Section 3: The Journey > Chapter 18: A Dal Day

June 4, 2010

Several minutes, fifteen at the last count, have been spent looking for the wash basin. One would imagine that hotel We-Suck, in return for neither providing reasonable parking space nor a view of Dal, would at least have the decency to install a wash basin so one may float paper boats and dream dreams of potty on the rocks. Unfortunately, the sadistic bastards deprive us of this fundamental right. All I have is a tap and bucket combination to perform unmentionable rites that I'd rather not transcribe into digital stinkaments.

A re-charged phone, a rejuvinated mind and a few facebook updates cheer me up some.

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Facebook update: Hit Srinagar last night. Heavy cold, cross winds, fallen trees n wet roads.
04 June at 11:12 via Text message

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Sagar Raikar and Tushar Jadhav like this.

Rachit K Congrats..!! Good u made it.. btw, what time did u reach Srinagar & how was the state out there.. was there any curfew
04 June at 11:29

Tushar Jadhav in rachit's ishtyle- from 40 to 0 degree
04 June at 11:29

Rachit K hehe.. yeah man..!! & beyond too..!! let them reach baralacha la.. am sure
they will spot the extreme chillness out there.. anywhere in the range of -5
to -10
04 June at 11:31 via Email reply

Winsey Varghese ‎.
04 June at 12:03

Rachit K ‎^^ ..
04 June at 12:06 via Email reply

Tushar Jadhav ‎...
04 June at 12:21

Rachit K ‎....???
04 June at 12:24

Tushar Jadhav ‎........?????!!!!!
04 June at 12:34

Winsey Varghese ‎<.^&*..>..! ???
04 June at 12:35

Tushar Jadhav ‎( . ) ( . ) , .... ----) ,,,,,,,++++++====o
04 June at 12:38

Anirudh Khusape ‎:P LOL
04 June at 16:38

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Facebook update: Fallen tree across Srinagar road. Lifted our bikes over it to get across!
04 June at 11:13 via Text message

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Winsey Varghese likes this.

Tushar Jadhav oh ho, good adventure.......hope u had pics of these.ride safe
04 June at 11:26

Rachit K ohh..!! all the very best guyz..!! Ride safe.. so u r heading for zojila today.? & where u planning to halt... Drass??
04 June at 11:28

I torment on the subject of our steeds for the rain has had a lot to say on many subjects the night prior. My fears are not unfounded as we find our beloved beasts drenched to the core. Moisture has taken shelter in my odometer. All I see now is blurred incoherent crystal formations. Drags, grunts, heaves, shoves, and some of our steeds manage to make it out. My efforts land me in a ditch, literally. My steed now struggles to gain a foothold in slithering pastes of brown. Motorbreath drags us out and we finally make it to the tarmac. Time spent, 20 minutes. Distance covered, 10 meters. Much to our gratitude, the rain, exhausted by its tantrum the night before, remains silent today. But a cloudy sky reminds us to keep our spirits in check for Mademoiselle Rain will show up anytime she so pleases and there's not a damn thing we petty mortals can do about it.

The Karizma has a limp in her stride. A brief inspection and we recognize a puncture; our second if you've been kind enough to keep count. We must heal her before we let her run any farther. As we consider options, we lose Aman as he, unaware of quandary, continues exploring the Srinagar scape. Not even phone calls deter him. We assume he must have headed towards Dal and do the same, hoping that we will find a mechanic to fix the problem on the way. We don't, but we do find Aman, except that he is nowhere close to Dal. He remains in the vicinity of our stay, furious at the other end of a phone call, wondering why we left him to get to Dal. We give him directions to where we are. He finds us as we capture our environment; an environment that seduces in two dimensions, overpowers our senses in the third. I'll admit, I'm in love with Dal for she brings me peace I have never known. In the days to come, I will cheat on her as Leh takes me into her fold. I feel no guilt for my polygamous nature; the two deserve to be loved by many.

We now turn our attention on to the Karizma. A brief word with locals and we are directed towards the heart of the city for aid. I've noticed that opportunities to explore will usually present themselves under the garb of obstacles for it is they who temper our stride, force us to see when we only would look, force us to experience when we only would see. We experience resentment from the locals though; for we realize that we are being rejected help from those that possess the tools; redirected elsewhere where elsewhere itself will react the same. Mindless hops from one station to the next, we wonder what it might be of us to encourage such ill-treatment. Aman and I stop briefly for fuel as Spiderweb makes inquiries at location number im-too-tired-to-count. With not many Gandhi's to support us, we only manage a few liters. ATMs will have to be attacked to replenish the needs of our motored beasts. We look around and we've lost Spiderweb and Motorbreath again. I can only assume they've headed straight ahead, for it is understood that any divergence from the linear path on their behalf would attract a "make-sure-they-know-where-we-are-going" maneuver on their part.

And so Aman and I head upstream. Aman wears an edgy demeanor today for reasons I will grow to understand and spite. He argues that we should have headed towards Drass in our search for a mechanic instead of encircling the city. I try to reason that since conditions of our path to Drass were uncertain and the availability of a mechanic even more so, it is probably a safer alternative to remain within city limits until the steed is at appreciable performance. My reasoning does not appeal to his rationale and he stands his ground.  As we ride further, he demands to know if I am certain that they have moved in that direction. I inform him that I am not, but given that they are unreachable on the phone due to network errors, moving upstream is probably the best option to consider. Another argument ensues. As we approach a barricade suggesting city limits, I'm beginning to reconsider my decision. Drizzles indicate that Mademoiselle Rain has a few more discourses she would like to impart. Running out of directional options, Aman and I decide to raid the ATM.

Fortune favours those who... well its extremely arbitrary if you ask me. Spiderweb has found a network and managed to call us. They had backtracked at the pump, but assumed, incorrectly, that we had our eye on them and knew where they were headed. Landmarks are rattled out for our convenience and Aman and I head in reverse. The Srinagar police are the first to witness the first of several heated arguments between Aman and I; for no sooner do we meet the duo, a snide remark from Aman trips my wires and I land up gunning for decibel death-match immortality. For the next several hours, silence will be the only safe verbal stance between Aman and I.

Spiderweb has managed to get a fix for his wheel and we are ready to rumble. But a directional query to one of the public transportation chauffeurs yields a warning that the path we propose to take is enveloped in hostile weather and that we might be wise to delay our approach. Aman tries to connect with the Puneris to get a semblance of the truth but fails; most cellular network providers have yet to penetrate the scapes we propose to explore. A brief discussion with military personnel and we are directed to the Tourism office for up-to-date information.

