Travelling light

How do our fictional heroes and heroines manage to holiday with just one tiny carry-on?

 

There are many things that are completely unrealistic about movies and TV shows: how the hero/heroine always finds a cab cruising by conveniently when they need to follow someone; how all the women wake up with perfect hair; how the children never ever get truly messed up no matter how long they play in the garden.

 

But the one thing that strikes me as most unrealistic of all is when I see people packing to go on vacation. Without fail, they take one small wheelie bag and a tiny carry-on, which in itself is not worthy of comment. But once they get to their destination, they unveil a wardrobe that could not possibly fit into even two large suitcases. They never repeat an outfit; they have matching shoes and bags with every change; they show off more costume jewelry that you can shake a cocktail ring at. And if it is winter, they manage to pack more than one overcoat and a range of jackets, thus defying the very laws of physics. 

 

Given that we mere mortals could never do that, I think we should give up aspiring to travel as ‘light’ as our fictional heroes and heroines do. Yes, I know, all the fashion magazines never tire of running articles on how you can travel with just one bag by packing clothes that go effortlessly “from day to night” with the addition of a sparkly scarf or a pair of glittery heels. Well, if you can do that, then you are a better person than me. I am afraid I can’t manage without cramming a giant suitcase to the brim and then stuffing in a hold-all that I break out on the return journey for my dirty laundry and any new purchases I make.

 

Of late, though, I have been shamed into packing a bit lighter, after a particularly embarrassing episode when I couldn’t quite lift my suitcase off the carousel and needed the help of two able-bodied men to help me wrestle it onto my trolley. So, just in case you need the tips, here’s how I managed to lighten my load.

 

·       I know it’s a bit of a palaver to wear boots at the airport and have to take them off at security, but given that they weigh down your suitcase, it’s best to keep them on when you travel. Ditto, heavy jackets and overcoats.

·       I can’t do without my brand of shampoo and conditioner, not to mention my various lotions and potions. But instead of carrying the full bottles, I make do with sachets or small bottles into which I decant tiny amounts that will last my trip.

·       No physical books go into my bag; instead I download all I want to read on my Kindle. I leave my laptop behind, carrying just a lightweight tablet just in case I need to do some writing.

·       Sticking to one colour palette when packing clothes is a huge help because you only need to carry one pair of shoes and one handbag that will go with everything.

·       I can’t do without my Dyson airwrap entirely but I have pared down the number of accessories I travel with. And my portable steamer stays home; a few wrinkles are a small price to pay for a lighter bag.

 

The Dinner Party Pest

Here is how you identify him -- or her 

 

I am not a great one for dinner parties but, of late, I have ended up going to quite a few on the trot. And on each and every one occasion, I have encountered the bane of my existence: the Dinner Party Pest (DPP). You know who I am talking about, don’t you. Well, in case you don’t, here’s a quick checklist to help you identify him or her next time you are out and about. 

 

·       There is always that one person who ruins your mood the moment you enter by asking, with faux concern, “You are looking a bit tired, everything okay?” There is nothing more demoralizing than being told that you look ‘tired’ when you are anything but – and when you have spent time and energy on trying to look your best. I find this kind of opening even worse than that other great standard that DPPs often use: “Gosh, you’ve lost so much weight! You must tell me your secret.” The secret, of course, is that you weigh exactly the same as you did the last time you met them; but now you know they think you are fat. Charming!

·       The DPP always tries to suss out your social standing by asking within the first few minutes of meeting you: “Where do you live?” And then, depending on your answer he or she decides if you are worth his or her time. If you’re lucky, you won’t make the cut. If you are not, then you are in for a long and tedious conversation that will leave you gagging for another drink.

·       I often turn down offers of second and third helpings with the explanation that I am diabetic and need to watch what I am eating. That announcement is usually enough to make even the most generous host back off. But sadly, it propels the DPP in attendance into action. This person (who has no medical expertise, whatsoever) now thinks that it is entirely acceptable to lecture me on how to “reverse my diabetes” through diet and exercise and give up on the medicines that have been prescribed by my (highly regarded) doctor who actually knows a thing or two about endocrinology. Honestly, it’s enough to make me want to drown my annoyance in a vat of ice-cream.

