Tright here’s one thing a couple of bike that untangles your soul. It’s not simply the low, primal thump of the engine—like a heartbeat syncing with your individual—or the way in which the seat holds you simply sufficient to maintain you grounded whereas the world rushes by. It’s not even the liberty of leaning right into a freeway curve, the wind slicing by your ideas, or the way in which the headlight carves a path by the evening, sharp and unyielding. It’s what the journey does to you—the way it quiets the noise in your head, the way it strips away the litter till all that’s left is you, the highway, and the second.
My journey from Rajasthan’s Pushkar to Delhi—all by the evening, within the rain—with a quick pause in Jaipur, was my model of that: a 450+ kilometre seek for readability, one kilometre at a time.
An hour into the journey, the monsoon lastly made its transfer. The skies opened up, rain hammering down in sheets, turning the NH48 right into a slick, shimmering ribbon. (Photograph: Vivek Surendran)
The beginning: Pushkar’s goodbye
I left Pushkar at 3 PM, the city’s religious hum nonetheless vibrating in my ears. The slender lanes, scented with incense and earth, gave solution to the open highway as I pointed the bike in the direction of Jaipur. With a 25-kilo bag strapped to the pillion rack and my physique encased in full using gear, I used to be prepared for regardless of the monsoon had in retailer. The skies had been heavy, grey clouds promising rain however holding again for now. I didn’t have a plan once I began this journey—only a want to maneuver, to let the rhythm of the journey type out the chaos in my head. That’s what males do when life feels prefer it’s closing in—we discover one thing that calls for our focus, one thing that lets us breathe with out asking for explanations. A motorcycle, a path, an extended drive to nowhere. It’s our reset button.
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The highway from Pushkar to Jaipur was a mixture of winding curves and straight stretches, Rajasthan’s arid magnificence unfolding round me—scrubby hills, distant forts, and patches of inexperienced the place the monsoon had left its mark. The bike’s upright stance match my 5’8” body nicely sufficient, although my toes barely grazed the bottom at stops. It wasn’t good, however perfection is overrated. The handlebar’s geometry let me shift my weight effortlessly, saddling up on the open highway––flying, I name iT –– leaning into turns, and overtaking vans, with a belief that felt nearly reckless. I’ve all the time felt there’s a rhythm to using, a area between management and give up, that mirrors how males course of life—one second you’re gripping tight, the following you’re letting go.
Jaipur: A quick pause
I rolled into Jaipur round 6:45 PM, the Pink Metropolis alive with its chaotic pulse—scooters and auto-rickshaws darting, cattle conducting night conferences in the midst of the highway, and the occasional camel plodding alongside prefer it owned the highway. I ended at a roadside dhaba for chai and a breather. It was the form of place the place truckers and travellers commerce tales over steaming glasses. Individuals gathered round, drawn to the bike’s tall silhouette, presumably all of the gear I used to be sporting, and the cameras I had mounted. Some requested about its specs, others stared in awe, and a 3rd lot needed footage with me. I didn’t thoughts. Why would I? It felt surreal as a result of that form of response was new. It was not about exhibiting off. For me, it was about sharing a chunk of this journey, and my journey. It was just like how males nod at one another throughout a car parking zone, a silent acknowledgment of the highway’s pull. Or how riders, out on the highways, put one hand excessive up within the air to say “Hey,” to different riders.
I rested for a few hours, however sleep wasn’t within the playing cards. My thoughts was nonetheless on the transfer, replaying the afternoon journey. The seat, which seemed plush sufficient, compelled me to shift aspect to aspect seeking consolation that by no means absolutely arrived. The vibrations by the handlebars and footpegs lingered in my arms and toes, a reminder that no journey is with out its tough edges. Identical to life. Males don’t all the time speak about it, however we really feel it—the ache of holding on too lengthy, the necessity to preserve going anyway. At 9:30 PM, I saddled up once more, pointed the bike in the direction of Delhi, and let the evening take over.
The evening journey: Rain, vans, and readability
An hour into the journey, the monsoon lastly made its transfer. The skies opened up, rain hammering down in sheets, turning the NH48 right into a slick, shimmering ribbon. I pulled over briefly to throw the rain cowl over my rucksack and slip into my very own, the water already soaking by my denims. However stopping wasn’t an choice. The journey was calling, and I answered. It was additionally a check I put myself by. I needed to see if I might pull this off. I informed myself that if I attain Delhi in a single piece, it means I nonetheless am in management. Not simply of the bike or using, of my life, of my soul.
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The rain mode on the bike kicked in, the bike’s grip regular even because the highway turned treacherous. Between the hulking silhouettes of vans, their taillights blurred by the downpour, I discovered a rhythm—cruising at 60-80 kmph when the highway allowed, slowing to a crawl when visibility dropped. The headlight lower by the darkness, illuminating the way in which with a readability that felt nearly poetic.
Pitstops turned my lifeline. A roadside tea stall at midnight, the hiss of a kettle mixing with the patter of rain. A fast Redbull at one other lonely roadside restaurant, the neon glow reflecting off moist asphalt. Every cease was a second to recalibrate, to let the journey sink deeper into my bones. The bike’s thump was a relentless, grounding me by the storm.
Vivek cherished the pitstops all through his journey (Photograph: Vivek Surendran)
Delhi: The top or simply one other starting
I rolled into Delhi’s outskirts as daybreak broke, town waking up. My physique was drained, and I wanted espresso. As an alternative of heading dwelling, I headed to my favorite 24 x 7 espresso store, took my traditional dose of caffeine. I sat there, exterior the cafe, wanting on the bike. I made it. Protected. With out even an iota of bother. My thoughts was clear. Quiet. The journey had accomplished its job, unraveling the knots I hadn’t even realised had been there.
I realised the short espresso store was additionally as a result of I wasn’t able to let go of the highway.
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We chase these moments of solitude, the place the world can’t contact us. It’s why we sit within the automobile after an extended day, engine idling, staring on the dashboard prefer it holds the solutions. It’s why we blast music and take the great distance dwelling, why we journey by the rain after we might simply as simply cease. It’s not about escaping—it’s about discovering house to exist, to let the ideas we’ve been dodging lastly catch up.
I’m in Delhi now, and I don’t know the place I’ll journey subsequent. Possibly nowhere. Possibly in all places. That’s the great thing about a journey—it doesn’t demand solutions. It simply asks you to maintain transferring. This journey wasn’t about any vacation spot. It was in regards to the house between—a 450+ kilometer stretch of highway, rain, and reflection. The bike carried me by the chaos of Pushkar’s lanes, the vibrancy of Jaipur, the rain-soaked highways to Delhi. However the actual journey was inside. It’s why I journey, why I’ll all the time journey. It’s how I make sense of the world—one kilometre, one second, one journey at a time.
