Travelling for me is not about ticking boxes.
Not about doing ten activities in one day or chasing thrills like a reality show contestant.
For me, travel is about people.
The strangers who become stories.
The conversations that quietly sit in your heart long after the photos are forgotten.
I have already written pages about Tromsø. The lights. The snow. The frozen eyelashes.
But when I look back, the real glow also came from the people we met.
Like Håkon.
I was sitting alone at a table in Sann Café, guarding my mushroom soup and freshly baked bread like a squirrel with winter supplies. The rest of the family had gone to order. From the corner of my eye, I had noticed the man at the next table earlier. He was enjoying a glass of Chardonnay with something called a Norwegian Sann burger. Which, let us be honest, is just a beef burger wearing a Scandinavian accent.
He introduced himself. Håkon. From Tromsø originally, now living near Oslo. A teacher. In town for the annual film festival. He asked if I liked films.
As a woman who grew up in Andheri West, the spiritual capital of Bollywood drama, I said yes with great confidence.
We started talking about films, books, childhood reading. I told him about growing up on Enid Blyton descriptions of breakfasts that sounded like royal banquets. A steaming tureen of porridge, golden syrup, thick cream, bacon and eggs, toast piled high, marmalade, butter.
Ufff. So much more glamorous than upma.
Only now do I realise the English language is more drool worthy than the English breakfast.
Håkon told me he and his brother grew up reading English literature too. Not because of colonial history. Not because of school exams. Just curiosity. Just love. During the pandemic they travelled across England and Scotland to see places they had read about. Hadrian’s Wall. Countryside. Hills. All while The Sound of Music played in their heads on an endless loop like an Instagram reel that refuses to die.
I was fascinated. People who do not come from former British colonies visiting the UK purely for its charm. Imagine that.
Because I am certainly one of those people.
He spoke about taking his students outdoors to learn from nature. Real learning. Mud on shoes. Wind in hair. Curiosity instead of PowerPoint. I felt an instant connection. Here was someone who loved what he did and wanted to pass that love on.
Then he got a phone call and rushed off to meet his special friend at the film festival.
To the world he was Håkon.
To my Mindi ( Marathi /Hindi) brain he was
“hai kaun ?”.
The next day, on our way back from husky sledding, I injured my ankle. Spectacularly. At this point I am convinced that the words Maneesha and disaster travel together with hand luggage.
We had to call a taxi to get back to our steep Airbnb. Our rescuer arrived in the form of Petros, an Eritrean cab driver with a heart warmer than the car heater.
He was so concerned that he made me sit in the front seat, reclined it almost flat and gave me two Omega 3 capsules from his personal stash. I am not sure how fish oil helps a bruised ankle, but I took them with gratitude. Medical science paused. Humanity continued.
He told us about leaving sunny Eritrea and working in one of the coldest places on earth. Too much of anything, he said, becomes a curse.
And he was right.
In India and Eritrea, sunshine is so abundant we forget its value.
In rainy Britain or freezing Norway, we suddenly remember what warmth feels like. We miss what we once complained about.
He spoke about supporting his pregnant wife, about building a life far from hardship. In that warm taxi, in the middle of Arctic cold, life felt strangely balanced.
And then there was Sam. Our Slovakian Northern Lights guide. The true hero of the trip.
He came to Tromsø six years ago, fell in love with the place, trained huskies, helped with reindeer, and slowly found his dream job guiding people to the lights. He tracked the lights on three different apps, watched the KP index like a stockbroker watches markets, and when the sky finally turned green, his face lit up brighter than the aurora.
At midnight, in minus ten degrees, we could feel his joy radiating through the cold. When the lights danced, he looked fulfilled. As if he had personally arranged the cosmos for us.
That satisfaction of showing something beautiful to others.
That quiet pride.
That simple purpose.
I have written pages about the Northern Lights. But now, when I think back, the real magic was not just in the sky but also in the café conversation. A taxi ride. A guide’s smile.
Life, isn’t it?
We spend years trapped in the cycle of work, earn, spend, repeat.
As if existence is a treadmill with bills attached.
But maybe life was meant to be simpler.
Experience. Enjoy. Feel. Reboot.
Because long after the lights fade,
it is the warmth of strangers
that keeps the heart illuminated...
Isn’t it?
13.02.2026
Comments