I do not know what information Spiderweb and Motorbreath glean about the weather from the Tourism Office for all they share is that the lady manning the query division is smoking hot, which apparently is good enough for me for I question no further. Discussions ensue and we decide to press on despite warnings. Hungry as a piranha on a vegetarian diet, all I can think of his food. Spiderweb knows just the place. I follow him blindly, thinking thoughts of chicken wings and kebab platters. In my hungered state, the Dal, my lonely love, appeals to me no more than a cheap thirst quencher.

I regain sanity as omlettes find their way into my system. The chickens will be spared today for lack of cooks without conscience. I decide to capture more of my liquid love within the confines of my lens for more flirtatious encounters in the future. Lacking a pod, I just hold the camera in one hand as I ride around Dal. The results are less than mediocre but a good experiment for I now recognize the urgency with which I need to possess a mountable camcorder.

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Facebook update: Raining in Srinagar!! Enjoyed riding along Dal lake!!
04 June at 14:16 via Text message

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Divya Misra and Tushar Jadhav like this.

Honey Misra i saw it only in shammi kapoor movies :)
04 June at 18:41

Tushar Jadhav imagine alankar in his place...lol
04 June at 18:43

Honey Misra ‎:))
04 June at 19:11

Within moments of my return, the weather turns extremely hostile as dense clouds wrestle down visibility, the winds overpower linearity and Mademoiselle Rain breaks into a shrill and violent song. We reconsider our decision to press forward and consider spending the remainder of the day floating on a Shikara. Alcohol receives an honorary mention in the agenda. But as the Universe would have it, the Sun comes down upon its adversaries with ruthless aggression silencing both rain and wind and linearity returns to flexible shapes and clouds scurry for cosmic shelter. And as much as I would have loved to love Srinagar and Dal just a little bit more and a little bit longer, we agree to be on our way; but not without more captures along the way.

Somewhere along the road, we, Spiderweb and I get lost in transmission. We spend endless hours capturing the 360.

Motorbreath and Aman await us; the former wraps up a borrowed bidi while the latter answers queries from a curiously curious security officer. Motorbreath and Spiderweb have yet to consume their quota of fuel and that is precisely what they do a few furlongs away while Aman makes a few more inquiries. I do what I do best, capture moments, savouring and saving them so I may tell stories to a future, forgotten me.

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Facebook update: Now heading towards Drass. Drizzling. Beautiful ride! I think I'm gonna cry!!
04 June at 16:03 via Text message

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Sagar Raikar, Kunal Ghogale, Priyank Mamtora, Adway Kudalkar, Shannon Dias, Winsey Varghese and Tushar Jadhav like this.

Divya Misra Wow. wow.
04 June at 19:04

Tushar Jadhav its just started. save ur tears when u will conquer highest motorable road in world- KHARDUNG LA
04 June at 19:12

Priyank Mamtora gr888..
04 June at 19:50

Sanjay Shukla Good going man! Have fun on the run! good luck running into some Kashmir ki kali.
06 June at 00:05

Sujan Shetty keep goin
06 June at 09:58


The road ahead will see a sea-change in group dynamics as Motorbreath bundles up with Aman and the two ride longer and harder. Spiderweb and I have drifted into touring mode. I stop to capture as much as I can within the realms of my lens. Spiderweb supports me in this endeavour as he keeps me in his rear view at all times. At every stop - and there are frighteningly many - I find him waiting patiently as  I condense the surroundings into pixels. We manage to catch up with the leading duo for the first few times for the two of us can reach high speeds frequently and furiously. But as the seconds elapse, we tire of the rush and prefer instead to enjoy the joys the drizzling damsel has to offer. Often times we find the duo awaiting our arrival only to be left behind again in our quest to pixelate all.

The thing about dynamics though is that it is dynamic. The road to Drass will conspire to collude the many permutations the four of us have to offer. We will all be left behind, we will all gain on the others, we will all ride as one in the multitude of pathways. But our journey for the 4th day of June will end in Sonmarg, many miles away from our planned destination. We dare not attempt Drass for the mighty Zojila pass offers challenges far beyond our humble capability. We will tackle the beast in the light of day...

Section 3: The Journey > Chapter 17: Kasht-mir

June 3, 2010

I'm pretty sure hell does not exist; I'm also fairly certain that the one credited with conjuring up hell was a sleep-laden biker riding down the unlit ragged pathways that plot to extinguish his breath with every spin of his wheel. 60 spins, he lives, 80 he dies. A skid on a spin, he dies. Gamble he will for his life; win he might, for now. I see the justification to eternal damnation as I curse opposing traffic that persistently blinds me with high beams. I try desperately to stay on course or at least on the tarmac or the mere semblance of it. The pristine roads have long since given in to a medley of cobbled stones, dust and cracked tarmac. It’s been in excess of 3 hours since we bid adieu to Patnitop. My body experiences a familiar ache. My wrist begins to give in as I find it increasingly difficult to squeeze the clutch. The terrain and traffic beg for more. We break briefly to capture our resolve to live just a tad longer, ride a tad further...

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Facebook update: 100km away from Srinagar. Getting colder now. Eating chicken curry n rice at da dhaba.
03 June at 20:43 via Text message

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Satyen Makhija, Sagar Raikar and Honey Misra like this.

Tushar Jadhav wow thts a really good combo. hows a weather out there? ride safe guyz.
03 June at 20:47

Sagar Raikar are yaar that's mouth watering......
04 June at 00:59

We break to refuel our bodies, rest our souls. Heaven does not come cheap and neither does chicken curry and rice in a location where there are few alternatives; as someone wisely said – the first mantra of Business – location, location, location. We must get to Srinagar tonight. Its a promise we made to Aman and a promise we made to the Puneris; a promise we intend to keep. My mind, though, languishes the loss of Patnitop to time for I would have certainly loved to get to know her curves better. Several deliriously delicious moments later, we trudge on.

As 9 falls, we hit the Jawahar Tunnel - a marvel of construction attributed to German engineering. Operational since December 22, 1956, the tunnel runs a length of 2.5 kilometers (1.6 miles) cutting through the gigantic Pir Panjal mountain range and links Jammu to the Kashmir Valley allowing for year-round connectivity. Closely guarded by the army, and maintained by the Border Roads Organization ('BRO'), the tunnel boasts of round-the-clock CC TV surveillance and computer controlled lighting, ventilation and security systems. Motorbreath though, marvels it from an entirely different angle. Narrow tunnels, such as this one, bounce off sound waves seemingly endlessly amplifying the echoes to preposterous levels. The Pulsar's 200cc roar sounds no less than 600. Motorbreath trails behind me, lets me gain on him, then opens the throttle as decibels rip through the chilly, stagnant air. And even though I understand the phenomenon, my auditory senses send chills up my spine as my eyes dart towards the rear-view and my body braces for a monster collision; one that doesn't happen. Several revs later, by body begins to believe what my mind already knows and I settle some.

