When I was in standard 7th or 8th, there was an Odia travelogue in our literature book. It was about Mussoorie. I no longer remember its exact title or the author, but I still remember the feeling it left behind. The description of the hill station – its winding roads, its distant horizons, its people – was so vivid that I could imagine the place clearly without ever stepping outside Odisha.

Over the years, I have heard that Mussoorie has changed rapidly. It no longer resembles the quiet, evocative place described in that travelogue. It has become crowded, polluted, urbanised – transformed into a tourism hub driven by money. As a child, I had a strong desire to visit it someday. But now, I no longer feel that urge. Somewhere, I feel that the place I wanted to see exists only in those words I once read.

Though I have not travelled widely outside my home state, I have been fortunate to journey across Odisha because of my work. And the more I reflect on these travels, the more I realise that travel, for me, has always been something deeper – almost spiritual. It has allowed me to feel the vastness of the earth: its landscapes, its colours, its cultures, and its people.

It has also quietly changed the way I see my own life. I have seen people working from morning to evening just to secure two meals a day, struggling to protect their land and dignity in the face of constant pressure from systems larger than them. In those moments, my own worries begin to feel small. While I complain about my expensive phone slowing down, there are people living far away who find contentment in a modest life – and in something as simple and beautiful as watching the Palash flowers bloom every summer, year after year.

These experiences have made me pause and think about the way we travel today. Does travel still change us? Does it still leave any lasting impact on the traveller?

In recent years, our phones and social media feeds have been filled with countless pictures and videos of beautiful places around the world. Sunsets over calm seas, mountains wrapped in clouds, colourful markets, perfect cafes – everything looks dreamy and inviting. But this trend is not just about pretty travel images. I have started considering it “travel porn,” and the term describes something deeper and more worrying.

Travel porn is not only about glossy, unreal pictures. It is about the endless, mindless consumption of travel itself. It is the habit of rushing from one place to another without curiosity, without attention, and without patience – simply to say, “I have been here too.” Just like other kinds of pornography, which create a quick rush but offer no real intimacy, travel porn gives momentary pleasure but leaves no lasting understanding. It turns travel into a product, and the traveller into a hungry consumer who wants more and more, without ever feeling full.

Because of this, many destinations have quietly stopped being seen as living places. They are reduced to backgrounds. Culture, history, and everyday life fade away behind the camera frame. A temple becomes a selfie spot. A village becomes scenery. A coastline becomes a drone shot. The soul of the place is pushed aside.

This habit has especially shaped the behaviour of many young travellers in India, including Odisha. Travelling has become a checklist: arrive, pose, party, post, repeat. The goal is not to experience, but to capture. The journey is no longer about understanding the world but about updating the feed. There is little time spent understanding local traditions, listening to stories, or simply sitting in silence. The goal becomes to collect destinations like trophies. When the photos are uploaded and the likes begin to rise, the traveller feels successful – even though nothing inside them has changed.

Yet travel was never meant to be consumed this way. Traditionally, it was an act of learning. People once travelled to feel small in front of ancient monuments, to be humbled by new languages, to listen to songs and stories they had never heard before. Travel was supposed to stretch the mind, soften the ego, and open the heart. It was both silent and expressive. It made a person question themselves and admire others.

Today, however, travel often feels rushed and noisy. It becomes loud, planned by trend, and driven by fear of missing out. There is a form of expression happening on screens — captions, reels, travel vlogs. They come home with thousands of captures but very few memories. The world feels smaller because flights are easier, but our experiences feel thinner because our attention is shorter.

The effects of this are visible everywhere. Places that become popular through social media begin to suffer. Crowds increase, waste accumulates, and local life gets disrupted. What was once peaceful slowly becomes chaotic. The beauty that attracted people in the first place begins to fade under the weight of attention.

Across India, travel has become an addiction – an obsession. Travelling is no longer occasional; it is constant. Young people feel uneasy if they do not travel often. Weekends must be spent on highways or airports. New cafes must be visited immediately. Forest treks are chosen because they look cinematic on video. There is a pressure to always be going somewhere. Beaches, highways, cafes, hills – everything becomes part of a continuous cycle of movement and display.

So we must ask ourselves: why do we travel? Is it only to be seen in beautiful places, or to become more beautiful inside? Do we travel to escape boredom, or to discover something worth caring about? If travel does not change how we think, listen, observe, or respect, then we may not be travelling at all – we are only moving.

Maybe the answer lies in slowing down. In allowing ourselves to sit quietly in a place without reaching for the camera. In tasting food with attention, in listening to people without hurry, in noticing the small details that never appear in curated images. Real travel does not happen on a screen. It happens within us. When we stop travelling as consumers and start travelling as learners, something shifts. We begin to carry places within us, not just as images, but as experiences that shape who we are.

Perhaps travel should once again make us contemplative, humble, and quietly expressive. Perhaps the journey should matter more than the proof. And perhaps, if we return home even slightly changed, we can say that we truly travelled.