Episode 17: One More Dream (concluding episode)

 

Photo by Johannes Plenio on Unsplash

On the way to Bangalore, we stopped at Ramana Ashram for one final visit before leaving Tiruvannamalai.

The driver drove very skillfully. His steady and expert driving helped me relax and even get some sleep in the car.

After reaching Bangalore, I dropped the driver at an interstate bus terminal in Shantinagar, from where he could get a bus back to Tiruvannamalai, and drove to the homestay, which was about three kilometres from there.

After checking in, I switched on the AC and slept like a log till evening.

I had got a lot of rest that day: in the car and at the homestay. Consequently, I felt like going out for a stroll in the evening.

This homestay was near one of the entrances to Lalbagh, which is a massive garden in Bangalore. I thought it would be a good idea to spend some time amidst nature in Lallbagh.

Not wanting to sit in a crowded place, I parked myself on a good seat in a secluded part of the garden. The only people who passed through that path were joggers and evening walkers who went about their exercise quietly. Two hours of sitting quietly under a tree in nature made me feel a lot better. I felt that I could leave Bangalore the next day itself instead of staying back for an additional day.

That night, I paid my dues to the homestay host and told him that I might leave the next morning if I felt good enough.

When the alarm rang in the morning, I woke up feeling very refreshed and decided to leave for Belagavi right away. The drive from Bangalore to Belagavi was quiet and uneventful. I stayed once again at Abhi’s homestay in Belagavi for a day and left for Pune the next morning.

On the way to Pune, just after crossing Kolhapur, I was stopped by a group of four traffic cops. They had put up one of those barricades that force you to slow down and drive zig-zag. It seemed they were doing routine checking.

One of them walked up to me and asked for my license and car papers. I gave him my license and the pouch containing the car papers. He examined everything carefully with a taciturn expression. The license was good, the car registration was good, the insurance papers were good. His expression did not change until he held the PUC certificate in his hands. That’s when I noticed a faint glimmer of joy which immediately transformed into the original taciturn look.

“The PUC certificate has expired,” he told me.

I checked the card. He was right. It expired three days back.

I tried to explain to him that it had just expired a couple of days back and promised to get it renewed in Pune. I also showed him the stack of all past PUC certificates as a proof that I always had my papers in order. However, my explanations did not help much. He insisted that I pay the fine. I had neither the energy nor the inclination to argue, so I paid the fine, and moved on towards Pune.

On the way, at a particularly empty stretch of road, I reminisced about the one and half month stay in Tiruvannamalai.

Three desires had converged to make this trip possible. Ever since my grad student days in USA, I had a strong desire to do an adventurous long-distance solo drive. The second desire was to spend at least a month in a place like Tiruvannamalai or Rishikesh, where I could stay away from city life in relative solitude. And finally, I harboured the desire for a spiritual experience.

I got the adventure and the solo drive. I also had an opportunity to stay in reasonable solitude, away from city life. However, the spiritual experience that I had hoped for did not happen. Instead, I found peace while looking at Arunachala and the stars from my terrace. I found peace in the ashram during the evening aarti and in my visit to Virupaksha cave, where Ramana Maharishi had stayed for several years. But most importantly, I experienced kindness from both my Airbnb hosts and other strangers who helped me deal with various challenges that came up from time to time.

It felt like Ramana Maharishi was winking at me, saying: “Relax buddy, I gave you what was best for you!”

As I drove on towards Pune, nature once again showed up in all glory. There were mountains, open fields, the sky above me, and the road moving rapidly below. My mind took a flight and started planning the next solo trip—this time, from Pune to Pondicherry. 

Episode 16: This time it's not a car problem

 

The view of Tiruvannamalai from Arunachala Hill

The days in Tiruvannamalai passed by rapidly.