We've reached Titanic Point - one that would, on a normal day, mesmerize our senses with a grand first view of the Kashmir valley. Except that, it isn't day, it's night and all we see is pitch darkness. I'm bummed for I absolutely, positively want to experience the view. The Universe takes me in its fold and whispers pseudo-mystically "If its not below, it must be above".  "Nonsense!", I think to myself, even as I  casually steal a glance at the skies above. And there they are... the most numerous, the most beautiful, the grandest, the shiniest stars I ever did see. I understand the scientific brainlessness of my prior statement; imagine me flashing you with my creative license. Booya!

T'is time to run again. The weather is turning on us. Lightning angers thunder; thunder responds with rain. All we experience for now is a light drizzle. The horizon, though, promises nothing short of hostility as lighting bolts electrocute a violent ether. The wind warns us of impending duress, impeding our progress by laying down a tree across the path we take. The fallen tree will take more than man to displace. We respect nature's message; but we need to be within the four walls that await us in Srinagar. And so, with the aid of companions in time, we haul our bikes over dead logs. It takes 4 for each one of our steeds but we make it.

The roads to come will present the remainder of nature's fury. For the rain comes down savagely and  cross winds rattle our steeds furiously. I can only feel the forces, but Aman's steed in the distance gives me a visual attestation of how truly fucked we are; for he is being pushed directly into the path of oncoming trailers by remorseless gusts. At this point, it truly is each man for himself for the conditions make it near impossible for one to consider another. Time slows down to a trickle as we struggle to maintain momentum. Breaking barks present untold horrors as we snake through a force more powerful than the collective we.

Fortunately, we make it. The winds give way to a mild breeze. Rains refrain. I estimate we are in Srinagar. I know nothing for sure. But a word with a stationed military unit confirms my estimation. We've made it to Srinagar.

We must now find our restort, where the Puneris promise us shelter. After a widespread search, we hit home. We look for parking space; much to our dismay, there is none. We must park in mud and grime.  We are to be greeted by one Puneri, Inder. The rest I am told, are asleep. We agree to compare notes in the morning. We've come a long way today to make good our word to Aman. We must rest our senses now or risk being forced into the unconscious.

June 4, 2010

A risen sun brings disheartening news; the hotelier informs us that the Puneris have departed leaving us behind for we failed to awaken at the scheduled hour of 6am or the whereabouts. I faintly recall a knock on the door; I certainly recall thinking - we've left no stone unturned to make it thus far the night prior; surely they'll understand. I was wrong. I want to be angry; but all my mind can come up with, and justifiably so, is "Fuck them. We do this our way, on our clock."...

And we do...

Section 3: The Journey > Chapter 16: Twists of fate

June 3, 2010

 It comes as no surprise that we've spent a fair portion of the waking hours in the wake of slumber. I can only describe the experience as death - causeless, listless, senseless, endless. My body aches with experience as my mind begins to fathom my surroundings. Aman is well on his way to getting geared up. Spiderweb will transition into the wake state next and consume the remnants of our ration of hot water for the noble act of bathing. Motorbreath and I, left with the option of freezing ourselves to the bone, decide to give it a pass.

I recognize dew drops on the window sill. I classify them wrong for I'm told its rain. A quick peek outside confirms this claim. We drag ourselves out the room, down the staircase one flight down and towards our steeds. A helmet lies idle on the seat of its steed; left outside in error; drenched to its bone. My memory fails me for I do not recall the culprit, recalling only the crime.

Breakfast, it is decided, will have to swing alongside bike servicing chores to save time. Not far from our kick-off point, we find a mechanic.

Aman with the mechanic. Yonder, our breakfast spot.

Facebook update: Today's plan Madhopur > Samba > Srinagar. Bike oil change, chain clean n chain lube in progress!
03 June at 12:00 via Text message

Gopinath Venugopal likes this.

Rachit K Ride safe.! Dont push too much.. take a halt wherever u feel.. its enough..
03 June at 12:03

Tushar Jadhav good going guyz.....
03 June at 12:03

Rachit K the mountains will start now..!! Welcome to J&K :)
03 June at 12:03

Tushar Jadhav i think all the plains is over now, ride safe
03 June at 12:05

Veeral Joshi all the best..
03 June at 12:05

Winsey Varghese TC while lubing the chain
03 June at 12:06

Rachit K haha.. oh yeah..! Seriously
03 June at 12:07 via Email reply

Nitin Manore duh---y didn't u go for synthetic??
03 June at 12:30  

We devour more omelette sandwiches than we care to admit whilst we wait for our steeds to be groomed. The restaurant overlooks a water reservoir; the skies boast of eagles; we try desperately to capture their essence with our modest resolutions, but the lens betray our marginal and amateur efforts. None is worthy for the mighty task. We blame our tools, as always.

As we walk into the sun and position ourselves over our steeds, Motorbreath rides up to me and points into the distance; my eyes follow his finger and find a singular snow-caped mountain peak. "That's where we need to go", he says. At the ripe age of 33, this would be my first view of snow. My heart flutters a tad, my face betrays a smile, my body emanates a forgotten youth...

There is a bounce in our throttle as we take our stride. Our commentators were right; we now begin to see hints of an incline. It would appear that we have begun our ascent as we approach the cold, yet reassuring embrace of the mighty Himalayas. How I yearn to be in its presence.

We hit Samba within two revolutions of the minute hand. The terrain, unassuming at best. But as we begin to approach Udhampur, the tarmac begins to change its geometry while the environment toys with its saturation. The lanes get leaner and the greens get greener.

At roughly half past four, my text does its deed...

Facebook update: Udhampur!
03 June at 16:28 via Text message

Rachit K awesome..! good going..
03 June at 16:30

Dhwaj Shah Full onnnn......!
03 June at 17:10 


We break as Spiderweb indulges, once again, in the divinity of kulfi. Only this time, the sinful act will be amplified with faluda. We refuse to be left behind. Our banter turns to my helmet, its inefficacy as a protective tool given its age and the possibility of redemption with a surrogate even as Aman walks across to a hard hat store to sample their stock. He returns amused to the core for he is reliably informed that Vega is unheard of in these parts and the reigning brands include, and I kid you not, Action, Dabur and Jockey. I hear my mind muttering, "Jockey on top, Jockey down below" but I refuse to entertain its PJs.

