Travel · Life | April 2026
Travelling is one of the most beautiful things you can do. New places, new air, a change of scenery — there's something about being in motion that makes you feel alive. But here's the thing nobody tells you in those aesthetic travel reels: travelling is only as fun as your body allows it to be. And sometimes, your body has its own plans.
Today was one of those days.
I had been on the road since early morning, and by the time I reached my destination, my legs felt like they had quietly resigned from their duties. The fatigue was real — the kind that settles deep into your bones and doesn't ask for permission. And the funny thing? As I sit here writing this, that same tiredness is still with me, like a loyal companion that refuses to leave. My body and my brain were clearly not in sync today. My brain wanted adventure. My legs wanted a bed.
This, I've come to understand, is what I call the first layer of travel disturbance — the one that comes from within. Your own body working against you. The stiff back, the heavy eyes, the feet that ache with every step. It's a quiet kind of chaos, entirely internal, entirely yours to deal with.
But then comes the second layer. And this one, my friend, is not yours alone.
I boarded early in the morning, half asleep, with a very simple plan: put myself into that comfortable half-sleep state so that by the time I arrived, I'd feel somewhat human again. A reasonable plan. A hopeful plan. A plan that was absolutely destroyed within the first ten minutes.
To my left — a full-volume phone screen playing what I can only describe as a greatest hits compilation of news channels. To my right — someone deeply invested in a comedy show, laughing at jokes I could hear clearer than they probably could. And somewhere behind me, the crown jewel of the journey: a person holding their phone up to their ear to listen to something, while I, sitting a seat away, became an unwilling audience member to every single word. I heard more of that audio than they did. I'm convinced of it.
I couldn't do anything. I just sat there, eyes closed, practicing what I can only call mann ki shaanti — a deep, forced, slightly desperate inner peace.
And here's the thing — I don't even blame them. People travel in their own way. Some people need sound to feel comfortable. Some people simply don't realize how far their phone speakers carry in a quiet bus. It's not always inconsideration; sometimes it's just unawareness. So I'm not here to point fingers. But I will say this, gently and with full affection: if you're travelling in a shared space, please consider your headphones. They are small, they are powerful, and they are the single greatest gift you can give to the stranger sitting next to you who is desperately trying to sleep.
Because I say this with complete confidence — these kinds of fellow passengers exist everywhere in the world. Every country, every city, every mode of transport. The bus-cinema guy is a universal phenomenon. He is not specific to any culture or geography. He is simply a part of the travel experience, as reliable as delays and bad station food.
But let people be. Let them enjoy their journey the way they want to. Life is short and everyone deserves to travel with joy. Just maybe — just a little — keep an eye on your agal bagal too. Maybe the person beside you is running on two hours of sleep, legs aching, silently begging the universe for thirty minutes of quiet. Maybe that person is me. Maybe that person is you, next time.
At the end of it all though? Travelling is always worth it. The fatigue fades. The noise becomes a story you laugh about later — like I'm doing right now. Every uncomfortable journey adds a line to the chapter of your life, and those chapters are what make it interesting.
So travel as much as you can. Take the early morning buses. Sit next to the phone-cinema guy. Arrive tired and slightly dishevelled. It's all part of it.
Just pack your headphones. Please. 😄
Written with tired legs and a full heart — The Yawar Chronicles
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