Travel Is A Privilege
Krishna and Kamala lived in a town on the west coast of India. They had a large brood of seven—2 girls and 5 boys—which might have been larger still, if all had gone to plan. My grandfather, Krishna, was tall and lean, a man of few (often sardonic) words. He worked at the district revenue collection office and spoke some English. His wife, my grandmother, Kamala, was a homemaker, what she lacked in height she made up for in chutzpah. She spoke no English. Years ago, I once asked her why she didn’t speak any English. She told me that she had gotten into trouble at school one day, and her teacher had pulled out a cane to punish her, but she would have none of that. She had grabbed the cane and given her teacher a taste of his own medicine before running back home. That was the end of her formal education. She had refused to go back to school and her parents had not insisted. It was the 1930s and education for girls was strictly optional even when the family could afford it.
In their lifetime my grandparents did not venture too far from home. They saw only a few parts of their own country. Venturing out into foreign lands was outside their purview. Their home and kids made up the entirety of their existence, against the backdrop of neighbours, friends, relatives, and all the big drama typical of small towns.
My father, their oldest child, is just like my grandparents in countless ways that he doesn’t even notice. Amongst other things, like his own father, mine is wary of dogma, loathes superstition and has marched to his own beat with blithe disregard for people, customs and traditions that are outdated in his view. Physically, my father looks like his mother, right down to the flecks of grey in big brown eyes that dance with laughter and mischief. He has also inherited her fiery temper. He moved away from his home-town at a young age in search of a bigger, better life.
My parents settled in the city of Bangalore. My father worked as an auditor and my mum was a banker. My sister and I were born and raised in Bangalore. Neither of us inherited their skill with numbers. We both have his temper.
Like their own parents, my parents have done everything in their power to give us a great education and to inculcate good values and attitudes for a happy life. They also took us on trips to various parts of India, with a view to giving us a taste of and appreciation for Indian history and culture. India is such a beautiful blend of religions, races and cultures, that these travels were our early education in ways of life different from ours.
While my sister, young cousins and I are now able to dream about, and even realise our dreams of world travel in our youth, this was beyond the grasp of my grandparents in their entire lifetime because there were always other more pressing needs, the fulfilment of which drove them and gave their life meaning. Even our parents were older than we now are before they were able to indulge their international travel aspirations.
You and I now live in a world where travel is made out to be a given; a rite of passage to “cultured” adulthood; a ticket to a spot in the circle of “cool”; a measure of one’s life. In actual fact, travel is none of these things. Travel is a privilege. It is not available to all for a multitude of reasons.
My grandparents, for instance, were starting up a family in a newly independent India —a land impoverished by centuries of colonial rule; a nation trying to find its feet. Hence, they spent most of their lives ensuring that their large family’s need for food, clothing, education, a safe and secure home, and a loving family environment were met.
My parents, on the other hand, while strengthening the foundation that their parents had provided, were able to aim for a higher standard of living and seek out new life experiences. Thanks to their hard work and sacrifices, my sister and I grew up in an environment where, with all our other needs satisfied, we have sought independence and self-actualisation. These are at the very top of the hierarchy of human needs.
In their attempt to overcome the challenges of their own lives, each generation in my family has catapulted the next one into a better life, until my generation is able to enjoy the opportunity and privilege of exploring the world in a way that, even today, many people can only dream about because of their life circumstances.
Travel is not the measure of a life, and even though most of us use the word “need” rather loosely—unlike air, water, food and shelter from the elements—travel is not strictly a need either. It could be argued that travel is somehow crucial to self-actualisation. Even then, surely a person who has become the best version of herself looks more kindly at others who do not share her privileges. Let's all stay humble. There are many that have gone before us who paved the way for us to have the life and the options we do.
(This post is dedicated to my grandmother who left us all last week at the age of 89.)