Our amusement is amplified by a local teen; his name - wait-for-it - Chakrya. Remember that name, for reasons I will now expound on. In the opinion of King Chakrya, every woman in Udhampur is a whore (his words, not mine). Furthermore, his highness claims his name is the symbol that can unlock every door in the magical land. He can provide us with wine, women and wonders our feeble minds cannot comprehend. He invites us for a tour of Udhampur. We decline politely reminding him, and ourselves, that we better be moving along. He nods and makes us promise that we will look him up on return. We humour him and accept. Motorbreath, in his most convincing avatar asks, "But how do we find you?" to which our majesty responds, "Kisiko bhi pooch lo Chakrya kahaan milega; woh tumko bataa denge." (Ask anyone where you can find Chakriya; they will guid you). As he revs off, we put his proposition to the test. We inquire with the kulfi walla, "Aap Chakriya ko jaante ho?" (Do you know who Chakriya is?). "Nahin" (No), comes a curt reply. With his highness dethroned, we peddle on.

A word with the locals and we are redirected to a newly constructed path which, we are told, is in better shape than the old road. The terrain gets greener still; the path narrower still; a chill in the air, a thin veil of fog as nature seduces us and succeeds. As our journey begins to twist and curve, we discern that linear pathways and triple digit speeds are increasingly becoming endangered species.

 We haven't been riding long when we glide onto a milestone...

Facebook update: Sipping chai in a tapri overlooking the valley at Patnitop :)
03 June at 17:41 via Text message
  
Piyush Agarwal, Sagar Raikar, Shilpa Patwardhan Sharma, Divya Misra, Choudhari Rohit and Shannon Dias like this.

Saurabh Bhatia patnitop is an awsome place man
03 June at 17:48

Rachit K superb scenic place..!
03 June at 17:52

Rachit K so how are the curves.. :)
03 June at 17:52

Dinesh Samtani wow man.... dont forget to take pics
03 June at 17:58

Alankar Misra Awesome m scary at the same time :)
03 June at 17:58

Rachit K yeah.. Straight roads are over..!! atleast this roads are good.. Just need to be careful from the oncoming vehicles.. at times u get fed up of the curves..!!
Dont push urself too much.. as its still almost 290 kms for srinagar..!
03 June at 18:03

Tushar Jadhav its just the beginning.... u lucky chaps
03 June at 18:03

Rachit K or around 200kms..!
03 June at 18:05

Honey Misra wow wow wow take gud care
03 June at 19:19

Gopinath Venugopal Jalaoo.... Jalaoo hum sab ko
03 June at 19:20

Anirudh Khusape damn envy you... I so wanna be there :P have fun :)
03 June at 20:20

Divya Misra awesome....:)
03 June at 20:29

Abraham Koshy how come you landed up there!!!!!Enjoy the Hols......Be safe..........crossed it far too often for my own good.........but really never stopped to enjoy the place........work or hols either direction i had to get there fast!!!!!
05 June at 17:12

Aman

A brief discussion on the merits of calling it a day at Patnitop as opposed to braving a possibly overnight ride to Srinagar yields two results:

1. Nobody wants to do another overnight ride
2. Nobody has a friggin' choice

Aman and I have started our engines. Spiderweb waves to us asking us to carry on. Motorbreath and he will catch up. And so the two R15s take lead with Aman on the pilot seat. Curvalicious roads, light traffic and pristine pathways make for cornering haven. Aman opens the throttle to ridiculous speeds; I follow closely and within moments, the two R-15s move as one. The brotherhood continues for several long minutes. Motorbreath and Spiderweb are in view only as beams zig-zagging across the slants above.

Facebook update: Two-bikes-as-one run on the twisties with Aman! Loved the synch between the two R15s :)
03 June at 20:42 via Text message

Sagar Raikar and Tushar Jadhav like this.

Sagar Raikar so where r u guys now........
04 June at 02:47

As Aman and I approach a bridge, we halt in a bid to add to our capture count and allow the trailing duo to catch up.

My heart is pounding as my mind only begins to fathom the joy of being compellingly close to fulfilling a life-long dream...

Section 3: The Journey > Chapter 15: Sleeping is the enemy

June 2, 2010

We've just finished attacking dinner, a motley of starters and lassi. Nobody seems to be in a hurry to leave. But we must. If ever we have to reach Srinagar as scheduled, or should I say, re-scheduled, we must hit Madhopur tonight, a distance of roughly 150 kms; child's play on any single day, frightening if you consider the fact that we were in Delhi less than 24 hours ago.

  
We slip into our gear, mount our steeds and rev the throttle. The revs reveal that my tail bag is teetering. I spend some time re-working the bungee chords. Meanwhile, my band of brothers seem to have pulled out. They are well on their way. It takes me 5 minutes to re-fasten the chords, 15 to catch up with them. Sleep is overpowering me; I can barely think. At one juncture, Aman and I take a left only to see Spiderweb signaling us to turn right round and head straight ahead instead. Obstructed by dividers, Aman and I look for a U-turn. I miss one, Aman takes it. I get the second. By the time I reach the junction, they are all out of sight. All I can remember of Spiderweb's directions is head straight. But did he mean head straight instead of taking left or head straight after taking the U-turn. My muddled thinking ponders over the quandary, unsuccessfully at first, and unsuccessfully from thereon. A traffic policeman, sensing my confusing, asks me to pull over but his superior remarks "Tourist hai, jaane do" (He's a tourist, let him go) and gestures asking me to move along.  I accept, except, I do not get far for I don't know which way to head. I dial Motorbreath. No response. With battery in the whereabouts of 8%, I wonder if this is going to end in disaster. All I can do is wait for them to notice my absence. Five minutes out, the phone buzzes. It's Motorbreath. I explain where I lost track of them - he explains how to find them assuring me that they await my arrival. Few minutes of riding in a straight line and I see the familiar glow of the Pulsar's tail light.

Spiderweb toys with Google Maps to ensure we're on the right path. Turns out, we are not. A few queries to passerbys,  scanty at this time, and we find our way on to the NH-15, a one-lane, two way traffic museum of vehicular display. With dark added to the mix in copious proportions, we are closer to the bat brotherhood than we hoped for. High-beam glares from oncoming traffic kill my desire to see. An occasional approaching monster truck with LEDs reminding one of the Disco era crack me up good. One in particular with LEDs arranged in a circular order on its hood with radiating lighting patterns looks like it has escaped from the sets of Transformers. WICKED is the only word to describe it as it comes chugging down the unlit NH-15.

