What really happened in Visakhapatnam?

"Bhai, main nahi jaanta, apan log chal rahe hai Vizag!" declared one of our trio. This is the story of three friends from wildly different worlds—united by one thing: we’d all survived a Ministry obsessed with trade and negotiations (translation: endless meetings and pretending to understand import tariffs). As adults, we drifted apart faster than a poorly negotiated trade deal, until fate intervened at the wedding reception of our friend-cum-colleague.

Now, the plot twist: the groom wasn’t exactly rolling out the red carpet for us initially. Let’s just say we deployed our expert negotiation skills (read: relentless guilt-tripping) to secure invites. Diplomacy, right?

Fun Fact: Vizag, officially Visakhapatnam, isn’t just Andhra Pradesh’s coastal gem—it’s nicknamed the City of Destiny for its booming port, naval legacy, and beaches that’ll make you forget maybe Puri. Oh, and it’s home to India’s first submarine museum, INS Kursura—because why not park a submarine on the beach without any parking assistance?

Wanna know what boys trip in Vizag looks like?

Sunday, 23 Feb 2025

As the trip neared, chaos erupted. One friend nearly talked us into believing the entire plan was doomed. A week before D-day, two guys bailed faster than a sinking submarine. Then came Dushti (Only her nick name is Dushti, she is not Dusht-e in character), our lone female comrade, who reluctantly dropped out too—cue her sleepless nights of regret (we counted her "i can’t come to Vizag" texts like trophies). But did we let her off easy? Nope. We kept her tethered to the group chat, weaponizing updates to maximize her FOMO. Brotherhood, right?

Finally, the three survivors—Vinay (the Crisil analyst who could price a Veg thali mid-apocalypse), Sumit (the Jethalal of dad jokes), and I—locked in flights to Visakhapatnam. But life, guys! It lobbed a lemon grenade three days before takeoff. On a fateful Sunday, one friend ghosted us harder than a Bumble date. Panic ensued. I roped in Dushti for backup, channeling Abhay Deol from ZNMD: "Chalenge toh sab chalenge, warna let it be." Cringe? Yes. Effective? The dude web-checked in immediately like he’d been possessed by the spirit of punctuality.

With bags packed and chaos contained, one final hurdle remained: the itinerary. Let’s be real—we cared less about what to wear at the wedding reception and more about the post-event shenanigans. Sorry-not-sorry, Sriram. Priorities, right? :P

Naturally, we delegated the task to Dushti, the sole woman in our squad (and the only one with organizational skills, period). She drafted it with the enthusiasm of a cat forced into a bath—grudges included. Her first version? A 6 AM beach walk followed by 8 AM breakfast. Perfect for me, a certified morning person, but for others? Let’s just say Sumit’s idea of "early" is noon. After some gentle feedback (“Dushti, we’re on vacation, not boot camp!”), she revised it to include humane waking hours. And guess what? We stuck to it like pilgrims to a temple schedule—mostly to avoid her wrath.

Thursday, 27 Feb 2025

Visakhapatnam (Vizag) isn’t just a beautiful city—it’s a powerhouse of naval legacy and military pride, home to the Eastern Naval Command and India’s oldest shipyard. After wrapping up Ministry duties (read: Closing 5 excel tabs), I dashed to catch the Airport Express from Shivaji Stadium. The check-in staff there was oddly generous—he took my luggage and my existential dread, handing me a boarding pass with a smile. Air India, Hawa Bharat! 🛫

Our brotherhood shone brighter than Vizag’s lighthouse—we booked flights with synced timings, boarding simultaneously from Mumbai and Delhi like a low-budget #ZNMD reunion.

The moment I landed in Vizag, the humidity hit me like a warm, soggy hug—classic coastal charm. But as soon as we all reunited, time collapsed. Vinay greeted me with his trademark “O Wowwww!” (a sound that could startle seagulls), and Sumit unleashed his arsenal of Jethalal-grade dad jokes. Suddenly, the chaos of adulthood melted away.

Life teaches you many things, but here’s the golden rule: keep the friends who can resurrect a conversation mid-sentence after months of silence. These are the human equivalents of caterpillars—awkward at first, but they eventually turn your life into a butterfly sanctuary.

