An 'Expecting The Unexpected' Journey Or Travelling Offline In An Online India
Long years ago, till the turn of the 21st century I had traversed the length and breadth of India in my Mahindra CJ340, 1991 model, from Kanya Kumari in the south to Hardwar in the north, from the Sundarbans to the Wagah Border, mostly on film assignments, logging close to 150000 km before the era of GPS and expressways. When I first drove all these miles diesel was Rs. 9 per litre, complaining as it rose to Rs. 27 per litre over the decade. With fuel prices spiralling thereafter I ruled out any chances of driving long distances ever again.
Two decades and more elapsed till a long-term assignment popped up in Jharkhand in early 2023, requiring lots of driving within the state for which it made sense to take my car rather than spend fortunes on hire. So, I packed my Tata Nano to the gills with gear, rediscovering the road in splendid solitude over three days, driving 2000 km from Bangalore to Ranchi through six states.
Assignment over early in 2024 I was planning my return to Bangalore after visiting Calcutta – the city of my childhood, old friends and millions of memories - but this return trip would be significantly different. After decades of going solo I would have my partner Asha for company as co-driver and navigator. Curiously for Asha it was her first ever long-distance road adventure covering Calcutta to Bangalore in just over three days.
Road travel for me is more than just travelling to places; it is always a journey infused with more learning than all the school text books could teach me. Most importantly it is a journey within; into oneself forever testing one’s openness to serendipity and experiences and preparation for the unexpected. In Asha, I had not just a very competent co-driver and brilliant navigator with perfect temperament but another student open to being schooled by the road. Needless to say, she was incurably infected by the road bug and more journeys were certainly in the offing.
Almost a year later a much-discussed road journey covering a section of the picturesque west coast spontaneously materialised at the end of the year triggered by a visit to friends in Coorg for a local fair.
What made this trip exciting was the complete absence of planning in advance at a time of year when every lodging in every town is house full ushering in the New Year with hiked prices to milk the traveller dry.
All we knew when we left Bangalore was that we were driving to a friend’s abode in Coorg to attend a two-day fair after which we were heading to the coast unsure of anything thereafter.
On day one we were exposed to the challenges of technological dependence when my phone remained functional with a blank screen, rendering it useless.
So, when we lost track of our hosts on entering a town there was no way to connect since Asha didn't have their numbers. I could hear my phone repeatedly buzz with frantic calls from our hosts staring helplessly at a blank screen. Instinct suggested we stay put till our hosts back tracked and located us to guide us back.
Adding to my litany of technological malfunction was a back up phone always with a BSNL number for travel which refused to boot up! End of day one with two dead phones but fortunately there was Asha as co-traveller with access to another phone.
Yearning for the coast which we had long promised ourselves, we snaked our way by sun up the next morning through coffee estates and undulating ghats towards Kasargod - the northernmost tip of Kerala - home to the Moplahs which had fascinated Asha through literature and history but had never visited.
We had decided in Coorg we were
driving north up the coast towards Karwar rather than south towards Kochi, to
savour the Karavalli coastline I loved, which Asha had never seen.
I had last driven along the west coast in 2005 from Mumbai heading south a
favourite route I had frequented when highways were two laned and potholed;
when I was the only vehicle on the road for hours and miles, when one travelled
without a phone and GPS, guided by the angle of the shadows cast along tree
lined highways. On overcast days there was always a helpful citizen at a chai
shop or bus stop guiding you to the next turning.
Approaching Kasargod on the last days of 2024, nothing was recognizable. Expressways under construction -signifying progress- had slashed a four-lane scar along the coastal landscape making villages remote and flying over towns. So much so we only realized we had missed Mangalore after crossing it, with none of the familiar landmarks like Pumpwell Circle visible, to turn back a few kilometres later.