I worked in the mornings, read in the afternoon, visited the ashram in the evenings, and stared at the stars and Arunachala from my terrace at night 🙂

Every full-moon, thousands of devotees do the girivalam — a 14-kilometre walk around Arunachala. The full-moon happened a few days after the fuel-pump incident and I was very excited to walk 14-kilometres in three and a half hours.

One morning, I climbed up Arunachala to visit the ancient Virupaksha cave where Ramana Maharishi had stayed for several years. There was an energy of immense peace in the cave. The mountaintop also offered a breathtaking view of the city and the Arunachaleshwara Shiva Temple.

In the mornings, I cooked Khichdi for myself and my evening meal was an uttapam with filter coffee at a restaurant opposite the ashram or a light meal at a nearby terrace restaurant. I often shared a table with other travellers and exchanged interesting stories with people from different parts of the world.

I enjoyed a wonderful 4-week stay in Tiruvannamalai and before I knew it, my stay was soon ending.

In the second half of my stay, the mercury had risen in Tiruvannamalai. To cool my body, I started consuming copious amounts of packaged lassi I bought from a supermarket near the ashram.

I’ve always had a problem with tonsils from childhood. Artificial fruit flavours, cold water, and aerated cold drinks don’t go well with me (fortunately, my system has never complained about beer). It’s been decades since I stopped drinking cold water and artificial juices, but somehow, lassi did not ring any alarm bells in my mind. It should have, because a week before leaving, my throat hurt like hell and I caught a very high fever that refused to subside, even after three days of complete bed rest and max doses of paracetamol. I also could not eat anything which left me very weak.

Bala and his family helped me a lot during this time. I will always be grateful to them for the generosity and kindness they showed me.

One of his cousins, who owned an auto-rickshaw, took me to the doctor and arranged for medicines. The doctor said that a virus was going around Tiruvannamalai and many people had come to him with similar complaints in the past few days. He put me on a regimen of heavy antibiotics that helped my throat get better in a couple of days. The fever also subsided. However, it took me a few more days to regain enough strength to walk around the apartment.

Bala arranged for a maid to clean the house, clothes, and wash the dishes. She also cooked a bit of khichdi in the morning. A katori of khichdi was about all I could eat without throwing up.

However, in the evening, my body refused any kind of solid food. During my frequent visits to the terrace restaurant behind my apartment, I had spoken often with the brothers who were caretakers of the restaurant. When I was unwell, they delivered a bowl of soup every evening. It was very kind of them because, as a practice, that restaurant did not do home deliveries.

I had to extend my stay in Tiruvannamalai, since it was impossible to travel back to Pune in that state of health. Once again, Bala was very helpful. He said I could stay as long as I wanted and could also leave when I was in better health with just one day’s notice. A super kind gesture on his part.

A few days later, when I was doing better, I walked to the terrace restaurant for dinner. The restaurant caretakers had already been very kind to me and I did not want to bother them further. I was also keen to go out and get some fresh air.

I’m sure many of you have watched the movie: The 36th Chamber of Shaolin. After the movie’s grand success, video libraries in Mumbai were flooded with kung-fu movies. I could never figure out the story in those movies, but they had a lot of antics and drunken kung-fu masters.

That day, on my way to the restaurant, my head started spinning after walking a few metres, after which I walked in the dark and dangerous alleys of Tiruvannamalai like a combination of a drunken kung-fu master and the brilliant Bollywood comedian, Keshto Mukherjee. Full of bravado, I climbed up two flights of stairs, swaggered into the terrace restaurant, tipped my hat, and shot a sideways glance at my new friend. Stabilising my body, I raised my right hand in greeting, while expertly balancing my water bottle in my left hand, after which I took the crouching tiger stance, and said, ijhiijhjiiyay, in a way that would have made even Keshto blush.

Anyway, I had a full plate of khichdi, which was quite an achievement considering my diet from the past few days. On my way back, I could walk like a normal sane human being. No crouching tiger; only ijhiijhjiiyay.