·       The DPP also has an interesting line in intrusive questions. It could range from asking if you have had Botox to asking how much your house is worth in the current market. Women of a certain age will be asked why they aren’t married yet, or if they are married, why they haven’t had children yet. It doesn’t matter how slight your acquaintance is, the probing questions will keep coming, with no topic being off-limits.

·       The most lethal sample of this breed is the person who combines the worst qualities of the DPP with that of the Dinner Party Bore (DPB). This person will buttonhole you to bore you death with his or her views on every conceivable topic under the sun, completely oblivious of the fact that your eyes began glazing over with boredom a good half an hour ago. If you are stuck with one of these, good luck with trying to extricate yourself from the conversation. You will need it!

 

Have money, will travel

Travelling while middle-aged comes with its own challenges

One of the ironies of life is that when you are young you never have enough money to travel far and wide, even though that is when you have the energy to make the most of your forays away from home. In most cases, it is only when you are middle-aged that you finally have the disposable income to set out to see the world. But by then, your energy levels have depleted somewhat, your back aches, your knees creak, and exhaustion hits you faster than it ever did in your youth. 

Well, that is certainly true in my case. And in case you are in the same boat (or plane) here are some tips to make travelling a little easier on your body. 

• First off, be very judicious about choosing your flight. If there is a direct connection to your destination take it, even if it is a little more expensive. The trade-off (in terms of negotiating just two airports) will be worth it. Try and take a day time flight even if it means paying for one more hotel night. Night flights leave you weary and bleary and ruin the first day of your vacation anyway, so this makes logical sense. If you have reward points use them to upgrade yourself on long sectors; the extra comfort will make sure you start your vacation feeling rested and raring to go. 
• When planning your itinerary don’t do too many things that involve physical activity on the same day. If you are spending a couple of hours traipsing through museums and monuments then schedule something restful for the rest of the day: some time spent in a beautiful park watching the world go by; a meal in a scenic spot; or even a double decker bus ride that takes your across the city with no effort on your part at all. In other words, pace yourself. If you don’t, you run the very real risk of burning out even before the vacation is over. 
• Take comfortable shoes. I cannot stress this enough. The wrong pair of shoes can ruin your vacation, leaving you limping and in pain for the rest of your break. So forget about stylish heels and don’t even think about stilettos. Instead, choose your most broken-in pair of shoes, pack enough socks so that you have a fresh pair every day, and you will be good to go. 
• Pack a medicine kit that takes in every eventuality. In addition to antihistamines and paracetamol I always pack some antibiotics because Indian prescriptions are often not recognised by pharmacies abroad. And not to be a bore on the subject but make two bags of essential medicines. Keep one in your hand bag and the other in your check-in suitcase. That way, even if your luggage goes missing, your medicines will not. 

Once you have these basics addressed go right ahead and enjoy your holiday. You deserve every moment of joy and wonder that comes your way. God knows, you have worked long and hard for it. 

Italian Indian, Bhai Bhai

 The similarities between the two countries are hard to miss

It was while standing in line to board an aircraft at an Italian airport that the thought first occurred to me. As the crowd built up behind me I could hear many raised voices having animated conversations on their cellphones without a care as to who was listening in. And in about 15 minutes what had been an orderly queue when we started out had turned into an amorphous mass of people. 

Honestly, I thought to myself, I could be back in India! There was the same lack of awareness that we were in a public space and that it wouldn’t do to disturb the peace of other people. And there was the same cheerful flouting of boring old rules like standing in a line while waiting. 

The more I thought I about it the more I became convinced that Indians and Italians are really the same people. And not just in terms of their common disregard for any kind of civic discipline (anyone who has driven in Delhi will feel right at home on the streets of Rome!) but in more positive ways as well. 

Take our attitudes to family. Both in Italy and India, the family is regarded as near sacred. There is respect for elders (and not just those who belong to your family), there is affection for young adults, and adoration of all children. You only have to dine in small Italian restaurants to see that multigenerational families are as common here as they are in India. And just like Indians, no Italian can resist the charms of a chubby baby. There will be much cooing and cuddling and cosseting — and that is just the wait staff. Nobody will give you dirty looks if your baby cries either; instead they will lining up to help quieten him or her down. 

