an itinerant observer

It began with someone else’s unease. My rooh ki saheli (soul friend)  had messaged earlier that morning. She was leaving for her six-hour-away destination in interior Sindh and wrote about her travel anxiety. The restlessness before departure, the ache of transition itself. I thought about it as I packed. Why am I not anxious anymore? I, who once turned every journey into mild existential drama. That question stayed with me as we left Fujairah.  I sat in the passenger seat while my three travel companions chatted in the back. AirPods in, I drifted into my own world. HAEVN’s The Sea filled it: songs that float between melancholy and surrender. “Back in the water, I feel like myself again,” the lyrics said. A chaddi buddy , childhood friend I’d recently rediscovered, had introduced me to the playlist. It felt like a small dedication, a familiar tide returning after years apart.  The road wound along the coast, sea glinting on one side, barren hills of Sharjah on the othe...

“How do you possibly endure these journeys?” Family, friends and others keep circling back to the same question. Ten-hour overnight coaches across Turkey. Greyhounds on the U.S. West Coast and across Texas. And now, twenty-five hours of steel and scenery from Chicago’s Union Station to New York’s Penn Station. “I would take the train every time.” My short answer. Airports have long lost their allure. Domestic U.S. air travel is misery disguised as security: endless ID checks, fingerprint scans, facial recognition, shoes and belts stripped off, dignity reduced to whatever the conveyor belt spits out. You don’t fly, you flee. Amtrak felt different. No one asked for documents or biometrics. I could step off at Cleveland, grab a snack, stretch, and hop back on without fear of being flagged as an outsider. For once, travel felt like belonging. That sense of contrast sharpened when I thought back to Greyhound. I had done my share of long rides there too - up the West Coast and acro...