Not how it’s done

The 1,700-year-old water town of Zhujiajiao is known as the Venice of Shanghai, and today I get to sip chilled peach soju here, in the shade of an orange bud-laden pomegranate tree and type this column, occasionally waving out to tourists as they sail past my stone bench in gondola/shikara style boats along the meandering, limpid, grey-green canal.

- ANUJA CHAUHAN

Why do we travel? To marvel at the world’s wonders, both natural and man-made, to connect with other people and cultures, muse over commonalities and differences and broaden our understanding of the human condition.

But lately, and on this trip especially, I have realised that Indian tourists are beginning to get an ugly reputation around the world. Now, I am all for Indian pride; love flaunting desi styles abroad: mirror-work stoles, ethnic jhumkis, kolhapuris, kajal. I am happy to rock the party with my desi Spotify playlist when requested, share my masala banana chips, Old Monk and knowledge of my roots with anybody who envinces an interest.