Since Asha had never been to Mangalore before which is supposed to be my 'native' place, where my father grew up and I visited my grandmother infrequently during summer vacations. Impromptu I conjured a drive-by tour through the city with little familiar remaining of yesteryears, tiled roofs and laterite houses swamped by monotonous glass and steel everywhere. We set course for city centre, specifically landmarks like Milagres Church when I suddenly realised that St Aloysius College chapel was an absolute ‘must see’ with a ceiling painted over a century ago by one Bro Moschini.
Thereafter we sought relief and refuge from the searing coastal sun - even in December – locating a microbrewery offering a tankard of delightful mango cider. Refueled and refreshed we proceeded to Udupi where we would end day two.
One of the significant risks of serendipitous travel is finding affordable lodging for the night especially during high seasons since we hadn’t booked in advance. From my experience the one thing about India is you will always find a lodge near a railway station, bus stand or along the highway - which does not feature online - where you can put your head down for the night, if you're a single male. If you're female and fastidious about clean loos - like Asha is - that reduces the options significantly.
This is when technology proves useful. As you drive, lodgings for various budgets pop up along the designated route on Google Maps. While I was driving Asha was calling to check prices and availability finding affordable hygienic lodging - off the tourist track from seaside Malpe - in the temple town of Udupi. Interestingly, travelling through temple town we were hard pressed to find a single temple amidst the basilicas of commerce – we refer to malls – and an unusual profusion of wine and spirit establishments, for the faithful seeking alternate routes to spiritual oneness.
Soon after we set our bags down, we drove towards the sunset heading for beach of Malpe, resembling more a bus terminus than a seaside resort. What is otherwise a serene beach with silver sands glowing on a moonlit night complementing bio luminescent waters was deluged by holidaying tourists nervously approaching the gentle surf in the most unbeach attire. Having strolled along the beach for some distance greeting the approaching surf in our bare feet navigating the multitudes we built an appetite for a seafood supper.
The restaurant we were recommended was more renowned than we realized with queues meandering onto the road. Daunted by the prospect of a very long wait we almost about turned before I spotted a concierge noting names. A ten-minute wait was perfectly acceptable for sumptuous seafood fare, fresh off the boat, served as a limited menu.
On the third day we rose again just before sun-up driving what is arguably the most picturesque sector of the Karavalli coast to Karwar crossing the western ghats to Jog Falls to break for the night. An hour of driving out of Udupi brought us to one of the country's blue flag beaches Maravanthe, where swimming is prohibited but the view is a picture postcard. The morning sun caressed the blue waters speckled with fishing boats sparkling in the morning glow.
After enjoying a surfeit of ‘seanery’
we headed north looking forward to more spectacular views of from on high at
Murudeshwar and Gokarna en route to Karwar.
The monotony of the expressway was proving wearisome, so we switched off
motorways to find ourselves meandering through village lanes within a whisker
off the sea. Before too long our chance adventure was sabotaged by Google Maps
directing us towards a cycling bridge across an inlet. Fortunately, we had just
enough room to reverse and return to the main road. A satellite view revealed
that along the coast there are no connecting roads between villages, separated
by inlets, requiring frequent returns to the high way with every detour making
the journey tedious and serendipity proving expensive on fuel.
This one detour was so refreshing as it briefly brought us back in contact with the India we yearn to see whilst driving.
Two decades later India's highways are being upgraded to expressways, more for people in air conditioned SUVs in a tearing hurry rather than for road travellers inhaling the scenery along with the fresh sea air. There are still sections from the old route -pending upgrade- which brought memories of the road that once was, slithering through villages by the sea, up and down the ghats shadowed by trees with the scent of the sea ever present.
The romance of this coastal road winding through the western ghats playing hide n seek with the sea will now remain a fond memory un-experienced by future travellers. Gone forever are the drive through views from Murudeshwar or Gokarna. Yet, we managed to stop and steal a dip in a river spotting a break in the road scavenging on the magic of road travel, to be denied the future road traveller.
Were Rabindranath Tagore driving with us, I wonder his reaction to the desecration of nature witnessing the coastline and beaches of Karwar of which he waxed eloquent. Gone are the mesmerizing views meandering through the ghats towards Karwar blinkered by blue corrugated walls usurped for reasons of national security by the Indian Navy.
