect, but will be intentional. Here’s to becoming — one quiet step at a time.
Songs… I go a little crazy listening to some of them. Certain melodies instantly take me back to a very specific moment in time. It’s almost like déjà vu—same feelings, same emotions, sometimes even the same ache in the heart. Music doesn’t just play; it transports me.
My mother has this beautiful habit of connecting life events to movies and songs. She remembers which film released when someone was born, or what song was popular during a particular phase. It’s funny, yes—but also deeply touching. For her, memories are neatly stored in reels and soundtracks.
And then there are fragrances. Some smells don’t just remind me of the past; they pull me into it without warning. A whiff of a familiar perfume, the smell of rain on dry earth, incense, old books, or even freshly washed clothes—and suddenly I’m somewhere else, someone else, in another time.
Nostalgia, for me, isn’t just remembering. It’s reliving. It arrives quietly, unannounced, through a song, a scent, or a passing thought—and for a moment, the past and present sit together, holding hands.
Sometimes it makes me smile. Sometimes it makes my heart heavy. But I’ve realised—it’s a reminder that I have lived, felt deeply, loved fully… and that those moments still breathe inside me.
I wouldn’t say my political views have changed — they’ve quieted.
Over time, I’ve grown scared of politics rather than interested in it.
Not just national politics, but family politics, office politics, everyday power games. I find them exhausting and unsettling. I struggle to understand the language of politics, and I trust very little of what is said in speeches or debated in Parliament. It often feels less like governance and more like chaos wrapped in loud words.
What I’ve learned with age is that distance is sometimes a form of self-preservation. I choose calm over commentary, observation over outrage. Maybe that makes me uninformed in some eyes — but it keeps me sane.
If anything has changed, it’s this: I no longer expect politics to give me clarity.
A quiet town wrapped in coffee☕ plantations and misty hills in Karnataka.
By the time I arrived, most of the big headlines of the year were already over; the world had already watched men walk on the moon 🌝, listened to new music 🎶 and lived through one of the most eventful years of that decade.🌿
In many ways, I came at the end of a chapter. While the world was closing the book, my family was opening a brand new one.✨
History had already recorded the Moon landing and all those dramatic changes, but in a small corner of Karnataka, the biggest news was simply a newborn baby and the quiet joy that filled a modest home.🕊️
I like to think of my birth as a soft full stop at the end of a loud, busy sentence. The year had seen enough noise, protests and breakthroughs; December brought cooler air, slower days and the gentle rhythm of plantation life in Chikmagalur. ⭐
Somewhere between the rustle of coffee leaves and the evening cold breeze, my story began.🌸
I may not have shared the spotlight with the famous events, but I share its spirit in another way. 🌝
That year proved how far humans could go, and I carry a small piece of that courage and curiosity in my own journey – from a December baby in Chikmagalur to a woman who now loves exploring new places, writing her heart out and quietly chasing her own “small moon landings” in life.💕
Maybe that is why I’m still drawn to new horizons – whether it is a winding hill road, a new town, or a blank WordPress editor waiting for my next story.💚
I am most happy when I am not questioned. When I am given my own space.
I don’t want anyone to control me — because I am already controlling myself. Every single day.
I carry my own pressure. I know my limits. If I step out, I know when I have to return home. No one needs to remind me. No one needs to supervise my life.
I am already trying to break free from myself — from my own rules, my own expectations, my own inner discipline. And when someone else starts controlling me too, it feels like I’m trapped under two sets of rules instead of one.
Please, leave me alone. Let me deal with it in my own way.
Lately, I’ve realised something else too. People are obsessed with perfection.
If something burns on the stove, so what? If the motor is on and water overflows from the overhead tank, so what? If a glass slips from the hand and breaks — so what?
It happens. It’s not deliberate. It’s not carelessness. It’s just life being human.
Yes, water is precious, and yes, we should be careful — but accidents don’t deserve drama, lectures, or moral policing. Not everything needs logic. Not everything needs correction.
And somewhere along the way, I’ve started hating perfection and rigid logic. I want to make mistakes. I want to do a few illogical things. I want to let life spill, burn, break — and still be okay.
