A Fully Abandoned Unplanned Road Trip

Raindrops oozed from the looming Panaji signboard over us. We were drenched in Mumbai rains that had no mercy for two men riding a bullet to Kalu waterfalls for a one-day trek.

Let us skip Kalu and go to Goa, I said jokingly.

Let's go. Ryan said.

He was hard to hear in that whooshing rain.

I asked loudly, Goa?

Ryan replied, should we?

I asked, should we not?

We decided to decide it over a cup of hot tea in the next dhaba. We took the detour to Goa and looked for a tea stall. No tea stall was open. We rode some more on the Goa route. Again no tea stall. I thought the mysterious absence of tea stalls was an omen - Goa was luring us to her.

"No sugarless tea. Only ready-made tea but not that much sugary", the boy said in the tea stall where we stopped.

What is with this Mumbai? No one drinks sugarless tea or what? I thought while drinking that hot sugary tea that the boy claimed to be of less sugar.

What are the roadblocks if we go to Goa? Ryan asked.

I thought for a moment.

Roadblock 1: When I previously went to Goa on the bike, I started the journey at around 4:15 AM and reached by 8:30 PM in Goa. Now it was 11:30 AM. We were a long way from Goa.

Roadblock 2:We were going to take NH66, which is picturesque but not in good condition. Previously I took buttery smooth NH48.

Roadblock 3: I went in January, not in July when Monsoon constantly slapped our faces for our daring to hit the road that too on a bike.

Roadblock 4: We have to take leave from the office. It was a Thursday and if we took off on Friday we could get a long weekend.

Silverlining 1: That Saturday was my Birthday. If everything flowed smoothly, we could be in a Goan beach shack, sipping cold beer and munching on fresh fish fry on my Birthday. Also, the crowd will be less. Beaches in the Monsoon are like a terrifying enchantress; not like in winter when beaches are like that pliant shy girl loved by everyone.

As roadblocks weighed more than Silverlining, we decided to GO TO GOA - take that giant leap of faith. To be reckless and have a Fully Abandoned Road Trip on my 31st Birthday.

The hot vapor from the sugary tea danced in that humid air. The butterflies of an unplanned trip mimicked the dance inside our bellies. We put the Google map to Goa and started the journey. The rain subsided to a slight drizzle as if the monsoon was finally making peace and ready to accompany us for our trip.

By noon, the rain was again gushing hard. We decided to have our lunch while the rain slowed down.

The dhaba that we went to had a look of a deserted wilderness. A secluded pandal was standing tall with some chairs and tables arranged lazily at the center of it - like relics of some bygone festivities. A swarm of flies buzzed around the table. The greenery and low mountains surrounded that picturesque dhaba. Farmland stretched out on both sides of the highway. Little huts etched between them seemed like tiny polka dots on the frock of nature. Two children were playing in a small puddle in the courtyard of one of the huts.

Soft Hindi songs were playing somewhere inside the dhaba. The songs and the pitter-patter of the rain took us to a different time. We thought that we had ridden to the past. Even the flies were flying around listlessly, like time had stopped moving forward and stuck in some past era.

Hum Tum Kitne paas hai kitne door hai chaand sitaare....

Two hot veg-thalis got served. As we put a spoonful of the steamed rice mixed with paneer curry in our mouth, with the rain spattering in front of us in the open farmland, we knew the adventure would not be a misadventure.

Sach poocho to man ko jhoote lagte hai ye saare....

We crooned softly.

Bade ache lagte hai....

We sat there for some more time to drink in that yesteryears, a stark contrast to the life of Mumbai with its breakneck speed dragging us by our collars.

The owner said that the pandal is for making an open bar as there is no bar-cum-restaurant in that area and that it will be a good business proposition on that Mumbai-Goa highway. Rather than a relic of the past, the pandal was a hope for the future. The owner and the staffs were mild-mannered and gentle. They even made an extra omelet when the first one was slightly overcooked. We wished him the best of luck.