Not long into the ride, Motorbreath begins to honk furiously. Trouble. We halt as he declares his front tyre to be of the flat assortment and while he was aware of the said issue minutes earlier, he decided to wait until he spotted a mechanic. Sure enough, across from us, a mechanic sits ideally as he contemplates relativity. We are in possession of a puncture kit, all we need the mechanic to do is spot the leak. We hand over the vehicle to his capable hands and rest some more in a dhaba in the vicinity. It doesn't take long, and we resume the journey. The short rest has done us evil, for it has allowed slumber to weave itself deeper into our constitution. I now follow a non-linear path to my steed. Hopefully I'll do better on the tarmac.

As the kilometers fly by, Spiderweb leads the pack. Somewhere down the line though, he begins trailing. The Karizma's headlamps are ebbing which is troubling in a scheme where the slightest error could find you on the hood of an LED inspired motoristic beast. As the NH-15 flows through a settlement, I notice pot-holes, decelerating instinctively. Up ahead, I see Spiderweb hit a pothole at full speed. A thunderous sound ensues as darkness embraces Spiderweb in its uncomfortable embrace. He vanishes from view as if devoured by the Universe.

Worried, I speed up to get to where he was. My headlamps hit his steed, parked along the sidelines. Spiderweb looks grim as the mighty Karizma revs in silence, darkness and despair.

"Fuse?", I ask.
"Yeah", he replies.

This wouldn't be the last time Spiderweb's steed would blow its fuse. Unknown to us, a mis-wiring by the genius in Delhi is creating electrical ripples the fuse cannot handle. He gets off his seat, unhooks it swaps the fuse with a spare and sure enough the head lamps come alive, a ritual that will be repeated several times over as we navigate the NH-One-Five.

We've lost Aman and Motorbreath to speed once more. A 15 minute wait takes a lot longer to compensate for. Spiderweb pushes the throttle to its extreme. Its easier to maintain high speeds with two as opposed to four. I can only assume that the two before have achieved similar results. Spiderweb and I tail fast cars relying on them to shed more light on our path. It works as we cover ground quickly.

As we approach another settlement, we find the duo, parked to the side, signaling us to stop. Motorbreath is irate as he informs us that a couple of local bikers with pillion antagonized our two by cutting them off time and again, preventing them from over-taking them and barricading them against the sidelines in a startling display of brain deficient bravado all at high speeds. Slowing down did not get rid of them. Given the riding conditions, coupled with our fatigue, the locals had willingly put themselves and our mates in jeopardy. The only logical thing to do then was to find a safe settlement and stop, which is exactly what the duo did.

Aman's situation is worse than the collective, for he has had a sum total of 30 minutes of sleep on a chair in the past 48 hours. It is now his turn to trail. I stick with him, often times trying to lead in tricky overtakes for I worry about his conscious state, which judging by mine, would be frighteningly close to the un-conscious. When his headlamps turn to two, I slow down only to realize that a lone rider, separate from us, is following our lead as a safety measure. We let him. We lose him when Spiderweb halts to devour roadside kulfi and we follow suit. If you haven't already guessed, Spiderweb has a kulfi fetish. He could be on the precipice of an invention that could change the course of human history one day, but the mere sight of kulfi would be reason enough for him to abandon such a course, or at least break for two large helpings.

Weariness has completely over-shadowed our senses, destroyed our spirit. We decide to call it a night, regardless of current geographical bearing. All we need is shelter. We will realize soon that finding a sanctuary will itself pose many problems as over-populated lodges deny us room. Many moments later, we stop outside a flamboyant lodge. I've lost the ride in me, for I cannot ride no more. It is my resolve to pass out in the sprawling garden, should they refuse us accommodation. Fortunately, they grant us space.

I'm dismayed to learn that hunger will fight tooth and nail with slumber to gain my attention. We must eat. Dismay turns to horror as we are told that food will not be delivered to the room - we will have to haul ourselves to the adjacent hotel. Lack of options often lead to brave strides. We make it to the restaurant in one piece.

15 minutes out, I open my eyes to smiling faces as I realize, quite embarrassingly, that I've fallen asleep with a spoon held up to my face. All I have to return is a weary smile myself. We decide to call it a night. As I drift off into deep sleep, Aman's voice echoes in my auditory canal as he updates his loved ones "We are in Madhopur"...

Section 3: The Journey > Chapter 14: In my defense

June 2, 2010

The Wagah border, often called the "Berlin wall of Asia", is a ceremonial border on the India–Pakistan Border where each evening there is a retreat ceremony called 'lowering of the flags', which has been held since 1959. At that time there is an energetic parade by the Border Security Force (B.S.F) of India and the Pakistan Rangers soldiers. Troops of each country put on a show in their uniforms with their colorful turbans. The happenings at this border post have been a barometer of the India-Pakistan relations over the years. ~ Wikipedia


We are late to recognize we are late. For a little less than 60 is all we have to get to Wagah. Google Maps would reliably inform us it’s a mere 39 minutes away. Our unreliable network would prevent us from posing the question to begin with. Mild panic induces a curious neurotic ballet within my now tired cerebrum. I’m too absorbed in my ritual of dragging my knee guards against gravity to notice that an entire police squad now watches us intently. Several fingers ahead, Aman speaks with the chief who, at present, engages in frantic arm-waving and finger pointing. Aman returns and engages in a little bit of finger pointing himself. “That’s the direction we take to get to Wagah.”, he says. Asking the force for directions almost always attracts a million queries from the force; friendly banter for the most part, unless you stutter over basic queries and arouse their suspicion. Thankfully, we have nothing to hide.

As I align my stance for forward momentum, a policeman huddles up close, as if to share a secret. “Don’t you feel hot wearing all this stuff?”, is all he desires to know.  This would be my third encounter with that very query today. The last occurred several spans ago, when a jubilant gentleman risked limb and bone to catch up with us on his scooter executing this very same ritual – a lean-in, a concerned expression, a baritone voice and a “Don’t you feel hot wearing all this stuff?” inquiry. The fact that it  was made at 30kmph made it oddly funny. How curious do you have to be to ride up to someone only to ask him the specifics of his thermal reading? In each situation, my response was  “Better hot and safe than comfortable and dead.” In each situation I was subjected to the thunder of an open-hearted and vociferous Punjabi laughter that tickled my senses and made me lose my balance a fair bit, all in good spirit.

My comrades ride off into the distance, even as I turn to take one last look at the Golden Temple. “I’ll be back”, I think to myself. A deep throttle, a wave to the courteous and curious policemen, an engine roar and I’m riding alongside the pack once more.