The Italian attitude to food is much the same as the Indian one. There is the same love of carbs (pizza and paratha), the same affinity for deep-frying (arancini and pakoras), the same dependence on milk products (cheese and dahi), the same taste for intense sweetness when it comes to dessert (affogato and kheer). Indians have yet to develop the same devotion for a nice glass of Prosecco but I think we will get there eventually. 

When it comes to hospitality, there are the same parallels. The welcome you get in an Italian home is very similar to the one you can expect in an Indian one. The table will be laden with more dishes than you could possibly do justice do; the hosts will entreat you to have second or even third helpings; and the drinks will keep coming even when you are ready to give up. 

But the greatest similarity between Indians and Italians is this: never do they feel more Indian and Italian than when they are out of their respective countries. While in Italy, they may define themselves as being from Napoli or Venezia, they may differentiate between the north and the south. But the moment they leave their country, they became ‘Italians’. The same is true of Indians. All those differences between Gujaratis and Punjabis and north and south India collapse the moment we leave our borders. Then we are all Indians together. 

So, if you needed another reason to visit Italy, here it is: we really are the same people!

Turning the tables

When the first world seems like the third - and vice versa

 I still remember the exact moment the thought occurred to me. I had just landed in Dubai, gone through immigration in a jiffy, walked to the baggage belt to see my bags already serenely coasting along on the conveyer belt, walked outside to get a car to take me to my hotel — and that’s when I had opened my phone to scroll through Twitter. And there it was: an endless stream of tweets about how people who had landed in Heathrow the same time that my plane had touched down in Dubai, were going to be stuck in the airport for hours on end because the e-gates had failed. 

That’s when the thought popped into my head. The tables have truly turned, I marvelled. The First World has turned into the Third World — and vice versa. 

The signs had been there for a long time. The first time I planned a trip to London post-pandemic, I was inundated with slightly intimidating advice by friends who lived in the city. One told me how her son had been held at knifepoint and divested of his laptop, watch and wallet in the heart of Belgravia. Another recounted how her husband had had his phone snatched out of his hand by a gang on Bond Street. 

The stories were endless but the advice was always the same. Please leave all your valuables behind in India. Do not wear any jewellery — not even the fake kind (because, honestly, who can tell the difference?). Don’t flaunt an expensive watch. Do not carry a designer bag. Dress down as much as possible. And if, despite all these precautions, you are still the victim of a mugging, for God’s sake, don’t fight back. Just hand over your valuables and be grateful you have been spared your life. 

Honestly, it sounded like the kind of advice that we were given when we were headed to the lawless streets of Lagos or the souks of Egypt. But here we were, in a situation when going to London was being treated like a trip into a zone of anarchy. 

So, frightened out of my wits, I complied with all the advice. I left every expensive item I owned back at home, carried a crossbody bag that I wore underneath my jacket and kept my mobile firmly in my pocket. I came back home unscathed but a friend wasn’t quite so lucky. Sitting outside a popular pub, enjoying a pint, she felt a tug at her side and turned around to see her bag disappear, stolen by two men whizzing past on a mobike. 

Contrast this to my trip to Dubai. Everywhere I went, I found people dressed to the nines, wearing flashy jewellery, expensive watches, designer handbags, without a care in the world. There were groups of women out and about till late into the night, partying without worrying about how they would get home, secure in the knowledge that they were in a safe city. 

I enjoyed every moment of it. But back in my mind was the thought that I should make the most of it while I could. My next trip is to Naples and I am sure I am going to be peppered with the same kind of advice I got when I was headed to London. 

Truly, the First World has turned into the Third World. And vice versa. 

Smell the roses

 The lessons that gardening teaches you 

The first time I became invested in plants was when I moved into my first home in Delhi. It was a tiny barsati in Defence Colony but it had a huge terrace which was crying out to be filled with beautiful blooms. So, during my first Delhi winter, I planted every colourful annual I could find in the local nursery and waited for them to bloom in spring. And bloom they certainly did, turning my terrace into a riot of colour that gave me much joy as I sat there every morning sipping my first cup of coffee. 

 

Since then, no matter where I moved, and however small my balcony or patch of green, I became obsessed with plants: potting them in colourful containers, making sure they had enough sun/shade, feeding them with fertilizer, and rotating them with the seasons. I have never ever had a garden of my own, but even small-scale gardening of the kind I do in my current Delhi apartment has taught me some important life lessons. 

