some thoughts on traveling

As someone who can never stick to one place, my greatest lessons haven’t come from textbooks—they’ve come from conversations, discomfort, and the road.

Okay, this isn’t your typical gap-year anti-education rant. I’m actually a huge proponent of formal education. I’m deeply aware of how powerful it can be in changing lives. College is essential. But so is wandering. Failing. Adapting. Surviving. Many students come from high school, disconnected from the real world, unaware of how privilege, hardship, and independence play out beyond classroom walls. Travel—especially solo travel—is one way to bridge that gap. It demands participation in real life.

And I’ve learned more about life from bus delays and bargaining for rajma than any Silicon-Valley-startup-founder’s book ever could.

I really think everybody should have the opportunity to travel. Because out there, it’s not about what you know—it’s about how you adapt, how you move, how you survive, how you converse. A pond stays muddy, but a river? It flows clear. That’s the power of movement. And that’s what travelling is all about—not overthinking the destination, but being present in every second of the process. In the end, the pond stays trapped in itself. But a river doesn’t just find the ocean—it becomes the ocean.

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Privilege, Unwrapped

Of course, I am fully aware that saying "everyone should travel" comes from a place of enormous social and economic privilege. I was lucky to spend my childhood across eight cities in Asia. I had the privilege of accompanying my father on his work trips, collecting visa stamps like school badges—over 20 at least.

I hate how much this sounds like bragging. But I mention it because it genuinely shaped my worldview. Moving around gave me new friends, new perspectives, and the sheer joy of experiencing different cultures. Because for the last five years, I hadn’t travelled anywhere. Not even a short break out of Mumbai—because of both financial and emotional difficulties.

This year, I decided to change that. To save enough money to travel—at least to Rajasthan, where I’m ethnically from. My fondest memories are from there: Ringas station, Jaipur kachoris, fresh milk straight from the cows, too much sun and too much history.

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But… where was I going to get the money?

I had a little saved up from earlier art workshops, but most of it went into planning my sister’s birthday (no regrets). Our current financial situation didn’t even allow me to travel far within Mumbai, let alone outside it.

So in May, right after my board exams, I needed a job—something that didn’t require too much time (since we were also shifting houses and doing paperwork), but still paid enough.

That’s when it hit me: I love teaching. I’d been teaching my sister (she was in 2nd grade), her friends, and even my classmates about stock markets. I’d spent the last two years teaching art and sports to autistic kids at a nearby NGO and English to children from orphanages who came to our school every week.

So I spammed all my mother’s WhatsApp groups—society groups, friend groups—anyone looking for a tutor. And by June 1st, I finally landed my first student.

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Teaching Experience

I was scared. How could I, someone who just passed 12th grade, be responsible for a kid’s grades? His whole approach to learning?

I spent countless hours watching YouTube videos, lesson planning, and asking my sister for feedback. “Vedika, am I too strict? Too boring? Do you even understand what I explain?”

She gave me the biggest compliment:

"Peehu didi, my teacher’s great at telling stories. But not nearly as good as you. But you’re strict, with homework."

That first week, I spent more time learning how Vishesh learns than actually teaching. His love for Julia Michael stories, how misunderstood he felt, his fear of maths. Like me, he had accepted failure too soon. So that month, we both fought our fear of numbers—he, with multiplication tables; me, with differentiation. Three days later, I landed a second student.

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Planning, Tatkal Tickets, and Convincing My Mother

By the end of June, I had made ₹10,000 from tutoring and saved ₹8,000 from investing and selling stocks, and some savings from my birthday money. That was enough for a trip to Rajasthan.

I booked my train ticket to Jaipur for July 18th just four days before and luckily got a Tatkal ticket. No big planning, no detailed itinerary, not even booked hostels for most places. All I knew was that I’d start from Jaipur, and maybe go to Udaipur, Ajmer, Bikaner—a few other ideas.

And for those wondering—how did I convince my mother?

She thought I was saving for college. I asked her a week ago before booking tickets—and to her credit, she was supportive. She knew how much I needed this. I missed travelling. The last two years had been stressful, and this was me being selfish and excited for the first time in a long time. So she trusted my plan, helped me connect with long-lost relatives, and I shared my live location the whole way. I had a supportive parent, and that’s a privilege I was lucky to have.

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Back to the main point Traveling alone is actually what taught me more than classrooms. With family or friends, there’s always a layer of comfort and security between you and the world. And here are some insights or things I learnt:

1. Getting Comfortable with Being Uncomfortable

The beginning was rough. I was scared of being robbed on the train. Some hostels wouldn’t check me in because I was just shy of 18. I felt lonely and tired. Buses were full, trains delayed, rooms didn’t match the photos, Google Maps got me lost more than once. But slowly, I started getting comfortable with all this uncertainty. I stopped panicking. I started thinking: “Okay, what’s my next option?” As someone with mild OCD tendencies, inherited fear of all kinds of bugs and lizards, I became surprisingly comfortable with being uncomfortable.

2. Learning to Strike Conversations

Starting a conversation? I’m usually extroverted, but I found myself frozen. Everyone seemed older, cooler, worldlier. But on Day 2, I overheard two people painting a table and having a deep conversation. I wanted to join. And then I thought: What’s the worst that could happen? They think I’m weird? Ignore me? So I went up to them.

Turns out we had so much in common. Those girls were on a post-grad gap year, we visited Amer Fort together. The next day, they took me along to Fatehpur Shekhawati, and explored the havelis together.