After saying ijhiijhjiiyay a few more times, my health improved steadily and my appetite returned to normal. However, I still wasn’t in a state to drive back to Pune, so I decided to stay in Tiruvannamalai for a few more days. After a certain point, my recovery plateaued. I think it was because the weather in Tiruvannamalai had become very hot.

Unable to take the heat much longer, I left for Pune after a couple of days. Even though my health was much better, the stomach cramps and weakness persisted. So, just to be safe, I asked Bala if we could find a good driver to take me to Bangalore. Bala spoke with his uncle, who had helped us earlier to find the car mechanic. He helped us, once again, by arranging for a trusted driver to drive my car to Bangalore.

With these arrangements done, I was keen on reaching Bangalore because I felt its milder weather would help me recover faster.

Previous Episode: An Unusual Maternity Home 

Next Episode: One More Dream (concluding episode) 

Episode 15: An Unusual Maternity Home

Photo by Niranjan _ Photographs on Unsplash

I didn’t have to wait too long for an answer. A squirrel leaped onto this guy’s chest from the fuel pump area and sprinting from chest to stomach to knee, and having disembarked from the mechanic’s body, it made a dash for the bushes.

The wire hunter emerged from under the car with a flat, square, nest-like structure made of grass and other throwaway stuff. Within this structure were two small squirrel babies. He held the squirrel babies in one hand and some chewed wires in the other.

“Oh my God,” I exclaimed. The squirrel that had just jumped out some time back was a mama squirrel who had birthed two babies near my fuel pump. My car had become an unlikely squirrel maternity home.

I looked at the babies. They were very little, very cute, and translucent. Their eyes were shut and their body expanded and contracted as they breathed.

The mechanic held the grass bed gently and put it down under a tree. After that, he showed me bits of wires which the mama squirrel had chewed away.

It was a moment of mixed emotions. On the one hand, I was happy that they had finally figured out the problem, but, on the other hand, I felt guilty that these little squirrels had been separated from their mother and were now in the wild, unprotected from predators. I could hear crows cawing from the trees, and prowling cats couldn’t be ruled out either.

Squirrels get scared very easily and the mama squirrel had taken off in fear. But I did not know if she had abandoned her babies or was hiding somewhere waiting for the right time to get them back.

I stood beside the babies to make sure they were safe while the mechanics continued working on the car. But, really, how does one care for newly born baby squirrels who have been abandoned? I was wondering if I should take them to my apartment or to a vet or to an animal shelter. I was clueless and so was Bala, my homestay host.

I checked the Internet, hoping to find answers there. One of the articles suggested that one could take the baby squirrels to a local animal shelter. Another suggested that it’s best to take them home and care for them for three weeks until they can move out of the nest. I didn’t know how to care for baby squirrels. I didn’t know what to feed them. Surely, they would need something to sustain themselves. They were so tiny that I was scared to handle them. Taking them to an animal shelter felt like a better solution.

I asked Bala if he knew of any animal shelters in Tiruvannamalai. He didn’t. I asked him if he knew of any vets. He didn’t know any vets either, but said that he could find out. We continued our discussion, trying to figure out various possibilities to protect the babies.

Meanwhile, the mechanics had fixed the car and asked me for the key. The stockier mechanic got into the driver’s seat and turned the ignition key one notch to start the electrical system. He wanted to explain something to me. He told me to watch out for a “grrrrrr” sound from the back of the car.

“This is the fuel pump sound,” he said.

He explained that the car makes this sound every time you turn the key one notch. It meant that the fuel pump was starting. If we don’t hear the sound, it could indicate a problem with the fuel pump.

Next, he folded his hands, closed his eyes, chanted “Om Namah Shivaya”, and turned the key one more notch to start the car. And lo-and-behold!!! The car cranked and fired like its good old self. For the second time in this trip, the harsh sound of my car’s engine sounded like the sweet melodies of Shreya Ghosal.

Relieved that the car was sorted out, I suddenly realised that I had left the squirrel babies alone for a long time. I turned back towards the tree to look for them. That’s when I saw Bala smiling from a distance.