In the dhaba, we planned to do a trek for which we had left our flat in the first place. So we decided to trek Dudhsagar in South Goa. We booked it in Trekhievers and paid 1499 each online. With the tickets to Dudhsagar in our pockets and adventure glistening in our eyes, we resumed the journey.

Cleansing mind and body

We took stops frequently: when the rain intensified, for taking Instagram-worthy pics, for stretching our backs, for hot masala teas, and most of all for basking in the glory of nature drenched in the rainstorm. We bathed in waterfalls that were secluded and not touristy. Like monsoon etches his love on nature and rejuvenates her through waterfalls, our minds and bodies were cleansed of the murk of city life by these waterfalls.

As we rode off and the daylight faded, I felt tired. We decided to stay in Ratnagiri and resume the journey the next day.

I was contemplating my affinity for riding bikes. Do I like it wholeheartedly? Or do I only want to embody a persona of a rider to give an identity outside of my job as an RBI manager? The previous month, UPSC prelim results came. Expectedly, I had not cleared. Thus my chances were exhausted. There was nothing to look forward to other than my job. So am I trying to carve out an identity of the rider or genuinely like it?

As the evening light faded to a dark blue hue, with puddles of water in every nook and corner of the road, I rode along immersed in my musings. I decided to have a cup of tea to shake off the tiredness that had kickstarted that trail of thoughts.

A boy was making hot samosas under the charpoy of a tea stall. The splooshing sound the samoosa made while diving into the hot oil and the steam it emitted while the boy took it out with his big spatula filled our mouths with expectant saliva. We gave into the pull of those samosas.

While the hot samosa spread warmth in our rain-drenched bodies, the dark blue sky filled our eyes, and the pitter-patter of the rain filled our ears; my soul answered the earlier musings - I do like this!

We rode through the Ghats. The sky turned from dark blue to dark grey and then pitch black. In the distance, we saw the silhouette of the mountains etched under that dark grey sky with fog covering its top. It was like an alluring woman with cataracts coming out of the shower with her beautiful long water-dripping black hair swaying in the wind - a terrifying beauty!

We were not able to reach Ratnagiri town. Before that, the darkness and rain filled the sky. We decided to crash in at the next hotel that costs less than 2000/-.The Oceano Pacific Hotel quoted 1700/- for twin-sharing non-AC simple rooms. We took it.

Oceano Pacific Hotel

In the restaurant attached to the Hotel, the Kulcha Roti and Paneer curry that we ordered painted heaven in our mouths. The staff was very cordial. One of the staff came and talked to us about Kerala as he used to work there. He ruminated about his fond memories of the place -how he served food in banana leaves and how coconut got used in almost all the curries. We found our memories of the home get rekindled in that restaurant of Ratnagiri by a waiter from Gujarath while having Kulcha Rotti and Paneer.

Between Ganapatipule, Ratnagiri, and Malvan, we zeroed in on Malvan on the way to Goa and went to bed. As soon as we hit the bed, we slept because of the tiredness.

Day 2 - From A Ghost Town to A Party Town

The rain subsided in the morning. We rode in a burst of light sunshine peeking through the clouds. The thin fingers of the morning sunshine caressed our faces. Its warmth was ecstatic.

We reached Malvan by noon. We looked for a restaurant for a Malvan special Fish Thali to quench the silent siren of hunger from our stomachs.

We got welcomed by stranded cows chewing plastic-wrapped garbage nonchalantly with eyes half closed in the middle of the road and not even bothering to splat away the flies on its back. A couple of pariah dogs sniffed at the gates of a closed restaurant and lazily lay down in that heat. Puddles of murky water scattered along the potholes of the muddy road. The sunlight was reflecting on it.

All the restaurants were closed. Like drowning in their loneliness, the upturned chairs on the tables of the closed restaurants made a sorry sight. 'Today's special: Malvan fish curry, Fish Fry, Prawns Curry' were written on faded boards in front of the closed restaurants. The boards slightly swayed in the wind making a tap-tap sound.