The expressway flies over Karwar town too like it does over Mangalore, easy to miss were it not for the serenity of the breakwaters at Devbagh beach, taming the Arabian Sea into a very placid lake, creating the perfect base for India's western fleet.
We needn't have driven as far as Karwar if we were heading inwards towards Jog Falls but the memories of the magical scenery were a magnetic drawn not to be resisted. Of course, that was not to be but we were rewarded by this magical seafood lunch home run by a local family since 2000. A divine sea food feast at an affordable price is an offer impossible to refuse. Finding a watering hole before lunch has become habitual and Karwar was no different. Located adjacent to the fish market Asha and I walked into the local bar for a cold Kingfisher her presence scandalizing the already inebriated regulars. For their spiritual comfort, we were then escorted a few floors up to the family section, a floor all to ourselves.
Our final port of call was Jog Falls which I had last visited in 2006. More than the Falls it is the winding roads through the thickly forested ghats which never fails to disappoint. The quietness demands you switch off the engine and glide on neutral, wherever possible, so as not to disturb nature's tranquillity.
Once again, a last-minute booking fortunately saved us from staying at the ‘house full’ Karnataka Tourism resort in favour of a new home stay run by an extremely hospitable farmer attempting to earn something over and above and agricultural income. It was a heavenly experience being able to look up and revel in the magnificence of the firmament with the Milly Way and the myriad constellations on exhibition.
The Jog Falls was a spectacular disappointment. Four gentlemen peeing over the rocks after an afternoon of beer drinking would have generated more stream than Raja, Rani, Rocket and Rover. To think the Falls were non-existent so soon after a season of heavy rainfall was a matter of concern.
However, the tragedy was Karnataka Tourism's brain child of converting this quiet haven for nature tourism into a mall and shopping complex adjacent to the Falls. No where else in the world would a natural wonder be despoiled to foster tourism. That it is being undertaken in such a crassly commercial manner highlights our propensity to sacrifice the integrity of natural environments effortlessly at the altar of commerce.
Our final day began with some excitement well before sunrise. Remember my
phones were dead now joined by Asha's phone, which was functional but devoid of
network. Of course, when that happens it
reminds us travellers that complete reliance on technology is ill advised and
precarious for reasons more important than navigation. Despite the vast
mobile networks, you can be rest assured a network will not be available when
you need to make a digital payment. So, some hard cash is a very good idea as
fall back.
So, our final leg en route to Bangalore would revert to the traditional time-tested navigation methods. However, that remains a bit of a challenge before sunrise when you can figure west form east. Hesitant to trust our directional instincts we turned the wrong way out the homestay. The car’s compass protested silently and stoically insisting we were heading west towards the coast rather than south east towards Bangalore.
Sooner rather than later we
figured our error and rerouted to set a south-east course. Much later that
morning fortified by our fourth consecutive idli-sambar breakfast Asha realized
her mobile data had inadvertently been switched off which is the reason why we
had no network!
Our return to Bangalore might have been unremarkable had not Google Maps decided to veer us off the highway, 40 kilometres out, to return via the narrowest of town and village roads which eventually connected with Magadi Road then Old Mysore Road.
What was most remarkable was the fact that we reduced our travel time into Bangalore by 45 minutes crawling at a steady pace along the city's busiest roads rather than the scheduled highway route via Tumkur and Yeshwantpur. A most interesting return indeed as Maps had ticked 'on' ... avoid motorways.
This was the first time ever I had embarked on a road journey so unplanned, with the temerity to do so at a very busy time of year. Had I been driving alone it would have been a reckless endeavour. With Asha as ‘partner in crime’ we could watch each other’s’ backs, which makes all the difference
Adding to the unexpectedness of this trip was failing technology which helped
one realise that the road instincts honed decades ago remain intact, always to be
relied on to bring us back in one piece irrespective of the challenges.
For my part I could not think of a better way to wind down an old year and
usher in the new than preparing to expect the unexpected.
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