The nest was empty. Bala said that while we were near the car, he also moved away from the tree to answer a phone call. Interestingly, once everyone was away from the babies, the mama squirrel came and quietly took its babies.

Ultimately, everything ended well, and I happily paid the mechanics their fees and added a good tip. I thanked them and Bala a dozen times before taking the car for a little spin in Tiruvannamalai.

Episode 14: Shriek Upon Shriek

Photo by Xavi Cabrera on Unsplash

I paid the mechanic for his visit and watched helplessly as he wrapped up his stuff and mounted his bike to leave.

Just as he was about to leave the parking space, I realised that I had not seen him get under the car. Mechanics have to get under the car at least once. It’s a customer satisfaction thing. Like, when you go to a doctor, you feel satisfied when they listen to your problems, nod with sympathy, and give you some blue, pink, and yellow pills.

This guy wasn’t getting away without getting under the car. And in any case, you have to get under the car to check the fuel pump. His shady voltmeter may have declared that the circuit was good, but he should have checked the fuel pump wires as well.

I shouted, “Wait, wait!”

He stopped and looked behind.

“Did you look under the car in the fuel pump area?”

“No sir not needed. All circuit good.”

“No no. Please check the fuel pump. Get under the car and check the fuel pump wires… Fuel pump wires. Please check if they are cut.” I repeated, in a desperate attempt to stop him.

He shook his head as if I was a child who refused to understand a simple thing.

But, fortunately, he decided to humour me. Getting off his bike, he pulled out a small jack from his backpack, raised the car, and slid under.

I stood by the side, looking at him expectantly. Hoping that he would find something in there.

I could see he was struggling with something. He came out from under the car after five minutes, showing me his bare but stout hands.

He was a well-built person and apparently, his palms and wrists were too large to reach the place where the wires were located.

For a moment, I wondered if I should volunteer to find the wires. My hands were thin and could reach the wires if he gave me directions.

However, he promised to return with one of his colleagues before I could suggest myself for the job.

I was in two minds. I really wanted to check this myself because I wasn’t even sure if he’d return. But he assured me that he’d be back with his colleague in a few hours. I was a bit hesitant to let him go, but there wasn’t any way to stop him, so I thanked him and said that I’ll wait for his call.

I went back to counting petals, but the afternoon sun blazed angrily at me, as if reminding me that flower petals were meant to be used for supremely important matters like love, and not for trivial matters like car break-downs. I respected aasman and released the flower back to dharti, and did the only reasonable thing that can be done in such times — I had my lunch.

Fortunately, the mechanic kept his promise. He returned after two hours with a slimmer colleague and a larger, industrial-sized jack.

They raised one side of the car with the jack. It was a huge jack with which they were able to raise the car really high. The slimmer of the two got under the car and expertly manoeuvred his hands to get to the fuel pump area. He emerged after about five minutes and declared that he would have to unscrew at least one screw of the fuel tank and lower it a bit to reach the wires.

I wasn’t sure if all this was needed, but the matter was out of my spectrum of car knowledge, so I left it to them, asking them to do whatever they had to do.

“Please be careful and put everything back together properly,” I requested, silently hoping they knew what they were doing.

This was going to take some time, so instead of just standing there, I started walking around the parking space until…

Until I heard a scream from under the car.

Apparently, the person who was unscrewing the petrol tank did not realise that it was over three-fourth full. He was expecting an empty tank. When he unscrewed the tank, it came down from one side, almost crushing him. I still have a feeling he had removed two screws instead of one.

Fortunately, the other mechanic was big and strong. He quickly slid under the car and held the tank while the slimmer one began his hunt for the fuel pump wires.

I decided to stand there and watch, just in case a third person’s help was needed for something. Very soon there was another shriek from the wire hunter, followed by a wild laugh from the other mechanic.

“What was going on?”

