Date: November 2024
Location: Chennai, Tamil Nadu
I check into my hotel and find a sweet welcome basket—snacks, drinks, a chocolate. After my hosts depart, I sink into a bathrobe and let the coziness of the Taj Coromandel’s rooms lull me into a nap, pushing aside the impulse to over-plan my first day in the city. For once, I ignore my phone and its siren call of maps and reviews and simply doze off, savouring the room’s perfect cool-to-toasty balance.
A gentle alarm stirs me—time for lunch. My friend picks me up and, over a seven-course Andhra-style Tamil thali (the kind of meal incomplete without a nap), I learn about the city’s cinema chains, artisans, and Chennai’s growing standup scene. Between commitments, I resist the urge to squeeze in shopping or a rush to Higginbothams Bookstore. Instead, I welcome another hour of unscheduled rest.
After a meeting with Leeza, Jayana, and Nishi to prep for the next day’s event—hosting a stage talk with Leeza Mangaldas on sex education—I stroll through the hotel, soak my feet, read, and let the evening unfold. Dinner is a parade of idli, dosa, filter coffee, and a city drive sprinkled with more stories, before I settle back into my room.
The next morning brings a 6AM swim (because I naturally woke up, not because I felt like I had to), the panel talk, lunch, a detour to the bookstore (where I pick up a Tamil translation), a silk store visit (where I briefly fall for a Chola coin-inspired saree, but settle for a kurta), and a smooth walk back to the hotel to fetch my bags for the airport. Aamina meets me for coffee before my flight. Two days, spent easily, unhurriedly, doing just what I love. I realize: the perfect vacation isn’t a myth—it’s simply a shift in approach.
Why do we chase ‘perfect’?
There are layers to my relationship with travel. First, I grew up in the early days of internet content—those breathless lists of “10 Best Things to Do” and prescriptive itineraries. I’ve written more than one of those myself, and know from the inside that they rarely reflect real travel.
Digital photography let me make endless albums—no longer the precious Kodak prints of childhood, but sprawling grids curated for blogs and social media. Then came the pressure to not squander any trip, especially as someone who didn’t grow up with privilege. My early twenties demanded that every rupee—and moment—count. Friends could spend ₹25,000 on a trip; I was stretching ₹10,000 or less. Each decision was weighted with anxiety and guilt, never wanting to waste my family’s effort or miss a single experience.
In Puerto Rico, 2019, I remember planning every tiny bit on a giant google doc: bird sanctuary, street parties, beaches, food. Abha, my travel mate, preferred to relax and watch the world go by. I couldn’t relate.
“But I might never come to Puerto Rico again,” I protested. I was a student in the USA. I did not know if I would stay back ( I did not), I did not know if I would ever have enough money to come to the same place twice when so much of the world was left to explore. I was worried that this was it, this was my last chance at doing Puerto Rico right. So I did a good part of the trip by myself – went out dancing by myself, took an extra day to just explore the museums and bookstores. We could not do the bird sanctuary and I felt terrible about it. That was my scarcity mindset dictating my time.
There’s also my inability to say no: I’m equally happy at a museum, dance workshop, or cricket match. My “everythingness” brings its own anxiety—the sense that every holiday is incomplete, a race against a list that regenerates faster than I can check things off.
Combine all this, and travel brought with it as much anxiety as excitement. I always felt like I was doing something wrong, did not have the secret to the right kind of travel and others did. Maybe it was my budget, maybe it was my planning. But why did I always feel like I was missing out?
Every geography dances to its own tunes
I found the answer, unknowingly, in Chennai. My 24-hour work trip was both leisurely and purposeful. What had changed? Small, conscious shifts I’d tried on earlier trips finally came together: in Thailand 2022, I chose o focus on my favourite things—snorkeling, Thai tea, street food even though the rest of the trip plan was out of my control; in Jaipur each year, I try to keep a curated shopping experience, catching up with locals, and just hanging out at places serving local food (or ordering in), rather than ticking off every palace and fort I ‘must visit’.
Now, I approach new cities the way I experience my own. What makes a place home for me?
- People
- Food
- Produce Markets
- Places of worship and casual hangout
- A workspace or professional hub
Can I replicate parts of my Mumbai routine elsewhere? A morning swim or a workout, a good local breakfast, a bit of work, a bookstore visit, an evening walk, a local meal. Wherever I go, I look for a park, a co-working space, a local cinema, a grocery store with new brands, a market, a museum that gives real context. Even better if that’s an actual workshop or talk at the art spaces – passive viewing can often make you feel lost.
Khyati and I were once discussing, “How do you decide what’s too touristy and what’s genuinely worthwhile?” I think I know. Skip the photo-ops with no story, and seek experiences that immerse you in the city’s rhythm. In New York, I skipped the Statue of Liberty tour for a long walk through Manhattan. In Goa, I traded Baga Strip parties for live music on Candolim beach. In Shantiniketan, I listened to Rabindra Sangeet on my way to the town in a local train, selling boiled egg and jhalnmuri. In Pondicherry, on our last day, I took our rented car out for some local breakfast: foresaking hotel buffets for street-side idlis and a yummy pongal. If I am visiting a place of worship, I will stay for the prayer part too.
How to make a city home?
Now, every trip feels complete, easy. Because I have learnt to let places unfold as they are, without rushing to get my picture clicked in front of every statue.
- Visit a local bookstore or library
- Explore a grocery market
- Eat local food
- Enjoy one quiet garden for an evening drink
No performances, or checklists—just a map shaped by personal curiosity. I treat each place as I would someone’s home: accept its hospitality, and discover something about the hosts in the process. Not try to impose my own designs on it.
Every city has a rhythm. Listen to it. Let it move you. Find your own pace within it.