Nair Was Here

Most travel books will tell you where to eat what to see and how to “find yourself.” This one will tell you how I lost myself my dignity shredded at immigration counters where men in polyester uniforms held my passport like a piece of toxic waste how I was racially abused by a bus driver in Birmingham who weaponized “British politeness” like it was mustard gas and how I was emasculated by a tree root in Cambodia that looked more anatomically successful than me. From the sterile beaches of the Maldives (where paradise is served with a service charge) to the bureaucratic hellscape of Russian borders (where time is measured in hours of humiliation) from Australia’s glorious outdoors (which Indians actively avoid in favor of WhatsApp gossip and overcooked chicken masala) to Britain’s drizzle-soaked civility (polite on the surface quietly seething underneath) this is not Eat Pray Love. This is Stand in Queue Get Insulted Repeat. It is not about discovering beauty. It is about discovering how cruel airline seats can be to your spine how creative border guards can be with the word “No” and how human dignity can be eroded one visa stamp at a time. It is about Russians taller than lampposts Australians outdoorsier than any Indian uncle could tolerate and British weather that’s basically a damp towel draped across an entire country. If you want inspiration buy a yoga mat and scream “namaste” into the void. If you want hope stop reading now. But if you want the unfiltered humiliations of one man who should have just stayed home served with sarcasm spite and enough self-deprecation to qualify as a psychiatric disorder then welcome. This is not a guidebook or in a way it is a “how not to” book. Consider this a warning label.