Go-a, Going-a, Gone-a

A few friends and I, recently finished a memorable trip to Goa (my first visit to Goa by the way). It started off with a lot of planning and the associated confusion when no plan seems to work out. But it ended with a lot of unplanned memories, some good, some not, but all that I am not going to shake off, and some I won't even be able to, in a hurry.

Day 1:
We left Bangalore late at night. The recently acquired Ford Figo Diesel was full tank at just Rs. 1499.97. That was a brick on the chest of petrol car owners like myself. Anyway, the trip had started off well and after jostling with some city traffic we reached the NICE road. Pretty surprised when the guy in the toll booth didn't return any change for a Rs. 100 note. Pay taxes for pot holed roads and hefty tolls for roads without them. And still, adhere to an 80KM/h speed limit. Someone in the government has a sense of humor.

Anyway, the next leg of the journey was uneventful, except the occasional stop for highway tea, which by the way, has deteriorated from my memories of yore. All was going smooth, till we hit a speed breaker, quite literally. I was driving and couldn't make out the unmarked hump in time, and flew over it. If it had been a Honda City, we would have lost the undercarriage for sure.

"Aaaarrrreeyyyy... I AM AWAKE", shouted the startled lean guy in the back seat, awakened rudely from his nap, "I am not sleeping."

And I looked in the rear view mirror at the second car of the convoy, hit the speed breaker just like me. Thank God, it was not my fault. It would happen to everyone. And before I could adjust to the road in front again, I hit the second one.

"Remember", said the wise co-driver, "They always come in pairs."

And then came the third, but I was ready this time. I skid the car to a grinding halt inches before the hump. The engine stalled and sputtered to a silent stop. I restarted the car and took the hump like a pro. Slow and steady, making sure the under carriage did not touch anything. Well done. That much for mid night action involving three humps. The rest of the way was a nervous eye peering and slowing down at all kinds of shadows across the road. But guess what, there were no more speed breakers after those blasted three.

"Who would put a speed breaker on a National Highway man?", I said tasting the tea signaling driver change. I was sipping with a prayer and thanking God that the car was still in one piece.

We started the third leg pretty excitedly and were doing great ground covering. We crossed Hubli in a hurry and I smiled. The driver from the second car called asking if we took the left turn at Hubli.

"You didn't?", said the wise man, waking up from his nap, in the back seat.

"No", I said, "I am going for the first time remember?"

"And", said the lean driver, "I have never been on this road."

We turned around and backtracked for a good 20 kilometers, and met up with the lagging party, puffing in the breezy night.

Day 2:
The second day started with fewer surprises as the light slowly crept into the sky. We crossed the western ghats and beheld the beautiful vista being lit by the sun over our shoulders. I caught the first glimpse of the ocean and opened the window to feel the salty breeze. It had been a long time since my last vacation and a longer still since the last time I was near the ocean.

Finally, after a long night of driving, we were inside Goa. We headed for Colva, where the wise one said, there was an awesome french place for breakfast. Unfortunately, either we were too early and the shop had not opened, or too late and it had shut shop. We couldn't find the famous place, but we ended up at the Colva beach and saw the Cafe Coffee Day and Subway.

"You want to go to Subway?", I asked.

"Who wants to go to Subway?", said the wise one.

"Not me", said the lean one, "I am just looking for a place to pee."

And the three of us nodded and entered the nearest shed of a hotel. The second car was trailing a way behind, owing to the photo op stops for the two wives. We waited for a while and then, when we couldn't hold any longer, we ordered the poached eggs on toast and tea. The eggs and toast were good enough for a hungry man. But the tea... The tea had hit a new low. Low tea, low sugar, low milk. Only thing high in the tea was the water. All seven glasses sat un-drunk.

Then we walked to the beach for a feel of the sand on the feet. And as the sun began to rise threateningly higher, we bundled up and headed for the hotel. The roads got narrower and the turns sharper, as the driver in the other car kept checking with the Google map print out. Finally we reached an unimpressive double storied building in yellow. I stood for a minute trying to understand how a tourist spot could have a village feel like this.

The hotel had small, bearable rooms with air conditioning. Just that the electricity was not available at the moment. Would it ever be, we all thought in silence. Some were wondering if we should leave just now and figure a better place. I looked around the place and couldn't believe that this was supposed to be a hotel. It was more like a house with an extra floor and six rooms to be let out. And as I looked around, the biggest question popped into my head, "Where is the beach?"

"It's right there", said the lean one pointing due west.

"But, I can't see anything", I said, "It's only houses and trees."

"Look", said the wise one pointing to the shimmering blue on the horizon, "That's the ocean."

I nodded without understanding how near or far from the ocean I was. The air was surely laden with salt, but it was quite unlike the idea of beach resort I had in mind. Where were the long coastlines with light brown sands? Where were the tourists and the cacophony that goes with it.

And I found out soon enough that Goa works a little differently. Behind a couple of hundred meters of congested roads and houses packed together, the view opened to the beach, filled with low shacks and innumerable sun beds. Lots of foreigners lay around in the hot sun, bathing for Vitamin K, I think.

We sat in a moderate shack, supposedly affiliated with the hotel, and providing free sun beds. The beer was chilled and good, but the service was slow and awful. I was beginning to question the whole idea of shacks that everyone could just not stop about earlier. I looked around at their faces and sensed the disappointment, and felt reassured that this was definitely not the best.

I settled into the reclining chair and ordered a plate of fish fingers and back came a plate of fish Pakodas. French fries were like potato wedges and the red colored dish someone had ordered, was so spicy that I had to gulp down warm beer just to keep breathing. Somehow, we managed to get over the noon sun in one piece and returned to the room for a nap.