We trodded through that ghost town to find something to eat.

We finally found an open bakery. The Balaji chips packets were hanging from its courtyard like ghosts from the trees. It was slowly fluttering in the mid-noon wind with a slight crackling sound of plastic rubbing against each other. The owner, a middle-aged lean man with a sleepy face and balding head was squatting outside the shop and shooing away the flies around him. We picked random chips and biscuits to satiate our hunger. He said that the beaches were closed after the warning of cyclone Biparjoy. Now it will open only after the monsoon.

We were in a lurch. To stay there or go to Goa. Almost half of the second day went by without doing anything except riding and some more riding. Added to that was our irritation at the Trekhievers team for their apathy while informing us that Dudhsagar would open only after July 15 and their audacity to blame us for not calling earlier to confirm the trek.

We wandered to Tarkarli Beach through that deserted town where the billboards of scuba diving and water sports mocked us in that glittering afternoon sun.

We sat in that desolate Tarkarli beach not knowing what to do next. A huge mass of dark grey rain clouds slowly drifted and loomed high over the sea. We decided to proceed with our plan to Goa after a bath on that vacant beach under the mounting rain clouds and splattering rain.

Tarkarli Beach

Watching Ryan swim in that waves, amidst the looming clouds and foaming sea, like a speck in the vast expanse of nature, made me realise how tiny humans are under mother nature.

We reached Calangute and checked in at the Curries homestay by 8:30. It was affordable and clean. As it was not a season in Goa, we got it cheap - they quoted 1200/- and we agreed at 1000/-.

It was a small room without any wardrobe but clean nonetheless. Sebastian, a talkative chap working as a spot boy, suggested going to Baga as Calangute was about to close for the night. He also gave a piece of golden advice:

"Drink, eat, and merry but no girls! Yes to Beer and Biriyani no to Bang Bang!"

We washed off the Malvan beach sand, changed our clothes, and went to Baga beach by clutching his advice close to us:

Drink, eat, and merry: simple and pure joy!

It was raining heavily. But Tito's lane was crowded to the brim despite the downpour. We found a shack and settled down at a table facing Baga Beach. In that darkness, only a silhouette of the waves could be visible. The susurration of the waves intermingled with the song played in the shack. Amidst Hoggarden, Cocktail, fish fry, french fries, and the black Baga beach, I welcomed my 31st Birthday.

A memorable one indeed!

We ordered a Fish Biriyani. It came by whooshing steam and aroma. As we were full, we packed the Biriyani to keep it in the refrigerator with the help of Sabastian.

We clicked the mandatory I LOVE GOA pic for Instagram and got out by 1:30. It was still raining heavily. The Tito's club was having a blast. The volume of the songs from the loudspeaker grew louder as the rain intensified.

Tenu Kaala Chasma...

Tenu Kaala Chasma...

Our bodies slowly swayed to the rhythm of the music. We were tempted to enter it but controlled ourselves. The next day we had to go to South Goa. We had found an alternative to Dudhsagar: Tambdi Surla Falls. So with the Biriyani in our hands and sleep lingering in our eyes, we started back to the homestay.

The crowd in Tito's lane swelled as the rain became heavy - the heavier the rain harder the party became. We rode through that rain-drenched Goan streets. Ryan was trying hard to protect the Biriyani from the onslaught of the downpour.

We stopped at a closed shop for rain to subside. We were unsure of the way back to our homestay. I searched Google; it seemed there were many homestays of the same name. The time was 2:30 AM. After rummaging through many hotel booking sites, we found ours. In that joy, the pickle packet of the Biriyani fell from his hand. Anyway, Biriyani is safe, we sighed.

But then we found that the key to the room was missing. In that darkness, we searched our pockets to no avail. During the frantic search, the salad packet of Biriyani also slipped out of our hands. I thought: why the night was not ending and stretching on and on? By clutching the Biriyani close to us, we went to the shack and the bike parking area for searching the keys.