There is a mild trepidation in our motored-stride. The flag-lowering ceremony at Wagah will begin any moment now.  Aman and I stop briefly for directions while Spiderweb and Motorbreath make their own inquiries a hair further. A blind corner prevents us from realizing that the two have been directed left, while we are directed right – and while all roads thence lead to Wagah, we will lose sight of them. Taking comfort in the fact that they had each other for company, Aman and I decide to plough on. Ten minutes out, I stop briefly to check my phone. No calls. They must be en route. We keep pushing our steeds. “The ceremony, the ceremony! We can’t be late for the ceremony!” my mind sings. It’s the stuff of B-grade nursery rhymes. But I let it be for I’ve enjoyed an epiphany today; my mind can rhyme if it so prefers.

Our path is linear. NH-1 says the writing on the wall. Several endless minutes later, we arrive at the Wagah/Attari border. We are greeted with pandemonium. Trucks, tourist vehicles and two wheelers hasten to occupy a little piece of the Indian soil tagged as “Parking”.

And then, there were the people. Hundreds and hundreds of denizens eager to renew their patriotic spirit. As I park my steed, I run a visual experiment and take off my glasses.  Almost immediately, the universe dissolves around me. All I see now are oval colored blobs attempting the Brownian motion. I experience an audio-visual orgy as I wade my way through atoms of human particle. The experiment ends abruptly as I bump into a non-descript – you know, the ones you wouldn’t want to see staring into your window on a rainy day against the backdrop of thunder and lightning?  The glasses come on and I take Aman’s side in haste.

We connect with Spiderweb and Motorbreath over our cell phones and are informed that they are parked a few meters away outside of a stall. The stall owner notifies us that our baggage will not be allowed beyond the security check point. He is kind, for he agrees to provide us space to park our bags and our bikes if we so need. We gladly accept, even though I have my concerns on leaving our bags unattended. Lacking options, we leave our bags with him, thank him and rush towards the security check point. Moments away, I realize that I have forgotten to remove my knee guards – an unfamiliar contraption that often leads to investigation and inquisitive inquiries from security personnel. I plough on hoping they would let me through for I do not want to find my way back to the stall. They let me in but not without a thorough examination of the innards of my knee guards that lasts for all of 60 seconds. And while that might not seem like much, it feels like eternity under the watchful eye of guns.

I had expected the border to be devoid of construction, witnessed only by barren barbed wires running across the length of that which divided us from them.  To my surprise, I find elaborate constructions – stylized gates that allow for guards to take strategic positions at their pinnacle. Adjoining staircases that serve as makeshift observation points for patrons and a small row of offices brimming with army personnel engaged in the day-to-day affairs. I push my way through wades of patriotic fervor, up the staircase and into a dense mass of skin and bone. Down below, perched on rows of wooden benches are several more screaming souls that want their pound of flesh – if only metaphorically.

And so the ceremony begins.

“Hooooooooooooooooooooooo”, belches out the Indian jawaan in a startling display of eternal, unending breath. The crowd goes wild, cheering him on.

“Bharaaaaaaatttttttttt Mataaaaaa Kiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii”, hollers another as he works up the crowd.
“Jaaiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii”, a positively charged crowd responds.

“Hindustaaaaaan”
“Jindabaaaad”


“Hindustaaaaaan”
“Jindabaaaad”


“Hindustaaaaaan”
“Jindabaaaad”

“Vandeeeeeeeeeee”
“Mataram”
“Vandeeeeeeeeeee”
“Mataram”
“Vandeeeeeeeeeee”
“Mataram”

The energy is palpable. A jawaan marches up to the gate and takes a confrontational stance, displaying power and agression, taunting the other side. The crowd resonates their support and cheer him on. Precision marching, foot stomping and choreographed hostility between the two sides flare emotions. Mild bursts of abuse are quickly silenced by liberal by-standers.

Several minutes of chanting, of solidarity and patriotic ferver, the ceremony draws to an end as flags lower in unison and the gates close. I make my way back to the stall realizing only now that I had lost my mates in the crowd. My camera lacks battery power; the lowly iPhone is put to use. I do not claim to be a professional shutter bug, but I live to learn...

I learn that if I move the iPhone while taking a picture, I can create some very lucid effects.

I learn that whenever you take pictures of anonymous denizens, remember to take their names or forever regret it.

I learn that there were several shutter bugs before me who have educated the young in the art of posing as these little souls transition between several camera-friendly poses with professional ease.

I learn that the father, although a tad rigid, can pose just as well.

I learn that some entrepreneurial spirits will charge you 10 bucks for a photo.

I learn that the eyes are the windows to the soul and despair is aplenty.

I learn that some will shake your hand with all their might to thank you for considering them to be relevant enough for a capture; if only they knew they were so much more.

And just like that, my tryst with Wagah draws to a close. I let my mind idle into thoughts of idealism; of a world without war and borders; of being able to ride into Pakistan through to Afghanistan via Europe to the United States, circling through to Asia - all without questions, without permissions, without papers, without fear.  Alas, I will not live to see this happen. But for the sake of future generations, I can only hope that this dream will someday befriend reality. Until then, I feel blessed for being born and raised under the protective wings of the Indian Army. May the Universe conspire to protect them at all times.

We rest our tired bodies. I rest my tired mind. Its taken me places I've never been before... 

Section 3: The Journey > Chapter 13: On Re-legion

June 2, 2010

I was born an agnostic, raised to be an atheist and found myself in anti-theism. I will not pretend otherwise, for I believe that the practice of pretense is vastly more disrespectful and perverse than consummate disrespect. As I stand at the shores of the immaculate Golden temple, I can't help but wonder if it would be disrespectful to accept it's embrace for I do not believe. But the tourer in me is quick to add that as an adventurer, and a storyteller, it is my moral obligation to explore and fathom. After all, I don't have to be a Punjabi to appreciate the glory of Punjab and I certainly don't have to be a practioner of religion to marvel at the extraordinary structure that owns the skyline before me. Besides, I do not feel it judging me; nor do I feel an animosity emanating from within its confines for a want of belief. It stands before me, steadfast in its resolve, as if to say, "I am what I am; think what you will of me, for I will think nothing of you." That's all the assurance I need.

Weary and thirsty, we drag our baggage to the temple's counter. We must remove our riding gear too. A curious question on our gear, and the gentleman at the counter stacks our luggage, handing us a metal token. Our shoes, we are told, must be deposited at a different counter, across the foyer. I can only presume that the segregation is based on religious convictions and hygiene considerations of the relative impurity of footwear. Specifically, our own footwear most certainly deserves segregation.

Edit - Aman's remark to the above: Nothing like that.. infact giving your time at the shoe counter is consider as Seva (help) and devotees sweep the ground where shoes are parked with their hand, the shoe dust too is considered pure. Segregation is just because all gurudwaras have a shoe counter, but all dont have a baggage counter, this one being a tourist place, has one.

