There is a certain kind of travel memory that never leaves you.
Not because the destination was exotic. Not because the hotel was luxurious. Not because someone curated the perfect itinerary.
But because those journeys carried love.
On this Mother’s Day, while social media is flooded with photographs of brunches, vacations, gifts, and celebrations, my mind keeps drifting toward a very different kind of travel. The kind that shaped my childhood. The kind that taught me how journeys are not measured in miles, but in emotions.
For me, travel in childhood did not mean beaches, resorts, or international holidays. In our family, travel mostly meant temple towns, pilgrimages, religious gatherings, and long train journeys across India. It meant waking up before sunrise, packing steel tiffins full of homemade food, carrying water bottles wrapped in cloth covers, and rushing to railway stations with bags that always felt heavier than they actually were.
And at the center of almost every one of those journeys were two women who quietly shaped my understanding of travel, family, and life itself — my mother and my nani.
Today, when I travel for photography, storytelling, and exploration, I often realize that the roots of my wanderlust were planted much earlier. Somewhere between crowded railway platforms, temple bells, homemade puris packed for overnight journeys, and the comforting presence of family.
This blogpost is not just about travel.
It is about mothers who made journeys feel safe. It is about grandmothers who turned train rides into adventures. It is about India seen through train windows. It is about childhood. It is about memory. And perhaps, it is also about gratitude.
When Travel Meant Faith, Family, and Togetherness
Growing up in an Indian middle-class household during those years meant travel was never random. Every journey had a purpose.
Most family trips revolved around spirituality.
There were temple visits during school vacations. There were pilgrimages planned around auspicious dates. There were relatives to visit after darshan. There were crowded buses climbing hills toward sacred shrines. There were long queues outside ancient temples. There were stories of gods, miracles, and faith told during the journey.
Unlike today’s carefully curated vacations, our travel plans were simple.
Nobody discussed itineraries. Nobody searched for “Instagrammable spots.” Nobody cared about luxury.
The joy came from being together.
I still remember how my mother would begin preparations days before the trip. Clothes would be folded neatly into bags. Food for the train would be prepared late into the night. She carried responsibility quietly, without ever calling attention to it.
As children, we only saw the excitement. We never saw the effort behind it.
Now, as an adult traveler, I understand what those journeys truly demanded from mothers.
They traveled while constantly thinking about everyone else. Did the children eat properly? Did someone forget their sweater? Will the train reach on time? Will the elderly family members manage the stairs?
Even during travel, mothers rarely traveled freely. They carried the emotional luggage of the entire family.
And yet, somehow, they still found moments to smile while looking outside train windows.
The Golden Era of Indian Train Journeys
If I close my eyes and think about childhood travel, the first image that appears is not a temple.
It is a railway station.
The smell of chai. The red uniforms of coolies. The sound of metal wheels screeching against tracks. The loud railway announcements. The excitement of searching for our coach number. The nervousness of missing the train.
Indian railway journeys were not merely transportation. They were experiences.
And my nani absolutely loved them.
Some people travel for destinations. My nani traveled for the journey itself.
One of the reasons was simple and beautiful — after my grandfather retired, he received free railway passes. Those passes became passports to movement, connection, and freedom.
In many Indian families, retirement slowly shrinks the world of elderly people. But for my nani and nana, the railway pass kept the world open.
It allowed them to continue moving. To continue meeting relatives. To continue exploring pilgrimage towns. To continue experiencing India beyond their immediate neighborhood.
And nani embraced that freedom with childlike excitement.
She genuinely enjoyed train travel. Not reluctantly. Not occasionally. But wholeheartedly.
She loved settling near the window. She loved unpacking food during journeys. A true tea lover and don't mind some pakoras or bun. She loved conversations with fellow passengers. She loved observing stations. She loved buying small snacks from vendors. She loved the rhythm of moving trains.
Looking back now, I realize she taught me one of the most important lessons about travel — journeys become memorable when you remain curious about ordinary things.
Not every trip needs grandeur. Sometimes joy hides in simple moments.