Prabhu Sriram had booked us Officers’ Club, a colonial-era gem where we instantly morphed into wannabe naval commanders. The place oozed old-world charm—wood-paneled halls, bay views, and the faint echo of “Aye, aye, Captain!” in the air. Oh, did I mention this wasn’t a weekend fling? We turned Sriram’s wedding into a 4-day Vizag fiesta. Thanks to Dushti’s military-precision itinerary, we even woke up before noon. Jealous yet? 😏

Fun Fact: The Officers’ Club isn’t just an accomodation—it’s a slice of Vizag’s British-era history, often frequented by naval officers. Pro tip: Ask for a room facing the Bay of Bengal; sunrise here could convert even vampires into morning people.

Our first meal in Vizag was a hearty affair. Since it was a Thursday (and me and my Crisil friend was observing a vegetarian vow), I reluctantly swapped my chicken cravings for paneer. But the real plot twist? We stumbled upon an ice cream parlor afterward. I ordered black currant (read: Lavendar icecream)—a flavor so vibrant, it could’ve doubled as lipstick. Not on me though. Maybe Aishvarya Rai.

Friday, 28 Feb 2025

The next morning, we hit RK Beach (Ramakrishna Beach), a serene stretch where the Bay of Bengal whispers rather than roars. A local photographer, convinced he was Aditya Chopra’s secret successor, ambushed us. His pose suggestions? “Look brooding! Now, do SRK’s ‘Mitwa’ pose!” We obliged, because when in Vizag, you embrace the cringe.

Fun Fact: RK Beach is part of Vizag’s "Jewel of the East Coast", flanked by the Victory at Sea War Memorial and a submarine museum. It’s calmer than Maharashtra’s beaches—perfect for introverts and overcaffeinated tourists.

Post-photo op, hunger struck. We wandered past gothic-style buildings (Vizag’s colonial hangover) and stumbled into a local dhaba. For ₹270, we devoured idli, vada, dosa, and sambar so flavorful, it could end restaurant wars. Then came the juice shop revelation: “Pure Juice” (no sugar, just fruit) vs. “Normal Juice” (sugar rush included). The pure mousambi juice? A spiritual experience. I’m pretty sure I levitated.

Pro Tip: Vizag’s Gajuwaka area is a food haven—where ₹500 feeds a squad like royalty. And yes, the city’s mousambi (sweet lime) is legendary—plucked fresh from Andhra’s orchards.

Back at the Officers’ Club, Vinay revealed that he he has a meeting that he cannot miss. Me and Sumit looked at each other and said exactly this: ‘hmm’. While he tackled a Crisil assignment on veg/non-veg thali pricing. We rested for a while and then got ready to go explore Vizag.

Post-nap, we hit Vizag’s streets in local autos—the three-wheeled chariots of chaos that define Indian urban-scapes. Vinay tagged along briefly, muttering about “opportunity costs,” before we dragged him to Croma. There, we acted as if we were domestic hippies, shortlisting items like steam press, oven, toaster, and a foot massager—essentially gifting Sriram a midlife crisis starter kit.

FYI, Sriram—we swear our “local” gifts (a Gurgaon-made bedsheet and a smokey Buddha statue) were bought with #VocalForLocal spirit. What are brothers-from-other-mothers for, if not to gaslight you into loving mismatched home decor?

When the bills were done, we three somehow conceptualized that we were tired, and needed a massage! Yep, you read it right. So, we did not try to bargain at all with the shopowner. We got ourselves a MUCH NEEDED massage.

Fun Fact: Vizag’s Croma in Siripuram is a tech-lover’s paradise, but the real gems are the city’s handicraft emporiums selling Kalamkari textiles and Etikoppaka toys. Pro tip: Autos cost ₹30/km here—cheaper than therapy for FOMO-induced FRIENDSHIP.

Later that day, all three of us marched to the Submarine museum. The weather was perfect—sunny with a side of naval nostalgia—and exploring INS Kursura, the submarine that helped sink Pakistan’s PNS Ghazi during the 1971 war, became the trip’s pièce de résistance. Squeezing through its claustrophobic corridors, we marveled at torpedo tubes and periscopes, while I nerded out about how this 69-meter beast outsmarted Ghazi in the Bay of Bengal.

Fun Fact: INS Kursura isn’t just a museum—it’s one of the world’s few preserved submarines open to the public.

Funnier fact: The Ghazi Attack movie (2017) dramatizes this underwater duel—watch it before visiting for extra goosebumps.

