Road Trippin

This picture has absolutely nothing to do with the rest of this particular post. I just really liked it. The post below is an account of a road trip made somtime in early 2007.

Road trip

Road Trip. The words conjure up a pretty picture: long winding roads, wind in your hair, cruising down new worlds. Just you, your pretty machine and the wide open spaces. Making your way into new lands; part Indiana Jones and part James Bond. Oh, the romance of it all.

As I lay panting on the road side, I wondered how I could possibly have been so wrong. It was a road trip alright, except the chosen mode of transportation was a cycle. Well the word “chosen” would imply choice but for us poor students its not really too wide a choice [Dad, I hope you are reading this] And as for the long winding road, well on a bicycle you tend to hope that the roads remain short and straight. And preferably downhill.

Fighting another set of cramps which had chosen to attack my left leg, I continued to remain in awe of my sheer stupidity. With nearly non-existent levels of fitness and a supremely existent paunch, I was forced to confront myself with the questions which are best left to one’s dying moments: Have I lived a fruitful life? Will my loved ones be able to carry on? Does a tiny goblin really turn off the lights when you close the fridge door? And so on and so forth.

This is where a lanky, generally soft-spoken Mallu comes into the picture. Slightly demented in the head as well, he had decided to be the other crazy bastard. Immensely fit, this fellow was the only reason why I did not simply collapse and hitch a ride back home that painful day. Out of courtesy I shall call him Gens, courtesy since all the other names I called him were hardly of the polite variety. But I must admit that, with the correct mixture of encouragement and abuses, he somehow managed to get my rear off the road and onto the cycle.

The plan was to cycle to the beaches of Digha which lay about a hundred and forty kilometers away. Leaving our prestigious institution at five in the morning, we cycled through the lanes of Calcutta, through the broad roads of Chittaranjan Avenue and crossing the Howrah bridge just as the city was awakening. It was beautiful. Oh yeah and we also made a fantastic breakfast stop at Poddar Court for some brilliant momos and pork dumpling soup. There are few things better than some steaming pao [Chinese bread] and pork soup to cheer you up in the morning.

Across the Howrah Bridge, through Howrah and then on to the Grand Trunk Road. This was, for me, a pretty special moment. It was after all the centuries-old Grand Trunk Road. It was like traveling through a piece of history, a different time.

Progress was made at a pretty decent pace; we stopped every now and then for some fresh ganna [sugar cane] juice or some coconut water. Lunch was at a roadside dhaba: hot rotis and dal. I don’t recall ever eating something which tasted that good.

It was probably an hour later that the problems started. What was initially a slight pain in my toes managed to engulf half my bloody leg! And that is how I ended up lying on the side of the road, staring at the sky and wondering how I could have thought that I would have made it in the first place.

Like I said, it was due to Gens that I managed to get up and we moved on. This time the stops were more frequent. We managed to hit Digha road a few hours later and from then on it became easier. Thought I was pretty sure that the cycle seat had made a permanent imprint on my butt, I think it was too numb to be much of a bother. Of course the maniacal bus drivers and their rather loud horns did not help but it was not that bad anymore. Dinner was again at a road side place but this time I could not really taste the food. Pretty tired.

As for where we spent that night, that tale is for another time. Suffice to say that the next morning I was completely taken over by the hospitable nature of the people of West Bengal.

The next morning we started off with breakfast in a nearby town. The next few hours were probably the best part of the entire journey. This is when I started to look around, observe the people and the sights and the smells which always make me think of my village. We knew we were going to meet the sea and it did not matter how much time we took to get there.

The land still showed signs of the monsoon and everything just seemed to be so green and so filled with life. We met some interesting people and I was quite surprised to see the amount of attention our cycles would receive in every village we stopped at. Sipping hot chai at one shack, one old lady told us how she had a relative in Calcutta who lived on Airport Road, would we know her by any chance? It was so sincere and innocent I could barely stop laughing.

And then we hit the beach. It was not Digha but by then it just did not matter. We had made it! There was a fair near the beach which made it even more special. People from the nearby villages had all come to visit and it was a real festive occasion. There were toys to be bought, sweets to be eaten and rides to go to.

But it was the beach which got me. Those final meters when we hit the sand and we could see the waves. That was real special.

We spent a couple of hours lazing around on the beach. And then it was time to head back. The plan was to cycle to the nearest town, haul our cycles onto a bus and then head back to Calcutta. Which is what we did. Nearly.

You see, Gens in a moment of utter brilliance, suggested spending even more time with the cycles. Preferably on top of a bus. A bus which was driven by an individual who apparently did not really understand the meaning of “speed limit”. While at the same time being cut by the cold winter wind. Yup the man does have his moments of true genius.

On top of a speeding bus. That’s where we spent the last few hours of our journey. It was evening when we boarded the bus and night by the time we cruised into Kolkata. Frozen stiff and with that numb butt showing signs of life, we cycled our way back to college. The streets were quiet in the night and we were tired. Or rather I was, don’t know about the maniac Gens.

We rolled into campus late at night which was a pity since there was no audience to show off to. But we had made it: a crazy journey with a crazy friend. I guess you could call it a road trip.

The one on the left is the crazy bastard.