Life doesn’t always match up to our dreams, yet, twenty years after I had sowed the first seeds of travel, here I was: on a solo 1000-Km drive from Pune to Tiruvannamalai - a place I had longed to visit after reading Paul Brunton’s book: A Search in Secret India.
This was no small opportunity—and I was filled with gratitude for it. The road, the hills, the greenery, the sky... everything was laced with gratitude and joy.
We drove on quietly. I was lost in thoughts and my neighbour was probably tired after the night shift duty at the toll booth. I noticed him shutting and opening his eyes intermittently between yawns and groans. I was glad I gave him the ride. Night shifts can’t be easy for anyone.
“He bus station diste?” he asked me, pointing to some distant place on the left. I shook my head. I couldn’t see the bus station, but I switched into the left lane and slowed the car from 80 to 50 Kmh.
“He ithe baga,” he said, once again pointing to what I now saw as a bus station about 200 metres ahead. I slowed down even more.
The bus station was separated from the highway by a small service lane. I was figuring out how to get onto the service lane, when he said, “ithe thamba, mi jato.”
He asked me to stop by the side. He said he’d walk across to the bus station. Crossing over from the highway to the service lane was simpler on foot since there was a small mud mound of about ten feet separating the two.
He thanked me as he got down, and I wished him well. He proceeded to the bus station, and I drove on towards Kolhapur and Belagavi.
After stopping for a quick lunch near Kolhapur, I drove on to Belagavi. It was afternoon, and the sun beat down in full force, despite the car AC whirring at full speed.
Heat has a way of sapping my energy and making me impatient. I can drive forever in the evenings when it’s cool, and the sun is gentle, but afternoons are a different story altogether — they make me tired, edgy, and impatient.
Around 3:15 PM, much to my relief, the map lady instructed me to take the next left and get off the highway. Belagavi had finally arrived! Now, all I had to do was find my way to the Airbnb homestay, where I had booked myself for that night.
From the moment I entered Belagavi, all I could think of was a comfortable mattress, a dark, curtain-drawn, air-conditioned room, and a good, restful nap. My camper-van fantasy faded out and the heavenly mountains and sunsets made way for a heavenly bed and a heavenly nap.
Abhi, the Airbnb host, had sent me the location of his apartment, which I could find easily. I looked around as I turned into the lane where he stayed. It was a nice open neighbourhood that mostly had bungalows and a lot of open spaces. Lots of trees as well. Just as he had said, there was a parking bay next to the building wall where I parked my car, slung my laptop backpack over my shoulders, pulled out another bag containing some clothes and toiletries, and trudged to the apartment.
Fortunately, Abhi was at home for some work. He gave me a quick orientation, showed me where I could find drinking water and other essentials, helped me settle into the apartment, and returned to his work.
When you drive long-distance, it’s usually after you’ve reached the destination that you realise how tired you are. As I entered the room, I felt a wave of relief through my body. I switched on the AC, washed my face, and flopped down on the bed. I dozed off within seconds; still wearing my socks.
Two and a half hours later, I woke up with red eyes, wondering where the hell I was and what I was doing in this unknown place.
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