We proceed to quench our thirst with hydrogen concoctions being offered in steel bowls. I take a second helping, followed by two more. We adorn ourselves in orange bandannas and walk towards the entrance. A small enclosure with flowing water cleanses our feet as we walk through it onto blistering marble flooring. And even though my soles of my feet scream in agony, I can't help but stare in awe. The Golden Temple is visual experience photographs can do no justice too. Its aura is overwhelming.

Cameras get whipped out and we get busy. As we make our way through the corridors, I notice devotees plunging buckets of water into a man-made water body within the enclosure and handing them over to what I presume are temple helpers. The helpers, in turn, pour the water onto the blistering marble. Gentle slopes in the architecture ensure that the water makes its way back into the water body as is soothes the surface. We take a peak into the water and find fishes, some white, most gold, listlessly, drifting in no direction in particular. Occasionally, they surface with mouths wide open gesturing us to feed their anatomy. Much to our delight, none are camera-shy.

As we get on to the causeway that leads to the main building of Sri Harmandir Sahib, a bulky sign reminds us that photography is not permitted within its confines. We tuck our cameras away as Aman gives us a background of the temple and its significance. I'm mesmerized by the structure for it seems to come alive as it breathes against the backdrop of a continuous recital of the Guru Granth Sahib. On a higher floor, an eclectic mix of devotees rest their senses. One in particular catches my attention for her eyes reveal a deep sense of anguish as she looks into the distance, perhaps ruminating on the source of her despair. In a bizarre way, I felt deeply connected to her; for as an individual who was once relegated to the confines of an extremely hostile environment, where opportunities for solace were few and the feeling of loneliness was acute, I have been where she rests now. It's a contradiction within in itself; of being lonely in a crowd.

And as we find our way up the stairs, my attentions turn on to myself. For I realize now that I have unfinished thoughts of my own; of an incomplete understanding of myself and of those that I once believed to be close to me... no... within me; of conclusions unconcluded; of hate for the anger within and anger for the hate within; of those that I have chosen to forget for all they remember of me now is that I have been forgotten. As a consumer of physics, I do not believe the Universe conspires against me. It's actions and reactions do not follow paths that are in any way aligned to teach me lessons, to test my mettle, to punish me of crimes committed in a previous life I have since forgotten. Indeed it thinks nothing of me. It follows then that the despair I experience could not be attributed to the actions of those outside of me – for they, just as the Universe, act in a manner that's optimized for their configurations. I believe they call it "their life". They owe me nothing – not one iota of honesty, not one iota of integrity, not one iota of the truth. I have believed and known this for as long as I can remember. What I failed to do was to conclude the obvious. That if I experience loathing for having being misled, for being lied to, for being taking for a ride I would rather not take; it must indeed be towards myself. Myself, for not having recognized their deceit, for having an unquestioning faith in their integrity, for having believed in their lifes, for letting myself being vulnerable to hurt and pain. And so to get rid of the pain and anguish, I must learn to forgive; not them for they are now inconsequential; but myself. I must forgive myself acts of temporary insanity; I must admit to myself that I am not perfect (its harder than it sounds I now believe) and I must allow myself to continue making mistakes for it is through risk, experimentation and excursions into unchartered territories, will I become of true master of the road through life. In summary, I must live as I ride, the two intertwined and inseparable.

Several heartbeats later, we make our way out of the temple. An enthusiastic gentleman insists on posing with us for photographs, one with the group and one with each of us individually. Amused, we grant him his wish. Handshakes, clicks, smiles and we are ready to re-kindle our patriotic spirit. We will now ride to Wagah.

Facebook update: Golden temple - Soul searched, mind blown! Off to woogie woogie wagah!
02 June at 16:36 via Text message

Divya Misra, Sujan Shetty, Tushar Jadhav and Satnam Singh Vohra like this.

Nitin Manore give pet bharke gaalis at 6 pm :D :Ddo take a video if possible.it's an amazing experience to be remembered later.
02 June at 16:39

Satnam Singh Vohra amritsari naan and kulche wid a huge glass of lassi and some paranthas wid chillis-- ahem ahem
02 June at 17:05

Rachit K yeah.. dont miss show at Wagah/Attari Border
02 June at 17:31

Tushar Jadhav bharat mata ki jai.......
02 June at 18:34

Sujan Shetty not bad u made it 5 day
02 June at 18:36

Siddhesh Kulkarni Gud 1 dude... so... on time ?
02 June at 19:49

Divya Misra Where now?
03 June at 11:54

Rachit K ‎^^ they are on their way to Srinagar from pathankot
03 June at 11:56

Section 2: The Journey > Chapter 12: Striking Gold

June 2, 2010

“We are just walking out the door.”
“Lies! Damned lies!”
“Arre Motor took time to wake up.”
“And you did not? If I remember correctly, and I do, you woke up last!”

Me to Aman, 
my conscience to me.

“The journey has just begun!”, exclaims Spiderweb, his sleep laden eyes incapable of masking his excitement. We now head towards Srinagar, or so goes the folklore. For Spiderweb and I have decided to take a detour - a decision that will ruffle many feathers. Just the day before, Google Maps patiently charted our course through Dhaula Kuan, on to the Ring road, straight to Azadpur, on to the NH1, to Panipat, to Ambala, to Ludhiana, to Jalandhar, to Amritsar and finally, to Pathakot. The astute are probably screaming at this page, reminding us that we could head to Pathankot directly from Jalandhar, as the crow flies. We will inform them that we are aware of this fact. But the Golden Temple, nestled in the heart of Amritsar, lures us into its aura. We must be in its presence. It is a calling; one that we dare not ignore.

But there are sacrifices to be made - for the biker troupe from Pune awaits our arrival in Srinagar. Our misdemeanor will disrupt their schedule, one that is bound by commitments to bread, butter and perhaps a portion of mayo on the side.  Satyen, the original conspiracist of the Leh dream and our tie to the civilized world, tries desperately to change one mind - for only one changed mind at either end would lead to an amicable compromise. They say the mind is fickle; they say it wrong.

Spiderweb and I will stick to our bastard plans. Bastard, for neither he, nor I, will take discredit for the evil.

Facebook update: Journey from Delhi starts now! Aman to join our troupe today!
02 June at 04:16 via Text message

We encounter an exhausted Aman. His social commitments kept him up late, our social misdemeanor of assuring him a timely start got him up early. 1am was our firm commitment. 4:16am was our irresolute start - one that would deprive Aman of the Zs. As we approach him at 5am, I silently pray he isn’t a connoisseur of violence, for if he is - now would be the most opportune moment for him to practice the art. A few hours into the day and he will have enough reason to pull out our guts and grease his chain with it.

