For the nearly 20 years that I've lived in the UAE, travelling home was simple.
I would fly a little over three hours to Delhi. After a short layover, another two-hour flight would take me to Imphal, the capital of India’s north-eastern state of Manipur. From there, it was just 45 minutes by road to my hometown of Churachandpur.
Door-to-door, the journey was straightforward. Long, perhaps, but predictable.
That changed in 2023, when violence erupted in Manipur between the majority Meitei community and tribal groups. The conflict has displaced thousands and divided the state along ethnic lines. For many tribal communities like mine, travelling through Imphal, where a majority of the Meitei community live, became effectively impossible – including the use of the airport.
My journey home suddenly required a detour.
Instead of flying into Manipur, tribal communities from Churachandpur travel to Aizawl, capital of neighbouring Mizoram. From there, reaching Churachandpur involves a winding 10-hour road trip through hills and forests, along narrow mountain roads that twist through India’s remote north-east.
The drive is beautiful, but it is not easy.
It is the sort of journey that begins before sunrise and ends long after dark, passing through small towns, police checkpoints and stretches of road where mobile connectivity disappears.
Still, it's become the new normal for the tribal communities. The long way home.
I took the trip at the end of February – my first time home since the 2023 conflict began. I left Abu Dhabi and travelled to India, knowing the final leg would involve the 10-hour drive. What I did not anticipate was that another conflict – this time thousands of kilometres away in my second home – would complicate the journey even on my way back.
The day I made the same drive back again to catch a flight out of India, on February 28, was the same day US President Donald Trump decided to declare war on Iran. Reading the headlines through spotty mobile internet as our 4X4 navigated the sharp mountain bends, the war felt distant at first.
Despite the US bombings in Iran, I decided to go ahead with the journey anyway. The UAE has always felt safe, even as conflicts escalate across the region.
But as Iran began launching waves of missiles and drones towards targets across the Gulf, the war was no longer something happening somewhere else. As flights were cancelled, the journey I had planned so carefully began to unravel.
Soon after arriving back in Aizawl, my original flight for March 2 was suspended, as was the one on March 3. As things escalated and airspaces closed, I found myself returning home to Churachandpur, making the 10-hour journey once again.
In total, I drove that 10-hour road four times on this trip – back and forth through the same hills, the same bends in the road, passing the same roadside stalls selling tea and snacks to one-off travellers.
Each journey began to blur into the next.
While I enjoyed the unplanned stay, it was a strange way to experience home: moving constantly between departure and arrival, unsure which journey would finally take me where I needed to be.
My life in Abu Dhabi, my second home, was waiting for me. I have lived in the UAE for two decades. My work is there. My routines are set. Even my two cats were waiting for me back in my apartment, being looked after by a patient cat-sitter who sent daily updates and photos.
Eventually, after multiple cancelled flights, I realised the only way back was to change my plans entirely. Instead of waiting for my original airline to change or cancel my flight for the third time, I managed to get a seat on an Emirates flight from Delhi to Dubai on March 10. It was significantly more expensive but, by then, certainty felt more valuable.
When the packed plane finally lifted off, the relief was immediate. After weeks of uncertainty, the journey was finally moving in the right direction.
A mere three hours later, we landed in Dubai.
Later that night, when I unlocked the door to my Abu Dhabi apartment, my cats greeted me with a mixture of curiosity and mild reproach for my prolonged absence.
It was a small, ordinary moment, but one of great relief.
For many people living between countries, mobility often feels like a given. It's easy to assume that these routes and connections will always exist.
But sometimes the world reminds you how fragile those connections really are.
My long way home had never been quite so arduous – and I have never been more grateful to arrive.