 

First off, it has taught me patience. You can plant a seed and water it religiously, but it will only grow in its own time, it will bloom when it is ready, and it will wilt when its time is up. You can do your best by your plants, but you must work on their time scale not on yours. Nurture is all very well, but Nature is the master – and don’t you ever forget it.

 

Having a garden – or some plants on a balcony – makes you realize that beauty is transient. Nothing lasts forever. Flowers will bloom for a while and then die. Leaves will fall off your frangipani every year, leaving you bereft. But then, new leaves will sprout and your tree will grow fractionally taller and wider, and begin to bloom once again. There is nothing quite like plants to teach you about the cycle of life and how everything that lives in the present moment will perish sooner or later. But something as – or more – beautiful will take its place. And your mourning will soon give way to joy.

 

Plants also teach you about seasonality, a concept that we have forgotten in a world in which every vegetable and fruit is available around the year. But plant some strawberries in your pots and you can be sure that they will only give fruit during October-November or April-May. My shiuli bush (called Parijat in the north) always blooms around the time of Durga Puja, reminding me of my Calcutta days when its arrival heralded the return of the Devi to her ancestral home. 

 

They say that the ultimate unselfish act is to plant a tree under whose shade you can never hope to sit. Unfortunately, that privilege has never been granted to me, but I have nothing but admiration for those people of my age and older who plant little saplings in their garden, knowing that they will only bear fruits when their grandchildren are grown and they are gone forever from this world.

That is, in my mind, the best kind of legacy to leave behind: a plant that will survive for generations, a living reminder that you once existed and had love in your heart, not just for your family but for all of creation.

 

Insta vacations

 Going on holiday now means creating content for your social media feeds

We are quickly approaching that time of year when my Instagram feed gets overwhelmed by posts and stories about other people’s holidays. There they are on the beach, sunning themselves while sipping on a cocktail. There they are in the mountains, enjoying a cup of hot chocolate by a roaring fire. There they are trekking up a hill; skiing down a slope; taking cooking lessons; trying their hands at fishing, abseiling, skydiving, and more. The images come thick and fast and by the time I have scrolled through them all, I can’t help but feel a bit exhausted by this sensory overload.

 

Of course, I am guilty of the same sort of stuff when I head off on vacation. Rare is the breakfast that doesn’t get photographed; no sunset ever goes unrecorded; and I tend to overdo the selfies with my husband whenever we find ourselves in a beautiful location. But last week as I began to pack as we headed out on a trip, I couldn’t help but marvel at how Instagram has changed how we holiday (and by we, I mean all of us).

 

There was a time when we were bombarded with advice on how we should travel light. Pack a pair of jeans, some T-shirts, a dress for the evening, one pair of sandals, and some scarves to tart everything up and you’re good to go. That advice seems almost laughable now that Insta demands that we wear a different fabulous outfit every day (and night) so that we can chronicle our fashion choices. And it’s not just clothes. You also must have the perfect accessories: funky shoes and belts; statement necklaces; quirky hats; stylish sunglasses (and yes, you must have more than one of each!) so that you can show off the variety of looks that you can pull off.

 

Then, there is the choice of destination, which is increasingly dictated by where other people are vacationing on Instagram. During the pandemic, Maldives became a popular destination because every ‘travel influencer’ (read Bollywood starlet) was posing in a bikini frolicking in an infinity pool or lounging on a sandbank on one of its many islands. Since then, Croatia has become a popular draw, as have such smaller Italian cities as Siena and Bergamo. And once you are there at these Insta-friendly destinations, it has become de rigueur to pose at certain popular locations so that you can recreate the pictures that your mates posted a few weeks earlier. 

 

There was a time when heading out on vacation meant creating memories that would last you a lifetime. Now, going on holiday means creating photo-opportunities that will live on in your social media forever (and garner the maximum number of likes). The days when your holiday pix were just inflicted on immediate family and close friends are over. Now you can broadcast them to the whole world, looking for validation from strangers on the Internet. 

 

Is that necessarily A Bad Thing, I hear you say. Well, if you ask me, this Insta-obsession is fast taking the spontaneity and fun out of our holidays and making them yet another chore as we try and increase our social media clout rather than focus on just having a good time. And I, for one, am going to try and wean myself off.