Aman now leads us; for In a senseless act of cultural bias, we assume the Punjabi would know Punjab better than we. This, despite his blatant confession to the contrary for neither he has ever been to Punjab. He rides at a comfortable pace. I follow second. Spiderweb and Motorbreath seem to be at peace with each other as Spiderweb tails us… for now.

The ride today seems ordinary. We’ve been riding for more than a couple of hours I reckon. The road and its vehicular denizens haven’t posed any challenges. We’ve been largely ignored. Aman, overcome with exhaustion from a sleepless night, begins trailing. I fall back to stay with him, Spiderweb takes lead, Motorbreath comes in second. But before we can get too comfortable with our state of being,  Punjab hits us with all its verve, like the vivacious damsel that takes your breath away; a light bounce in her spirit, a buoyancy in her stride, a naughtiness in her smile. The abundance of gold in Punjab’s fields, the simplicity of its very being are intoxicating.

As we break for a quick chai, Aman offers us home made parathas. I clean them out. We spend several minutes looking skywards as fighter jets own the ether. The sight of a majestic machine tearing through the skies never gets old. Grain-laden trucks awaiting entry permissions witness our awe.

Facebook update: Punjab!!! 230km done today. Panipath, Ambala done. Headed to Ludhiana.
02 June at 07:23 via Text message

Leena Sabharwal oye paape !! stop by for patiala peg ji
02 June at 18:05

Leena Sabharwal are you alone ke there are other bandhus..
02 June at 18:08

Facebook update: Home made parathas, achaar, garam chai n fighter jets in the sky. Divine breakfast in Punjab :)
02 June at 07:42 via Text message

Sagar Raikar, Divya Misra, Rachit K and Saurabh Bhatia like this.

Honey Misra i want it :(
02 June at 09:46

Satyen Poojary Was this on the road by the bystanders or...?
02 June at 09:50

Satyen Poojary Was this on the road by the bystanders or...?
02 June at 09:51

Satyen Poojary Was this on the road by the bystanders or...?
02 June at 09:51

Alankar Misra On a city road by a civilian! Christ!!
02 June at 09:59

Alankar Misra Oh he was jus randomly doing it for his own amusement. Wasn't a show!
02 June at 09:59

Satyen Poojary He he he :) there will be more!
02 June at 09:59

-Rajni Taneja- I want it too:-(
Ur forgetting Lassiiiiiiii...
02 June at 10:54

Rachit K superb
02 June at 12:51

Shweta Nadkarni yummmmm....enjoy !!
02 June at 17:16

Sujan Shetty like
Rang De Basanti
02 June at 18:34

Mandar Bhandare enjoy enjoy have everythin you can lolz :P
02 June at 22:47

Dinesh Samtani Awesome is the word for it!!
03 June at 00:57

Facebook update: Sardarji balancing moving RX 100 n singing while standing on seat! Bless punjab :)
02 June at 09:38 via Text message

Saurabh Bhatia likes this.

Tushar Jadhav oye balle balle...
02 June at 10:03

Sagar Raikar oye aho aho.....
03 June at 00:47

Rohit Upadhyay Chak de fatte..gaad de khilli...subah jalandhar..shaam de dilli.
^^Hope i got it right :D :D
03 June at 09:45

As we break a second time, sleep gets the better of Aman. He befriends slumber while seated in a chair. I am to be impressed by his ability to snooze in precarious positions when, at one point in the trip, he trails off while sitting upright with no back rest to support him. We use this time to recharge our phones which, in our haste to do nothing in Delhi, we have neglected to do. As Aman awakens, it is now time to convince him to redirect to Amritsar for it is now that he is most vulnerable and completely at our mercy. Had we informed him of our deviousness a fraction of a day earlier,  it would have been the last we heard from him. Aman resists our attempts to digress but there’s little he can do. Ten minutes into an argument, he gives in and charts out the shortest route for us to get to our destination following discussions with informed confidants. We assure him that we will push our riding skills to the max to minimize the detour time in a bit to get to Srinagar in time to join the Pune troupe. 

Facebook update: Heading to golden temple n wagah border then to pathankot! Making the most of speed n time!
02 June at 10:12 via Text message
Tushar Jadhav likes this.

Ritesh Tiwari Shabash ! bike tour...?
02 June at 10:14

Alankar Misra Yes!!
02 June at 10:14

Satnam Singh Vohra God Bless n God Speed
02 June at 10:31

Tushar Jadhav ride safe dude, dont do much ripping.
02 June at 10:43

Rachit K lovely..!! am sure.. the heat must be killing u..!! its just a matter of sometime.. soon u will b chilling to death.. ;)
02 June at 15:08

Facebook update: Nussi! 80 odd kms from Amritsar. Total today: 400km!
02 June at 12:24 via Text message

Tushar Jadhav likes this.

Nitin Manore great.this is early now.spend the time fruitfully.
02 June at 12:32

We ride hard with straight stretches of road aiding our progress. As we enter Amritsar, we lose Aman to the traffic. We wait for him for what seems like eternity. A phone call, and we realize he is not behind, but before. The Punjabi really does do better in Punjab. We snake our way through the streets of Amritsar - a place bubbling with visual contradictions wrapped in the elegance of simplicity; a sense of calm, a purposeful peace. A well-meaning comment from me regarding the antiquity of the scape, perhaps ill-represented, strikes a wrong chord with Aman for he interprets it to be disrespectful. I make a mental note of being  more cautious of the words I choose. We ride for several minutes, asking for directions, finding our way into a mezzanine parking space near the temple. Pushing and shoving our steeds into place in the overpopulated space, we consider options with regard to our luggage. We are advised to carry our luggage with us and leave it at the counter of the temple. My tired hands can barely unhook the bungee chords. Spiderweb comes to my rescue. As we drag our now tired minds, bodies and souls out of the parking area, I feel an unfamiliar sense of peace come over me.

And just like that, we strike gold…

Facebook update: Golden temple, Amritsar :-)
02 June at 14:55 via Text message

Saurabh Bhatia likes this.

Veeral Joshi jo boleeeeeeeeeeeeeeee so nihaaaaaaal...
sasriyakaal
02 June at 15:01

Tushar Jadhav so thts 1st destination done.... . congratz
02 June at 15:10

Rachit K vow..! congrats.. Vaiye guru da khalsa.. Vaiye guru di fathey..!! enjoy the golden temple..!
02 June at 17:19

Dinesh Samtani Enjoy d golden moment!!!!!
02 June at 19:10