That moment taught me this: no one learns anything by staying silent. Ask. Even if it’s awkward. Even if you feel stupid. Nonchalance isn't cool—being stupid is punk.

Throughout the trip, I joined families at dhabas, shared rides with newly-made friends, asked questions to locals in galleries and museums, and discovered how much people love to help—especially when they mistake you for a teenager lost in the world. (It’s the 5’2” frame. Works every time.) Even strangers and long-lost relatives treated me like a daughter, enthralling me with stories of my father’s childhood

3. I met girls my age selling peanuts or married off and tending goats. I met boys picking up garbage or selling papadum. In another life—if circumstances were different—it could’ve been me. For me, separated from this reality by nothing but the lottery of birth, it would be me. If my father hadn’t gone out to study, he’d be running my grandfather’s kirana shop. And I would’ve grown up in a ₹500/month room.

   The “lottery of birth” was no longer an economic theory from my IB Economics textbook—it was playing out right in front of me. I was ashamed of this glaring inequality. It was trips like these and growing up across Asia that taught me just how much privilege we carry. In times as uncertain and unjust as now, we need to remember the need to show up for your community and the value of perspective, empathy and understanding.
   

4. Budgeting, Bugs and Tradeoffs

Travelling on a tight budget was not that hard, because I had grown up eating food from dhabas, we often travelled by trains, and in general I wasn't picky about much.

But there were tradeoffs. I learnt to make decisions quickly.

Choosing between a safer female-only dorm (₹1,000 a night) or using it for two meals. Choosing between a ₹50 sachet detergent or wearing the same T-shirt again (which I failed at, because OCD). Or choosing to keep my so-called dignity or bargain at hostels for cheaper discounts. (Goibibo student discounts and Zostels—you were my lifesavers.

Transport was my biggest cost: redBus, trains, shared autos. Also excursions like museums, boat rides in Udaipur, and fort tickets. I often had to stop myself from buying jutis, jewelry, and Pichwai artworks—but I did splurge on a chaniya choli for my sister. I came home with stories—and photos—and the best lore.

5. What’s on Your Plate (Literally)?

Rajasthan is kind to budget travellers. Food is very cheap. I mostly had thalis, or food at local dhabas, ordering paneer parathas served with free dahi and white butter. As someone with PCOS and a mild obsession with nutrition, I always thought the Indian diet was the problem. Most of India suffers from diabetes, and more than 70% are prediabetic—due to our high-carb, high-sugar, highly processed diets.

But here, I saw the amount of different grains used daily to make rotis—jowar, bajra, kuttu etc.—most being gluten-free. Dadi-approved water pots. Daily chaas for the gut! I saw the real problem: processed food and loss of native practices. (I now make air-fried high-protein baatis/littis or kanji for those who don’t have tandoor.)

6. Loneliness and Liberation

Yes, sometimes I felt lonelier than ever. Eating alone. Sightseeing alone. Carrying luggage alone can feel awkward and lonely. But solo travel is rarely ever solo for long—you meet strangers at hostels, dhabas, galleries. The company is brief, but it counts.

Plus, I don’t think loneliness has much to do with travel itself. All of us experience loneliness in some shape or form. And at times, I’ve felt pure bliss exploring a new place in complete silence. It's liberating to walk streets where no one knows your name. You can be a different version of yourself—someone free from past expectations.

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Final Thoughts

There's so much more I could say.

When you travel solo, you don’t just discover new places. You discover who you are when no one’s watching. Can you adapt? Are you aware of your privilege? Can you sit with your thoughts when your data dies? When your confidence falters? When your comfort zone stretches thin?

The truth is—those who say “drop your kids in Kashmir and pick them up in Kanyakumari” aren’t entirely wrong.

My trip to Rajasthan for 12 days cost me around ₹23,000 including transportation. I mostly stayed at hostels and with relatives, so accommodation cost only ₹6,000. Food was really cheap. For snacks, I often bought bananas (₹15 for 3). Most of my expenses were transportation, excursions, and small purchases.

I urge you all to save some money. Start smaller. Take a 3-day trip nearby. Share autos. Sleep in hostels. Buy fruit from the streets. Talk to people. Be aware but be optimistic. The world is kinder than you think.

I came home lighter. With fewer answers and more questions. But also, with a notebook full of expenses, amazing native friendly recipes, and this quiet belief, and confidence.

“If I'm an advocate for anything, it's to move. As far as you can, as much as you can. Across the ocean, or simply across the river. The extent to which you can walk in someone else's shoes or at least eat their food, it's a plus for everybody.” —Anthony Bourdain

P.s safety is the top concern when it comes to traveling alone as a female. It's unfortunate and unfair that the onus of taking precautions lies with us. But here are a few steps I take.

1.   I say no to plans that make me uneasy—even if it means seeming boring or rude. Not because someone is creepy, but because even the friendliest strangers can be unpredictable. There are also times when I have taken the leap of faith and trusted strangers, and thankfully, have not regretted it so far

2. I updated my data pack to  5gb per day, and keep a  local emergency contact number. I did not travel at odd hours - even if it means skipping cheaper tickets. because it’s not practical to take a train or bus at midnight and reach in the wee hours of the morning like many male budget travelers do.
   

   Will write a full post soon on more tips as a solo traveler. Itineraries, local spots etc.