Previous Episode: A Strange Voltmeter 

Next Episode: An Unusual Maternity Home 

Episode 13: A Strange Voltmeter

 

Photo by Christian Erfurt on Unsplash

I needed to show the car to a mechanic. However, it was 6:30 PM, perhaps a bit late for that day. I asked Bala if he knew a good mechanic. He didn’t, but he promised to find out from his uncle, who owned a “tour and travels” business. He said his uncle had a few taxis and would know a good mechanic for sure.

After thanking Bala for his help, I proceeded to the ashram, sat there for some time in the meditation hall, had dinner, and returned home. That night, on the terrace, instead of looking at the stars and Arunachala, I browsed my mobile to find solutions to my problem.

As I browsed through various internet forums, one particular discussion caught my attention. The question described the exact same problem. This guy had fuel in his car, but the fuel gauge showed empty and his car wouldn’t start.

There was just one answer. It suggested that he might be dealing with fuel pump malfunction. The answer went on to explain that the fuel pump was located under the fuel tank at the rear of the car. If the wires were cut by any chance, it would prevent the fuel gauge from getting any voltage, resulting in an empty reading, even if the tank was full. It would also prevent the fuel pump from transferring fuel to the ignition unit. That was why the car didn’t start.

This explanation made sense to me. There must be a cut in the fuel pump wires. That’s why the fuel indicator didn’t budge even when I filled fuel and that’s why the car didn’t start — because the malfunctioning fuel pump couldn’t transfer fuel to the ignition unit.

Understanding the problem is half the solution. Armed with this information, I felt somewhat more relaxed. I looked at the stars and Arunachala for a few minutes before retiring for the day.

Meanwhile, a message announced that Bala had obtained the address of a good mechanic from his uncle. He told me we could go on his bike to the garage in the morning.

The next morning, as promised, Bala took me to the mechanic whose garage was about three kilometres away.

I explained the problem and also told him about what I had read on the Internet. He said he would send someone to check the fuel pump circuit.

With nothing else to do, we returned to the car and waited for that ‘someone’ to come. I picked up a flower from the ground and plucked its petals: “He will come; he will not come; he will come; he will not come; he will….“

The gate opened after 30 minutes. Wow! He came as promised.

Based on the web page I had read the previous night, I assumed the mechanic would come with a voltmeter. Instead, this guy came with a battery and lots of wires. He connected the wires in different places to check the electrical circuit. I was a little puzzled. I couldn’t figure out what he was trying to do.

After about fifteen minutes of checking, he declared that the circuit was in perfect condition.

“No fuel pump problem, sir…” he said confidently.

“Don’t you need a voltmeter to check the circuit?” I asked, a little exasperated.

“No sir, I check with this.” He pointed to the battery.

“Please check again with a voltmeter,” I almost pleaded.

“Not needed sir. Circuit good. No problem.”

I didn’t know what to say. I had pinned all my hopes on broken or cut fuel pump wires. But now he was saying they weren’t the problem. I was back to square one.

“So, what is the problem?” I asked him.

“I don’t know sir. You take car to Maruti Service Centre.”

“Ok, where is the service centre?”

“On Chennai highway sir. Thirty-two kilometres from here.”

Good God! Thirty-two kilometres!!! Never before in my life had I been so disappointed that something important wasn’t broken.

“So I will have to tow the car?”

“Yes sir.” He said with a grim look on his face.

I was mortified. The lane in which the car was parked was very narrow and the place where it met the main road was dug up for some road work. There was a back road too, but It meant pushing the car at least some distance, and then going with the towing truck to the service centre, and returning by an ST bus, and then going back once again to pick the car after… I didn’t know how many days they would take to fix the car and I didn’t know what the service centre guys would say and even whether they could fix the problem. Suddenly, I was beginning to feel tired. Very tired.

I paid the mechanic for his visit and watched helplessly as he wrapped up his stuff and mounted his bike to leave.