Like watching mustard fields pass outside a train window. Like sipping tea from a clay cup. Like sharing homemade parathas with fellow passengers. Like listening to stories late into the night while the train cuts through darkness.
The Window Seat That Became My First Classroom
As children, we often think we are simply accompanying adults on journeys.
But silently, travel educates us.
Some of my earliest understandings of India came through train windows beside my nani.
I saw landscapes changing gradually. Cities turning into villages. Villages turning into forests. Rivers appearing unexpectedly. Temple spires rising in distant towns. Different languages written on station boards.
Without realizing it, I was learning how vast and diverse India truly was.
My nani rarely gave lectures. Instead, she observed. And through her observations, I learned to notice details.
She would point toward a river and she would talk about crops growing in fields. She would identify regional foods from station vendors. She would remember relatives connected to certain towns.
Travel became storytelling.
Today, when I walk through old cities with a camera in hand, trying to capture emotions, architecture, or fleeting human moments, I often feel those roots go back to those train journeys.
Photography begins with observation. And perhaps my nani unknowingly trained my eyes long before I ever touched a camera.
Mothers Carry More Than Luggage
There is something deeply emotional about looking back at family travel once you become older.
As children, we mostly remember excitement. As adults, we begin noticing sacrifice.
I now realize my mother rarely traveled for herself.
Her happiness came from ensuring everyone else experienced comfort.
Indian mothers have a remarkable ability to turn chaos into warmth.
Even the most exhausting journeys felt manageable because mothers created emotional stability around us.
There is a reason many childhood travel memories feel comforting.
Because mothers were present.
Not just physically. Emotionally.
Their presence made unfamiliar places feel safe.
Today, modern travel often focuses on luxury, speed, and convenience. But older family journeys carried something different — emotional intimacy.
People talked more. Families sat together longer. There were fewer distractions. The journey itself became shared time.
And mothers quietly held those moments together.
Temple Towns and Childhood Memories
Many of my childhood journeys revolved around temples.
Some people may think religious travel is repetitive for children. But when I look back, those journeys gave me much more than spiritual memories.
They introduced me to Hindu gods and places they belonged to.
Every temple town had its own personality.
Some were nestled in mountains. Some stood beside rivers. Some had crowded bazaars. Some had peaceful stone corridors. Some echoed with chants. Some smelled of incense, flowers, and rain-soaked earth.
I remember removing footwear before entering temple complexes. I remember holding my mother’s hand tightly in crowded spaces. I remember my nani whispering stories connected to certain deities. I remember prasad tasting magical after long waits.
At that age, perhaps I did not fully understand devotion. But I understood togetherness.
Travel taught me that faith was not merely ritual. It was community. It was continuity. It was generations moving together.
Those journeys connected grandparents, parents, and children through shared experiences.
Today, many of those temple visits feel emotionally richer in memory than they probably felt in reality. Because memory adds tenderness to ordinary moments.
The Beauty of Slow Travel Before the Internet Era
One thing I deeply cherish about those journeys is how unhurried they felt.
Nobody was obsessed with documenting everything.
There were very few photographs. No GPS. No instant hotel bookings. No travel reels. No online reviews.
People depended on conversations. Recommendations. Human interactions.
Railway inquiry counters mattered. Printed tickets mattered. Paper maps mattered.
And because technology was limited, people were more present.
Families played cards during journeys. Children stared outside windows for hours. Strangers spoke to each other. Food was shared. Stories were exchanged.
Somewhere along the way, modern travel became visually richer but emotionally shorter.
Earlier, journeys unfolded slowly. And perhaps because they unfolded slowly, they stayed longer in memory.
I sometimes miss that pace.
The pace where a train journey itself felt like an event. The pace where reaching the destination was only part of the excitement. The pace where grandparents narrated stories instead of everyone scrolling on phones.
Those older journeys may not have been luxurious. But they were deeply human.
My Nani and the Poetry of Train Travel
If I had to associate one sound with my nani, it would probably be the rhythmic sound of train tracks.
She belonged to a generation that found genuine joy in movement.
Not movement for social media. Not movement for status
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