Because I am tired of being careful all the time.
Tired of being watched. Tired of being corrected.
Let me be imperfect. Let me be human. Let me learn, fall, laugh, and figure things out on my own.
“Nothing in life is to be feared; it is only to be understood. Now is the time to understand more, so that we may fear less.”— Marie Curie
Understanding this qoute✨
Marie Curie’s quote is about replacing fear with knowledge.
When we don’t understand something—change, failure, illness, uncertainty, even people—we tend to fear it. Fear grows in the absence of clarity. Curie is saying that fear itself is not the problem; ignorance is.
By understanding more:
We stop imagining worst-case scenarios.
We gain a sense of control and perspective.
Fear loses its power over us. 🌸🌸🌸
The line “Now is the time to understand more” is especially important. It’s a call to action: instead of avoiding what scares us, we should face it with curiosity, learning, and patience. The more we learn, the less room fear has to survive.
In simple words:
> Knowledge turns fear into confidence. Awareness turns anxiety into strength.
It’s not saying life will be easy—but that understanding makes it less frightening and more manageable.
Travel, for me, is not about ticking destinations off a list — it’s about how a place makes you feel.
I dream of Lakshadweep, where the sea is said to be clearer than thoughts and silence feels healing. Bhopal draws me in with its calm lakes and quiet history, while Hyderabad calls with its rich culture, food, and old-world charm.
I want to walk along the beaches of Mangalore, where the sea meets simplicity, and lose myself in the slow, poetic streets of Pondicherry, with its blend of French elegance and Indian soul. Darjeeling tempts me with misty mornings, toy trains, and endless cups of tea, and Munnar feels like a pause button — green hills, fresh air, and peace in every direction.
Some cities excite you. Some calm you. These are the ones I want to feel before I see.
I hope people say that I made them feel seen, supported and safe being themselves, even in a world that often feels rushed, noisy and insensitive.
🌸🌸🌸🌸
Today people are overwhelmed with information, stress and uncertainty, so anyone who offers emotional safety and understanding stands out as genuinely valuable.
Qualities like empathy, emotional intelligence and steady support are now seen as real strengths, not just “soft” traits, both online and offline.
I want people to feel that when they came to me, they were heard without judgment and remembered as humans, not just as names on a screen.
I hope people remember about me, that I valued real presence more than perfect timing or polite planning.
😊😊😊
I miss the days when love meant showing up at someone’s door, not just sending a message from far away.
There was a time when the people who truly cared were not just names in a contact list, but warm, living presences who showed up without being asked.
The ones who would come home for the smallest reason, sit with you for a few minutes, share tea, laughter, or even silence — many of them are gone now.
The few who are still alive seem a little lost; they don’t really know how to reach out in this new world where everything has to be “planned” first.
What hurts even more is that even when they want to meet, talk, or spend time together, there is no one who can fully reciprocate those emotions.
People have stopped visiting each other the way they used to, and every meeting now needs a prior message, a confirmation, an agreement that it’s “convenient.” Somewhere, the natural warmth of just dropping in has faded.
We used to simply gate crash my uncle’s house and be genuinely, joyfully welcomed. No one asked, “Why didn’t you inform us?” Doors opened with smiles, not with questions.
Today, the doors are still there, but the ease is gone. If people say one day that I tried to keep that old warmth alive — that I was someone you could visit without permission and still feel at home — that will be enough for me.
Have you ever performed on stage or given a speech?
But I would love to. I want to overcome that stage fear—the blabbering, the shaking legs, the nervous rush that takes over the moment I imagine facing an audience. I’m genuinely scared… but I still want to do it.
I look at people who can just pick up the mic and speak so effortlessly. Their words flow, their confidence shines, and I often wonder how they make it look so easy.
But deep down, I know there’s something in me too. A voice waiting to be heard. I want to host events, anchor shows, deliver powerful speeches… I want to grow into someone who can stand on a stage and own it.
Maybe courage isn’t the absence of fear—maybe it’s wanting something so much that you step forward anyway. And I know there’s so much more I can do.
Travellers Stream 