What villages make me feel that cities can never

My life has always been shaped by travel. Maybe it started with my dad being in the military, where constant transfers meant we were always on the move. Maybe it came from my own early love of exploring places. For me, travel has never been just about experiences, but about observation too. While many travel to relax, unwind, or disconnect, my journeys have often been about visiting grandparents, catching up with friends scattered across tier-1 cities, or simply weaving travel into my routine without disrupting work. Over time, it has become less of a break and more of an integral part of how I experience life-by living in places for a while rather than just passing through them as a tourist.

With God’s grace, my career has steadily grown, allowing me to enjoy a lifestyle that fulfills many of my childhood dreams. Oddly enough, I realized that once achieved, those materialistic dreams weren’t as significant as I had imagined. I’m grateful for the luxuries my parents gave me, but there’s always a quiet guilt in spending what isn’t yours. True independence, I’ve found, comes when you spend on yourself with what you’ve earned.

Work and friendships inevitably pull me into metro cities, but living there often feels like an endless race. Surrounded by luxury cars, designer brands, and sprawling villas, there’s a subtle anxiety - a constant reminder to do more, to do better. For some, this environment fuels ambition. For me, it often feels counterproductive. No matter how much you achieve, it never feels enough when the bar is always set higher by someone else. Achievements shrink in comparison, and celebration feels hollow. I know comparison steals joy, but in cities, it’s hard to escape it.

Contrast that with today: I’m returning from my hometown on a general-class train, a ₹30 ticket in hand, rain tapping against the windows, and the earthy smell of wet soil in the air. General class is an experience of its own - loud music from one corner, meditative silence in another, arguments over politics, quarrels for seats, quiet prayers, and tired laborers who endure hours of commute daily. And here I am, just photographing the journey and letting these thoughts spill onto paper.

There’s a strange freedom in this simplicity, a humbling reminder that my complaints about one-hour traffic in Bangalore are nothing compared to the struggles of those who spend six hours daily just to make ends meet. It’s not about comparing pain but realizing this: what we already have is often enough. And when you truly believe you have enough, growth becomes a natural level-up, not a desperate hustle. Accomplishments feel worth celebrating, because you’re not racing against the world - you’re just better than who you were yesterday.

Cities and villages both have their own truths, their own gifts and burdens. Neither is perfect. But sometimes, it’s important to pause, take a deep breath, and remind yourself: what you have is enough.