Of runways and railways
Since my early teens, I’ve always been fascinated by the sky. Watching planes take off and disappear into the clouds felt magical. I couldn’t explain why it moved me so deeply, but I think it had to do with wanting to see more of the world, to feel small in its immensity. I’d lie on the grass sometimes, tracking a plane until it became a speck and then nothing at all, wondering where it was headed and what it must feel like up there among the clouds.
If I had to trace the roots of this desire, I’d probably go back to a Bollywood film that had a massive influence on my teenage self: Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge. The breathtaking European scenery, mostly Switzerland, sparked something in me. Those wide shots of snow-capped mountains, mustard fields, and train stations that looked like postcards... I must have rewound certain scenes a dozen times just to sit with the feeling they gave me (and honestly, I was a huge fan of Kajol, too). I didn’t just want to watch those places on screen; I wanted to be there.
But wanderlust has its price. Back then, finances didn’t allow much room for dreams. My sister and I were only a year apart, both stepping into higher education at the same time, which meant our family was funding two futures at once. Funding my studies abroad wasn’t possible, so I pinned my hopes on scholarships. I worked hard, got good grades, and landed one, but it was for nutritional science, not the pastry arts I dreamed of. Pastry was my passion, but schools offering it rarely provided scholarships abroad. I remember the strange mix of gratitude and disappointment in that moment: relieved to have an opportunity at all, but quietly mourning the path I actually wanted.
2 years later, I received a partial scholarship from a Swiss institute to study hotel management. On paper, it was a great opportunity; the kind of milestone people celebrated without hesitation. But I didn’t want to waste 4 years learning every aspect of hospitality when I already knew what I wanted to specialise in. I sat with that decision for weeks, torn between gratitude for the opportunity and disappointment that it wasn't the right fit. Still, life has a way of leading us forward in unexpected directions. Rather than accepting straight away, I stayed and worked in Mauritius for 2 years before finally taking a major leap: I was going to France, come what may. I owe so much of that leap to my mom, who supported me without hesitation.
And then came August 2019, the month that changed me. My very first solo flight took me to France. I still call it the best day of my life, a true turning point. I remember packing far too much: 3 suitcases for a single flight. In my defense, I wasn’t just going on a trip; I was starting a new life. I was finally chasing the dream, on my way to one of the best pastry schools in the world, in a castle, literally.
I didn’t care about comfort or luxury, all I wanted was to be on the move. Okay, and a window seat and I got it. Flying Emirates, my favorite airline back then, I pressed my forehead against that tiny oval window and watched the world from above. Mountain ranges stretching endlessly, clouds like a second ocean beneath the plane, sunlight on the wingtip, and countries I’d barely heard of, that was the first time I ever heard of Baghdad. The skies made me feel like anything was possible, like I could do anything I set my mind to. The adrenaline of takeoff and landing filled me with pure joy, and even now, that same rush hits me the second the wheels leave or touch the tarmac.
Since then, travel has become a rhythm in my life. My first flight after arriving in France was a budget EasyJet trip from Lyon to London. I was late, sprinting through the terminal with my boarding pass crushed in my hand, but hey, the door was held open for me, phew, I still laugh at that stroke of luck. Dropping into my seat out of breath, grinning like an idiot, I thought: this feeling right here is exactly what I want more of.
Over the years, I’ve traveled more frequently across Europe, city-hopping on weekends, looking for cheap fares, and saying yes to last minute trips I probably couldn’t fully afford because the pull was stronger than the practicality hehe. It wasn’t just the flights, either. I took trains whenever I could, and damn, the landscapes. Fields rolled past in green, rivers ran through valleys, and small towns looked as if they belonged to another century. It all rushed past while I stared out the window, unable to look away. My gallery’s full of them.
Each journey reminds me of something important: the human heart always craves more; more experiences, more destinations, more stamps on the passport. Yet what I remember most has nothing to do with luxury. My happiest travel memories aren't tied to first class cabins or five star stays; it’s the feeling of being en route, alive, free, and connected to the people I met along the way.
Looking back now, I realise it was never solely about the places themselves, though I’ve loved every one of them. It was about the version of myself that travel kept revealing. Travel taught me that happiness lies in simple moments, in curiosity, in courage, and in the willingness to explore the unknown.