We searched Tito's lane to and fro in that heavy downpour. The crowd was slowly retreating from the Baga beach for the night. Ryan slipped and fell in that rain-soaked sand as we trodded hastily to the shack. Still, he clutched the Biriyani close to him. Phew!

We stopped our search without finding the key and decided to return. We rode back to the homestay by holding on to the Biriyani.

"Girls sir. Good Girls. Nice Girls. Russian Girls. One night. Cheap girls."

We saw a boy in his 20s on a scooty riding close to us. He wore a t-shirt printed Welcome to Goa and cheap shorts with bright blue flower patterns. We slowed our bike.

'Drink, eat, and merry', but do not go behind girls! Yes to Beer and Biriyani no to Bang Bang! Words of Sabastian echoed in our ears.

Sir, nearby only. Good Girls.

How much? We asked him out of curiosity.

"You come and see Sir. Nearby only. Nice girls. Better than her. "

We could not see anyone in that splashing rain.

No, not interested. We said. But still, we rode slowly to match the speed of his scooty. I thought, why this night was not ending? Where is it taking us?

Just see Sir. No need for money to see.

We are simple men. How can we trust you? Ryan asked.

He gave us his number. "Now you trust me, no? That pocket road beside that yellow billboard will lead to the girls. You just come and see."

A neon yellow billboard flickered on and off where Goan Bar was in big Capital letters. The pitch-dark pocket road was luring us to it.

We were going slowly. The Hoggarden and the cocktail made our minds weak. The whole of Goa has an intoxicating air, which lures us into doing things we hesitate to do normally. The rain-drenched Goan streets with the neon lights of the bars flickering on and off under that intense downpour felt like riding through a never-ending wild dream.

The pocket road was nearing. I was in a dilemma about whether to turn the bike or not. My fingers slowly went to the indicator.

Thud! The Biriyani packet slipped from Ryan and lay splattered on the road spreading a faint aroma. In the gleaming light of the vehicles, the golden Biriyani rice and the brownish-red fish pieces in that puddled road mocked us with its gloomy innocence.

Now you will not trust me, come what may. The boy in the Activa said to us and drove off into the night.

We saw the Biriyani slowly wash away and realised that in the deepest chamber of our hearts, we wanted to know how that girl looked. We looked at each other and started to laugh.

With a spare key, Sabastian opened the door. At 4:00 in the morning, the curtain came down for that night. A long night indeed!

Day 3 - Forest, Fog, and a WaterFall

With the sleep still puddled in our eyes, we packed our bags to South Goa. I got the hall ticket and question papers for UPSC mains 2022 from the rain-soaked bag. It was pinching off from the edges due to dampness. I threw it into the wastebasket.

We settled the bill along with 150/- for the lost keys. There goes the 200/- we saved on the bargain for the room. As we were leaving, Sabastian came with the crumbled question papers.

Sir, yeh nahi chahiye? Kuch important lagta hai. He said

Abh nai. I told.

Sabastian made a small fire and burned the waste. He put my question papers into it. I stood there for some time as the flicker of flame danced slowly in the morning breeze. As I looked on, it turned to ash while the bag on my shoulders felt light.

"Let's go," Ryan said.

We rode out to the warmth of the morning sunlight. A beautiful life! I thought.

We stopped at a small tea stall on the way for tea when the rain intensified. A cow dung was splashed and mixed with the muddy puddle on the road just outside the tea stall. However, inside, the enchanting smell of hot samosa wafted through. We decided to try out a local snack: a burger bun with vegetable curry. The hot bun with a whiff of sweetness dipped in spicy vegetable curry was a treat to our hungry stomachs. This day is going to be good, I thought.

We entered the Bhagvan Mahaveer wildlife sanctuary by noon. The ride was ecstatic. Like a forbidden love, slight rain and a shimmer of sunlight hugged each other and fell from the sky through the foliage.