Post-tour, I subjected the gang to a 15-minute debrief on naval warfare. Vinay’s takeaway? “So… Ghazi’s veg thali budget must’ve been zero underwater.” Priorities, bro.

Radisson Blu, Vizag was the crown jewel of our trip—perched on the Marina Area, where the Bay of Bengal’s gentle whispers serenaded the venue. Sriram had chosen the perfect spot to cap off his "biggest life upgrade" (read: wedding reception).

We were floored by the grandeur—twinkling lights, floral arches, and a dessert spread that could bankrupt a bakery. Despite arriving late (classic us), we channeled our inner paparazzi to snap photos of the couple, who looked straight out of a rom-com—radiant, effortless, and oddly familiar, as if they’d been soulmates since the Treta Yuga.

But let’s be real: the true stars of the night were our stomachs. No small talk, no “How’s work?”—just a synchronized dash to the buffet. Vizag’s famed Andhra biryani and chicken vanished from our plates faster than Vinay’s interest in thali economics.

Fun Fact: The Radisson Blu sits on Beach Road, a stone’s throw from RK Beach and the Submarine Museum. Pro tip: Ask for a seaside table—the Bay of Bengal’s moonlit waves make even buffet chaos feel cinematic.

Saturday, 1 Mar 2025

Our next thing in to-do list was to visit Araku Valley. Araku Valley is of course a place not to be missed. We were struggling to find a vehicle to go to Araku. Traveling by rail was one idea being recommended, and we were upbeat about it initially. However, when we came back to Officers Club, we dropped the idea of going by rail. Seeing no end in sight, i had to dial someone who owed me. If you are reading this, we are even.

Next day morning, a vehicle arrived and Mr Santosh exchanged conversations with us so naturally as if all of us were aware about him somehow and he was aware about us too.

Vizag is a place I’d return to in a heartbeat—not for a wedding, but to soak in its unhurried, coastal charm. It’s a serendipity I can’t replace, period. Just when we thought the road trip couldn’t get prettier, our driver halted at a spot so surreal, it looked like Spain’s Costa Brava—rolling hills, terraced farms, and not a single “jugaad” in sight. Cue the Zindagi Na Milegi Dobara moment! I pitched the idea of recreating the movie’s iconic poster, and my bros? They struck poses faster than you can say “Har pal yahan…”. No debates, no drama—just three grown men jumping for a photo op. This, folks, is the unsung magic of bromance.

En route, we halted at Borra Caves—150-million-year-old limestone labyrinths where stalactites dripped like melted candles. We clicked goofy selfies that looked like rejected Stranger Things posters.

At Araku Valley, coffee isn’t a beverage—it’s a religion. The air smells like roasted beans and rebellion against city life. We hit the Araku Chocolate Factory, a Willy Wonka wonderland where chocolate flows like gossip at a kitty party. Is it meant for kids? Sure. Did we buy ₹1,500 worth of cocoa bars? Obviously. My nephew would’ve loved it, but let’s be real—adults need dopamine too.

Fun Facts:

• Araku’s coffee is organic and GI-tagged, grown by tribal farmers. Try the Araku Grand Reserve—it’s smoother than Vinay’s escape from thali calculations.

• That “Spain” spot? It’s part of the Ananthagiri Hills, famed for its 40+ waterfalls and ancient Borra Caves.

• The chocolate factory uses cocoa from Araku’s farms—so yes, your Snickers addiction now counts as “supporting local.”

Who was the driver, you asked?

Sunday, 2 Mar 2025

On the last day, we wrapped up our Vizag saga with Simhachalam Temple—a 11th-century marvel where Lord Narasimha’s deity is smothered in sandalwood paste year-round (unlike our WhatsApp group, which is smothered in memes).

Then came Kailashgiri, the hilltop park where the ropeway ride offers views so stunning, even Vinay forgot to calculate its RoI. As we bid farewell, it struck us: Vizag wasn’t just a trip—it was destiny’s WhatsApp forward. “Sab kuch likha hua hai?” Absolutely. Yeh bhi likha hua tha.

I hope life doles out more Vizag-shaped adventures—for us, and for everyone who thinks adulthood should come with a “chaos optional” clause. Because let’s be real: the best memories start with “Bhai, apan log chal rahe hai…” and end with you Googling “How to retire in Araku Valley.”