Berlin, 2017: The Trip That Taught Me To Dream Bigger
By Sanober Alam
I've been travelling with my father for as long as I can remember or rather, before I could remember. According to him, my first trips happened when I was barely nine months old. When I recently asked him about his most memorable journey with me, he laughed and said, "You were nine months old, confidently walking down a street in Erfurt while everyone around us was completely baffled to see such a tiny child strutting around."
Travel has always been at the centre of our relationship. My father never treated it as a luxury or a shopping opportunity. Instead, he taught me that travel is about understanding people, history, and culture. "The real story of a place comes from its people," he would often say. "Tour guides only tell you the surface."
Of all the journeys we've taken together, one stands out: Berlin in 2017. Before every trip, my father would make me read about the destination. So even before arriving in Berlin, I knew about the Berlin Wall, what it symbolised, and the horrors of the Holocaust. Walking through those places later made the city feel far more real than any textbook ever could.
The trip itself was special for another reason. My father had been awarded the prestigious Humboldt Research Fellowship, a distinction that very few social scientists in India have received. As a family, we accompanied him to the Humboldt conference in Germany. For the first time, I found myself travelling alongside some of the world's leading academics, including Nobel Prize winners. We stayed in the same hotels, rode the same buses, and attended the same events.
As a teenager, it was eye-opening.
The experience showed me that travel and opportunity were not always linked to wealth. My father, who grew up in Bihar, had travelled the world because of his excellence in education and his willingness to dream big. Watching him interact with scholars from across the globe changed the way I viewed success. It taught me that you don't need endless resources to see the world all you need is curiosity, hard work, and the courage to aim high.
That journey shaped the person I am today. It taught me never to let my circumstances define my ambitions.
Today, I still travel with my father across the world. Every trip introduces me to new people, new cultures, and new ways of thinking. But more importantly, every journey reminds me that some of life's greatest lessons are learned not in classrooms, but on the road beside the people who shape us.
Bharatpur, 1998: Learning To Travel Through My Father's Eyes
By Maneesha Taneja
In December 1988 or January 1999, we went on a family holiday to Bharatpur from Lucknow. It was freezing cold, but it was the best time to see the migratory birds, so off we went.
My father, who was not at all an early riser, would wake up at 4 AM so that we did not have any excuse for sleeping in! When I look back today, I see the love and the desire to give his children an exposure and an education way beyond classrooms and books.
Pops is a bindaas traveller. His one-point agenda is to have a good time on vacation. I remember the huge row my parents had in Bharatpur. Pops was completely unmindful of budgeting anything and ended up taking endless pictures with his SLR (which, thereafter, he bequeathed to me, to my utter joy and my brother’s disgust), a total of 13 reels! The cost of the reels added to the developing and printing costs was a handsome king’s ransom, and my mother was rightly furious. With three school-going children and one income, she was forever doing the balancing act with the monthly household budget, and this man had completely upset the apple cart!
Pops would always have stories to tell, facts to narrate and yes, science questions for us! He was constantly trying to teach us and enrich our lives. I learned from him to steal joy from difficulties and to enjoy life. To make travel memorable and make the small moments count. To make memories with family that will last forever.
My father taught me to be fearless when travelling, to soak in everything in a new place, and to live in the moment on vacation. If I had to go off on a trip with him tomorrow, I think it would be to a place of his choosing. That would undoubtedly be Pakistan, since that’s where my grandparents were from, and he really wants to visit the Northwest Frontier Province to see where our ancestors once lived. I would willingly go with him in the blink of an eye.
Odisha, 2024: A Trip That Showed Me A Softer Side Of My Father
By Samarth Thakur
Some of my earliest memories of my father are tied to travel. Not airports or itineraries, but long road journeys, spontaneous food stops, and his belief that every journey should be experienced, not rushed through. Even today, despite travelling frequently between Bhubaneswar and Delhi, he chooses a 2,000-kilometre road trip over a short flight. That's just the kind of traveller he is.
Last year, I travelled to Bhubaneswar, to visit my dad as he is posted there. What made the trip memorable was that, for the first time, it was just the two of us. My mother had always been part of our family travels, so this felt like a completely different experience.
Being a passionate foodie with roots in Old Delhi, my father naturally planned much of the trip around meals. We explored local restaurants, sampled regional dishes, and spent long hours talking over food. One highlight was a beachside resort he had booked a couple of hours outside the city. We arrived in the afternoon and settled into a leisurely seafood lunch overlooking the sea.
But the trip also gave me a moment I'll never forget. On my way to meet an old friend, two drunk men on a motorcycle rammed into my father's car, leaving it badly dented. I spent the night worrying about how he would react. When I finally told him the next morning, convinced I'd be in trouble, his first question was simple: "Are you okay?" The car didn't matter. Only I did.
Travelling together also revealed a quieter side of him. One day, I noticed him watching the live camera feed from our home in Delhi while going about his routine. It was his way of staying connected to my mother, brother, and our dogs while living away from them.
If I could relive one moment from that trip, it would be the evening at the beach. I was in the water, battling the waves, while my father sat on the shore with a cup of tea, filming me and smiling. It was one of those ordinary travel moments that somehow stays with you forever.
Gaya, 2024: Walking Through My Father's Memories In Bihar
By Raihan Alam
After I graduated from school, my father decided it was finally time to take me to Gaya, Bihar, his hometown. He felt I was old enough to understand my roots and experience the culture that had shaped him long before Delhi became home.
Growing up in Delhi, Bihar existed largely through stories. My father often spoke about his childhood, sharing memories that felt almost impossible to imagine from the city. One story he loved repeating was, "I was told to follow my elder sister to school every day so that she reached safely, even though she was older than me." Laughing at those stories was one thing. Walking through the streets where they happened was something else entirely.
My father is a planner through and through. Before the trip even began, every day had an itinerary. From morning to evening, we were constantly exploring places that revealed a side of Bihar rarely advertised to outsiders. He took me to his school, introduced me to his hometown Gewalbigha, and showed me the city beyond its stereotypes.
One of the most emotional moments came when we visited our ancestral home. Standing there, my father grew unusually quiet. This was the house where he had spent his childhood alongside five brothers and a sister. Years later, after everyone had moved away and the structure had begun to deteriorate, it was sold. Seeing him look at the house brought home the reality that places can hold entire lifetimes within them.
The trip was also filled with moments that could only happen in Bihar. At one point, while discussing where to order snacks and essentials, one of my father's friends casually suggested, "Blanket karwalo." My father and I exchanged confused looks, wondering why he was recommending we buy a blanket. Only after a few seconds did we realise he meant Blinkit. We burst out laughing. In that moment, I knew I had truly arrived in Bihar.
What stayed with me most, however, were the spiritual and historical sites. We visited the Mahabodhi Temple, wandered through the grounds of the Great Buddha Statue, and spent time beneath the Bodhi Tree. Sitting there, under the descendant of the tree where Buddha attained enlightenment, felt unlike anything I had experienced before. There was a strange stillness to it. My father and I both felt it. We left feeling different from when we had arrived.
By the end of the journey, Bihar was no longer just the place my family came from. It became a place I understood and connected with. More importantly, it taught me that the most meaningful journeys are often not to trending destinations, but to places that challenge assumptions, reveal history, and help you discover a part of yourself.