Previous Episode: Mystery of the Disappearing Fuel 

Next Episode: Shriek Upon Shriek 

Episode 12: Mystery of the Disappearing Fuel

Photo by Sten Rademaker on Unsplash

I spent the first few days in Tiruvannamalai getting settled into my small 1BHK Airbnb, catching up on my freelancing work and visiting the ashram. Being busy with these activities, I did not find time to start my car. It was parked in a small parking lot next to the Airbnb host’s house about 100 metres away from where I stayed. The car was safe, so there was no urgency to check on it.

But after ten days, I thought it might be a good idea to start the car. I wasn’t expecting anything to be wrong but just wanted to get the engine going and move the wheels a bit.

The next evening, I left for the ashram a little early and went to the parking space first. The car’s body was dusty, and the windshield had a medium-thick layer of dust on which I wrote ‘Tiruvannamalai’ with my fingers, just for fun. I wanted to clean the car, but, given the dust, it would have taken a lot of time and effort, so I made a mental note to find someone to clean it twice every week. But for now, just starting the car would have to suffice.

I got in the car and turned on the ignition key. The engine made a sound. It was a normal sound; the engine was cranking, the spark-plugs were firing, but, and there always is a but, the car did not start.

I looked at the fuel indicator, which, to my horror, showed empty. This was impossible. The tank was somewhere between half and three-fourth full when I had parked the car ten days back. That’s about 20 - 25 litres of petrol.

I had double-checked the fuel gauge and also noted the mileage while parking the car.

I pulled out my phone to get the details. The odometer showed the same mileage reading. The car hadn’t moved an inch. So where did 20-25 litres of petrol disappear?

If this had happened to bollywood actor Amrish Puri, he was have said in his ominous baritone, “Abe murkh insano, meri gaadi ka petrol kaha gaya? Kya use aasman kha gaya ya dharti nigal gayi?“

I simply scratched my chin and stared into space, wondering what was going on. I may not have a baritone and gun-toting henchmen, but dreadful years in software development have given me the gift of logic, so I squatted near the fuel tank and tried to sniff for any sign of petrol leakage. There was none. Neither smell nor dark patches under the car. That was strange. I called Bala, the Airbnb, host to ask him if he had smelled petrol or if anyone who lived in that lane had reported a strong petrol smell. He said that he had visited the parking area several times in the past few days but had never smelled leaking petrol. No one in the lane had reported anything either.

Could someone have stolen the petrol? I looked at the little lid outside the fuel tank. It was locked. I unlatched it to check the lock. The black screwable cap was in place and tight. I doubted if a thief would be so conscientious to fix the cap back properly and close the lid. And, in any case, I didn’t believe the fuel was stolen. The people in that lane felt like they were trust worthy and taking twenty litres of petrol isn’t something you can do in a few minutes. Somebody would have noticed it.

So where had the fuel disappeared? I looked at dharti and aasman but they were as clueless as me.

Completely clueless, I tried the pointless exercise of turning the ignition on and off a few times, but the fuel gauge stayed at ‘E’ and the car refused to start.

I checked the headlights to make sure the battery was in good shape. It was.

There was only one thing left to do: pour fuel into the car. I asked Bala if we could get petrol from somewhere.

He got a 5 litre can from his house and took me to a nearby petrol pump to get it filled.

Back at the car, we cut an old plastic bottle and connected it to a sturdy plastic pipe to create a funnel. With this makeshift apparatus in place, we transferred the petrol into the car.

Filled with hope, I turned the ignition key. The fuel indicator stayed stubbornly at “E” and the car too did not start.

Could it be that five litres weren’t enough? It really should have been enough, but I decided to get some more. Off I went to the petrol pump and came back with some more fuel, which was quickly poured into the fuel tank.

I did the whole car-starting-dance again and got the same result. The indicator refused to budge, and the car refused to start.

By now, it was clear that lack of fuel was not the problem. The problem lay somewhere else. Something was causing the fuel indicator to malfunction and preventing the car from starting.