At the end of the sanctuary road, the Mahadeva temple stood encased in nature. The huge misty Mollem mountains were standing majestically behind it. A garden with bright green grasses and flowers circumambulated the temple, giving it a serene aura. A narrow stream was gurgling past its left side.

We trekked about one and a half hours from the temple through a forest to reach Tambdi Surla waterfall. The path was filled with small streams and mushy leaves. The rain falling through the thick branches made a drip-drop sound that intermingled with the rustling of the leaves in the wind to fill the forest with a soothing sound. The sound of Mother Nature!

Drenching in the rain, jumping over the muddy puddles, splashing on the fresh rivulet, and plucking out the leeches from our legs, we trekked through the forest. It was tiring but exhilarating. After a bend, removing the leaves in front of us, we saw the milky white Tambdi Surla waterfall in front of us.

The waterfall stood against the vast horizon of the big Mollem mountains. The view once again made us realise how small and insignificant we are against the vastness and beauty of nature. We saw fog blinding the mountain. We sat there immersed in the gurgling of the waterfall and the beauty of the mountain bathed in rain and fog.

The insignificance of us in front of the majesty of nature made us blabber about the meaning of life. As we both were fallen soldiers of UPSC and had to reinvent our identity, we brought Camus, Satre, Nietzsche, existentialism, and absurdism into that rain-soaked forest. Like the discarded bagasse these thinkers splurt out of our minds into that mushy soil and left us with a false sense of pride in our UPSC knowledge.

We left the Bhagwan Mahaveer sanctuary and entered the Mollem sanctuary. We booked the 'Adventure Forest Resort' in Belgavi and decided to take the NH48 to return to Mumbai.

The memories of my earlier bike ride through Mollem rekindled as we entered the sanctuary. We have to exit the Mollem before night as the Ghat section can be a little tricky during the night with its narrow road and sharp bends. But the beauty of the Mollem lured us into stopping occasionally and taking pictures.

The visibility became near zero as we ascended the Ghats due to fog-filled roads. The cars put on their hazard light. We treaded through the fog-filled road cautiously. It was like we were riding through a fuzzy dream. I thought about my dreams of going on an unplanned bike ride during my unemployed days. Am I riding through that dream of my past? The tiredness was making the line between real and dream blurry. In a trance, we rode through that hazy path.

We descended the Mollem sanctuary and stopped for a masala tea. After that, we resumed our journey through Bhimgad Sanctuary (SH 30). The road was in a dire state, but the view was mesmerising. The sky was in the process of becoming dark black from dark blue. The sanctuary interspersed with farmlands and small huts peppered here and there. A small lantern effusing a faint yellow glow swayed slowly in the wind from the courtyards of that huts. It was like giant fireflies swaying to the rhythm of a silent song.

The road was too bad. It was like riding through a road paved with boulders than tarmac. The pillow Ryan bought to save his bum from the ass-crushing hardness of the seat of Bullet came in handy. Finally, we entered the butter-smooth NH 748.

It was pitch dark when we reached the Adventure Forest Resort. The resort was like huts between a big jungle. Though, in that faded moonlight, its complete layout eluded us.

We were weary and sleepy. We asked the manager of the resort about what adventure activities are there.

No activities Sir. People come here to relax amidst nature. He told.

So 'Adventure' in the name only? We asked him.

He nodded.

Even though we enquired about the activity, our fatigue-filled bodies just wanted to collapse on the bed. After eating the hot food served in the restaurant, we went to our room: The Indian Jackal.

The big room was devoid of TV or wifi. The intricate carvings on the walls resembled the creepers and leaves of forests. There were two big bay windows on both sides of the walls through which we could see the trees bathing in the rain.

We sat on the balcony and looked at the foliage swaying in the breeze. The cool breeze kissed our faces. There was complete silence save the rustling of the leaves and the drip-drop of rain. We shared a chilled beer. We talked into the night about office gossip and other mundane things. The Camus and Satre were left in the woods of Tambdi Surla. We did not bother to call them back.

