Luxury and semi-luxury luggage are the new fashion frontier amongst the Indian jet set. Our writer though recommends extreme caution, unless you are the kind who can afford to fly in private jets

By MWB Desk

I always wished to travel the world as a child. As the young today would say, I manifested it. I have boarded so many flights and taxied out of so many airports, and hotel lobbies, even in all humility, I would not hesitate to label myself a seasoned traveller. I say seasoned and not wise because wisdom is an ongoing process; every trip, even today, leaves me smarter. And no matter how many trips’ smart one becomes; one will occasionally give in to silly actions or decisions without realising their long-term consequences.

For example, I always lament the day I thought I needed a fancy suitcase to up my style quotient as a traveller. There I was, all upset about checking in a lame piece of luggage when clearly it was my style-related insecurities that I needed to be kept in check.

Destination reached, I decided to burden myself with the purchase of a limited edition black, all-aluminium Rimowa, check-in size— European check- in, where one packs a bag resembling a standard suitcase, and not the US check- in, where one carries a small apartment in the name of luggage. Rimowa, for the initiated, is a century-old German luxury luggage brand that is the current craze amongst Indian film stars and cricketers. Prices usually start upwards of Rs 1 lakh. The brand, acquired by LVMH in 2016, was launched in India earlier this year.

Back to my luxury Rimowa, it weighed almost 4 kilos empty! My next destination was in Europe itself, so I was unfortunately travelling economy, where the permissible weight limit is usually 15kg. The question now was how was one to check this beast in, and not expect to pay excess baggage. The flying business turned out to be cheaper. But when I got to my quaint hotel on the outskirts of a vineyard, there were no porters since I was checking in late in the evening. And I was forced into manually hauling up my expensive Sisyphean boulder all the way up to the rooftop suite all by myself. And I could hear the winds whisper in my ear, “Polycarbonate, mate”.

Still, having spent so much money buying my expensive Rimowa, it made no sense to me not to take it along during my frequent travels. I am sorry to report though, that I have since spent more time at their service centre in many of the international cities than at meetings. That’s because in spite of its tank-like gait and build, my luggage is more fragile than my ego (which was already quite weakened since the purchase). From wheels to handles, to locks and even the frame that holds the thing together, each part of the bag has come apart at one point or the other—much like Jackie Chan has broken bones in his career. Tell me how many flights I have taken with my Rimowa, and I will tell you how many times I got it repaired.

In fact, my wife has started calling it the ‘Rimowa Routine’ wherein I land, somehow get my broken suitcase to the hotel, empty all its contents into my room, and promptly hail a taxi to take me and my injured suitcase to the nearest service outlet. I have spent more money repairing it than I did buying it, and it just doesn’t end. There are others who tell me that they have had great experiences with their Rimowa, particularly their cabin baggage. Maybe I am unlucky, or they got lucky.

It’s not that all luggage brands that I own have treated me badly. Globetrotter, the old English brand, so English that I still feel servile around it, has served me superbly well. It’s strong and sturdy, the quality of parts is excellent, and the bag has worn well over time, acquiring a lovely sheen overall. It needs servicing and will require me to send it back to the UK at some point but after nearly 15 years of ownership, I think I owe it that much.

Tumi is another brand which manages to balance out on the sturdy yet somewhat- luxe scale. It isn’t exactly luxury but it’s definitely a brave soul who can afford to check in luggage even at this price point. That said, they are certainly built to take a tumble in the rough. Their Alpha series is so durable that I have had to simply buy a new one and move on whenever I have gotten bored of the previous one. But, of late, opening the hat rack (that’s the overhead storage on a plane) has revealed arrays of Tumi bags in such uniformity that I have had to shun it as some form of corporate garb that only goes to display how they have managed to straitjacket you into submitting to a higher capitalist power. Yes, I know, possibly my first-world insecurities are at play, but it was reason enough for me to move on and buy a new laptop bag.

I have toyed with the Montblanc ranges as well and they are definitely going where no formal format carry-ons have gone before–playful and boardroom-cheeky. Maybe Porsche Design, but that’s it. Either way, I’d still be scared of checking in Montblanc luggage, but their carry-on is light and worthy of being your companion on the road. Which finally brings me to the ubiquitous Samsonite, which seems to have been eternally friend-zoned by the luxury set, if you catch my drift. In terms of design and build, they remain the leaders but it’s the badge value that places them oddly too high to be commonplace (like say Delsey or American Tourister), and yet not prissy enough for the monogram- toting crowds. Speaking of monograms, I have found that the less marked your luggage is, the less the airport bag handlers bash it about in the hold. They always reserve their worst for the best-looking bags.

In the end, what I have learnt is that don’t ever get married to your check-in luggage; have an affair that lasts a few trips, a couple of years maybe, then cut off and move on to a new set. Carry-on luggage is where you shower all your love and emotions, but even there, don’t let it tie you up and weigh you down. I have gone from a leather satchel with brass fittings to a nylon backpack all in the interest of buoyancy. Carrying aluminium may soon become as archaic as voyage trunks, unless of course you have your own private jet and travel with a mini entourage of mayordomos to take care of your belongings.

For if you don’t, then one fine late evening as you trudge up a narrow flight of stairs at some baroque French castle to get to your grotto of a room, while pulling your tank of a suitcase up with you, you too may hear the winds whisper, “Polycarbonate, mate!”

Reproduced with permission from Mansworldindia.com