the quest for a bhutta : from mumbai to lonavala

Recently, I read about a blog topic on indiblogger titled ‘The Perfect Road Trip’. It got me thinking and took me back to a rain drenched July morning in Mumbai, sometime in the late ‘90s. A bunch of us friends sat watching the dance between the turbulent skies and raging waves of the swelling Arabian Sea, a cup of hot cutting chai in one hand and the well-known Tibbs frankie in the other for company. In typical teenage fashion of conversations filled with exclamations, we captured the experience with, “Whoa! Awesome man!!! High five!” While some of us out-of-towners reveled in the moment, and thought “nothing gets better than this”, someone in the group piped up, “This calls for a bhutta (corn on the cob). Chal! Let’s go to Lonavala and have some”

After fifteen minutes of discussions, two of which were dedicated to debating the pros and cons of the suggestion, but strangely not its madness; we were off! On three bikes, and a Kinetic Honda, windcheaters on our backs, a set of spare clothes and meager cash in our pockets. Those were the days, when there was no Mumbai-Pune expressway, when the streets of Mumbai were covered with a sea of potholes during the monsoons (even worse than present times). Technology meant pay phones and pagers, not mobile or Google. One either relied on past experience to reach ones destination, or it could be a case of the blind leading the blind. As it was in this instance.

We set out in full confidence, enthused with our spontaneity and with the fearlessness typical of the youth. Neither the steady rain splashing on our faces, nor the grey, smog-filled horizon, nor the endless string of trucks expelling black waste on our faces, could deter us from our journey. It took us two hours to reach the highway. I looked at the group that set out on this journey, a romantic couple, a question-mark couple and the rest of us buddies, and smiled. Our faces were black, the rains had made a mockery of our windcheaters and our backs needed a break already. But we knew we were in for an adventure. And for the ones who rode the bikes, a grueling test of their temperament and skill.

We rode steadily on the road, our heads bowed low, trying to avoid the whiplash of the rain. Despite the company, it felt like a scene from a movie, riding down a solitary tree-lined road, watching the miles disappear under the burning tyres on the slick wet road, while heavier vehicles sped down on a parallel track. There was barely any shelter along the road, the roadside dhabas that lined the highway initially, reduced in numbers as our journey progressed. We made a couple of pit-stops for hot tea and biscuits. Eating something heavy was not an option, lest we slept off on our bikes. The rains didn’t let up, neither did the romance or madness. While ‘established couple’ snuggled and whispered sweet nothings to each other, the ‘maybe-maybe not’ one maintained a façade of casual, yet subtle intimacy. The rest of us hooted, jeered and did stuff that TV commercials, rightfully, dissuade the common youth from doing.

If the ride on the highway in the plains was smooth (as much as it could be), the climb towards Lonavla was anything but. The road narrowed and the incline was steep. There were no boundaries along the route, the dividers missing in few places and no overhead lights. Several trucks chugged along slowly, their drivers stepping hard on their brakes and blaring their horns every few seconds. It was dark by the time we reached this stretch, but the rain had slowed to a drizzle. We joined a herd of bikers who moved in a single file, along the edge of the road, their experience and alertness in the low visibility condition taking them through. Our group was dispersed in the crowd and my companion and I were the last to climb up since the Kinetic was not the most powerful vehicle. Tired, weary and slightly worried by then, we were relieved to receive a page message asking us to stop by the roadside.

Just before turning into the arch that led one to Lonavla, there was a patch where the edge of the road spread out and made for a spectacular viewing point of the town below. It was here, that I had the experience of a lifetime. As we sat on the ground, we looked down upon the twinkling in the plains below. The town looked a pretty grid in blue and yellow, bringing life to a murky night. A few seconds later, to our amazement, we saw a grey cloud cover the entire town below and travel rapidly towards us. Until it touched us!!! I lifted my fingers and felt the cloud/fog (I don’t really know what else to call it) briefly, before it moved over us. And then the rain followed.

The rest of the journey followed in a daze. We arrived at our destination, in the next half hour, two hours overdue from the initial plan. Cold and drenched, we had barely enough strength to consume vada pao and Coke for dinner. But we could not cease to wonder at the moment we had experienced. Even our ride to the scenic, highest point in Lonavala, finally eating semi-roasted, semi-soggy bhutta in the rains, on the following day, could not compare to the warm envelope of the clouds!

In all its imperfection, here goes my recipe for a perfect road trip:
2 parts spontaneity
2 parts madness
a whole ounce of fearlessness
5-6 portions of close, like-minded friends
a pinch of planning, help of technology
zero guidelines or maps
an endless measure of willingness to live through an adventure!