By midnight we retired to our beds. The moonlight peered into the room through the bay windows. In that white light, the shadow of the leaves made a jali pattern on the floor that slowly swayed like small ripples in a puddle. The pitter-patter of the rain and the slow rustling of the leaves was a lullaby for our tired ears. We slowly drifted into a deep slumber.

Day 4 - Tea and Tarmac

We woke up to the true beauty of the place ushered in through the bay windows. The raindrops on the leaves sparkled in the morning light and made a dip-dip sound while falling into the soil. The green leaves swaying in the breeze made a beautiful pattern on the glass-top table in our room.

We sat on the balcony listening to the rustling of leaves. The slow breeze caressed our faces and hair. The unspoken word, 'let's go', lingered between us. We did not want to say it loudly and end that tranquility. We want to steal some more time of that peace, to breathe up that solitude and fill it in each pore of our body before the inevitable return to the chaotic Mumbai city.

My stomach was upset with all the eating and drinking of the previous day. My bhindi-filled puke of the last night in the washroom unsettled my body. However, the smell of hot idlis from the restaurant was more than I could handle. I reasoned: it was a long ride back home, and I should eat something.

The way back was a hell of a ride. Our bodies and minds were tired. We just needed to reach the flat and sit ideally for some time rather than moving. Our hands and legs were throbbing with pain. I bought Digestol for my stomach and Moov for my shoulders and continued the ride.

As the day progressed, my hands felt like a slippery rope, swaying here and there in the wind and unable to carry the weight of the bullet and the pillion. We stopped frequently at almost all the tea stalls. At random stalls on the roadside, we slept for 10-15 minutes, sometimes sitting and sometimes lying. My stomach was aching, so I did not dare to eat from the roadside dhabas.

Thus armed with the idlis I had in the morning and tea at frequent intervals, we rode through NH48. Kolhapur and Satara went by. The energy from me drained faster than the speed at which we were cruising. Then came Pune-Lonavala - a traffic hell in the Monsoons.

Honk! Honk! All those horning jostled out the serene calmness of the beautiful Lonavala. Whatever solitude people got from coming to Lonavala might have seeped out of them in those mad traffic.

I thought about how frustrated people might be in Mumbai that they have come to toil in this suffocating traffic to steal a few moments of solitude by immersing in the beauty of Monsoon-drenched Lonavala. Like a pressure cooker, Mumbai might implode into itself if no avenues like Lonavala-Khandala were there to vent its frustration. I thought: is the claustrophobia of Mumbai giving Lonavala its beauty? Is it a beauty in itself? Coming from Kerala, where natural beauty is aplenty, I could not fathom the hype created around Lonvala-Khandala. Mumbai-Lonavala might be in a symbiotic relationship - if one is not there, the other might lose its essence.

We crossed Lonavala in the dark. The rain was coming down heavily. It was pitch dark - near zero visibility in places without streetlights. We felt like a sponge that soaked up all the water and was bursting from its seams. Our bums were hurting like hell. My body might have thought it had endured so much more in the last four days than in the past thirty-one years.

Finally, we reached Mumbai. I dropped Ryan in Chembur and went to the flat. It was 11:30 PM.

With throbbing pain and fatigue-filled eyes, I took the keys to my flat. There I saw a parcel from IGP on the doorstep. A birthday gift from Sreekutty. A beautiful end to a tiring journey. I called and thanked her.

I bathed and collapsed into the bed, exhausted and extinguished. In half-sleep, I heard my voice in my head,

Will you dare to go for another ride? Another Fully Abandoned Unplanned Road Trip?

A slight smile grew on my face. Why not? I said to myself, but let me sleep for now.

I slowly slipped into a deep slumber with the sound of the Bullet beating in my heart:

Dhud...Dhud...Dhud...