This problem was way beyond my scanty knowledge of cars. I needed expert help.

Previous Episode: Tiruvannamalai 

Next Episode: A Strange Voltmeter 

Episode 11: Tiruvannamalai

Entering Tiruvannamalai with Arunachala in the background

 

Filter Coffee did its magic and my relationship with the map lady was restored. Her voice boomed in the car again.

“Continue straight…”

We were both happy that we were getting on well with each other, but in that joy, she became over-zealous and did some rerouting magic. It seemed she had found a shorter route. I saw the horizontal rerouting-bar at the bottom of my mobile screen progressing as the map lady changed the route to take me through a supposed shortcut. I thought she meant well, but in retrospect, I’m not so sure. I wonder if algorithms can hold grudges. Not right now, but the thought of a smart-ass techie creating AI algorithms that hold grudges is quite unpleasant. And looking at the way AI seems to creep into every aspect of human life, I can only keep my fingers crossed.

For a moment, I thought I should stop to ask a “real dependable human” for the best route to Tiruvannamalai. However, it didn’t seem like a good idea. Being alone in an unknown place where I did not speak the language made me hesitate. I didn’t want to show that I was lost.

I pulled over onto the side of the road to examine the map software. I didn’t know which road it was taking me through, but I could see it led to Tiruvannamalai. Under the circumstances, I thought it best to trust the map lady and follow her directions without risking another quarrel. And so I meekly followed her directions, going straight when she said and taking turns at her behest.

Soon I was off the highway on a small dusty road with cars, busses, bikes, and small tempos. On the left were a few shops scattered far and wide, with lots of open countryside behind them. The small tempo ahead rattled as it negotiated the traffic and potholes on the road. Seated at the back of the uncovered tempo were two women, one man, and two kids. The women wore colourful pink and green saris and the man wore a white lungi and a blue t-shirt. I don’t remember what the kids were wearing, but I remember they were asleep. They were trying to get some rest — at least whatever rest was possible under the afternoon sun in tropical India.

After a few more kilometres, the map lady asked me to take a turn onto a road that soon became a narrow, one and half lane road that passed through a village. However, there was something strange about this village. There were small houses on the left and fields on the right, but not a single human in sight. Well, there was one. Just one. An old woman with a pile of sticks on her head. Maybe everyone was indoors because of the afternoon heat. I don’t know. It was just weird to see a town so utterly deserted in India.

My mobile signal was also flaky and the map lady announced “GPS signal lost…” a few times. All I knew was that the road led to Tiruvannamalai and so I drove on with faith in my heart and a prayer on my lips.

Much to my relief, this one-and-a-half-lane road did come to an end. I was once again on a small highway bustling with life. I prefer solitude and am always on the lookout for places that are a little away from civilization, but this was one of the few times when I welcomed bustling human activity with eagerness and relief.

After a few kilometres on this highway, the road quality started deteriorated. At first, there were small potholes, which later became large potholes, and after some time there were only potholes and no road. I felt like I was in a boat, tossed around by the waves of a stormy ocean. Fortunately, the storm didn’t last too long, and I was soon on mostly flat land without my car having to endure any tyre damage. I drove ahead on this unfamiliar road until I spotted a familiar name: Chengam.

Chengam is a large town just before Tiruvannamalai. I heaved a sigh of relief. Wow! I was almost there. It was a beautiful feeling that filled me with renewed energy, despite the heat.

At 4:45 PM, I saw, at a distance, the wonderful “Arunachala” hill. This modest hill is of great prominence in Hindu mythology, with two very famous legends of Lord Shiva associated with it. It’s also the hill where Ramana Maharishi spent the greater part of his life after arriving in Tiruvannamalai. It is said that he refused to leave Arunachala and did not step away from the hill even once after taking up residence there.

I had finally reached my destination!

Previous Episode: Someone Give me a Horse, Please! 

Next Episode: Mystery of the Disappearing Fuel