"Where next?", I asked.

"Baga", said the lean one.

And Baga it was. The difference was startling and pleasant. Slightly more organized, but debatable. Lot more shops and much wider roads. At least bike and a car could cross without anyone having to reverse. The crowd was better too. More Indians, and Indian women with uncharacteristically short hot pants and skirts. My eyes were having a field day trying to soak up the skin reflected sun.

"Good", I thought, "We sleep in Calangute and stay awake in Baga."

"I need a breezer", said the lean one as if sensing my thoughts, and I simply nodded without moving my eyes.

"Brittos", declared the wise one. We followed and realized that the place was so famous, that there was not one seat available for us. We hung around a while and asked if we could reserve a seat. But the bearer informed us that there was no reservation after 8:30. Any just then, the minute hand of my watch mockingly crossed to 8:31.

So, with breezer in hand, we just walked on the beach. The second party had taken a longer nap and would join us in an hour. With the breezer bottle in one hand and a pair of slippers in the other, we walked like three buddies watching the dreamy reflection of starts in the water. Finally, we gave up on Brittos and settled into the shack next door, St. Anthony's Shack.

Nothing saintly about the crowd there though, and we were soon in the groove. Snacks and drinks, and lots of arguments and laughter. I was loving the fine sand seeping between my toes, feeling comfortably cold to the skin.

Sigh.

The second group arrived and the photo shoot started. We had a brand new digital SLR, another digital, a Sony Cyber shot, an Apple iPhone and a Blackberry for cameras. And the flashes were flashing all around us. A couple of hawkers were selling glowing devil horns, in red, blue and green. Another hawker was showing off a Rs. 900 laser that left a trace for almost 5 kilometers. A glowing helicopter type of toy kept lighting the sky intermittently. But, we were all adults here, and we resisted falling for these cheap Chinese made gimmicks.

Then we fell. The printouts looked so convincing, that we knew that nothing could go wrong. While smoking the recently ordered Pan-Masala flavored hookah, three of us chose their pet designs and agreed to get inked. The lean one got a scorpion, a pretty lean scorpion, if I may add. The hunk got a dragon, with long spindly legs. And his wife went for the best design.

"That will cost you extra", declared the tattoo artist.

And an hour of stiffness later, all of them showed off their tattoos. The scorpion's tail hinted out from the sleeve menacingly. The dragons fire breathed across the hunk's chest. But his wife was panicking with the sexy siren's portrait in lines, having turned to the look of Mrs. Shrek.

"This is horrible", she declared, "You made the face too round."

"I will fix it madam", said the artist trying to fix the mistake.

Another half hour later, the hunk said, "Listen, just remove the nose.'

"And the nose", he added ten minutes later.

Some arguments later, the couple paid the artist and looked at each other.

"Well", said the woman, "There is only one thing left to do.'

Her hubby nodded and poured the bottle of water over her arm. She scrubbed and scrubbed, and managed to remove the darkest parts of the tattoo.

"Thank God", she said, "It was temporary."

"Imagine", I replied feeling pretty tipsy, "Getting a permanent tattoo on a beach while getting drunk. What a thought?"

Before we could realize, it was 2 a.m. and all the shacks around were closed, even Brittos. Thankfully, the owner of our shack knew people around and had kept the place open pretty late. I wasn't complaining as I finally hit the bed at three, with a broad smile.

Day 3:
But three hours later, the hangover was beating my head into a pulp and I HAD TO get up. You see, my wife was joining us from Poona, and I couldn't dare miss picking her up. There are mistakes you can live with, and then there are those you can't. So, I pumped myself up with fresh aqua, woke up the lean one who had volunteered to accompany me.

"You smell drunk", he said looking at my face.

"I am drunk", I replied holding the nearest door, "You drive."

Thirteen kilometers to Panji and a couple of confusing turns later, we spotted my better half. The initial look on her face made me think that I was late. But then I realized that she had just not recognized the new car. Her smile widened and she walked up excitedly. Public display of affection is a no-no in India, but at 7 a.m, when no one is watching, its another case.

With my wife in the back seat, we turned back towards Calangute. And miraculously, we stopped at the only open shop on the road and had the most decent tea in the last couple of days. And the costliest, if I might add, at Rs. 12 a pop. My wife told me about the comfortable multi-axle air-conditioned bus she managed to get at the last minute, but the uncomfortable journey owing to a co-passenger who just couldn't stop barfing.

"And the windows don't open in an AC", declared my wife.

She was not impressed with the hotel either, but after seeing the bathroom, that was quite clean, she agreed. Sleepy as hell, she groggily went around changing and crashed into bed. The plan was that she will sleep for a while, and I would be out with my friends. Around lunch time, I would come back to collect her and we would head for Baga again.

Somehow, the others took still longer to wake up. So, the three of us, the lean, the wise and the chatty, decided to head out on our own. We reached St. Anthony's shack at 8:30.

"WHAT!", said one of the servers who was relaxing, "You were here till 2 a.m. and you are back at 8:30 a.m. Do you not realize that we are humans too?"

"Err...", said the lean one.

"Sorry", I said.

"We will be leaving now", said the wise one.

We beat a hasty retreat into the beach and wondered where we could catch some breakfast without being shouted at. Then it struck us that Britto's had closed early the last night. And we stepped into the shack next door, only to find all the tables were neatly laid out, and all the chairs were empty.

"Are... Are you... Open?", I asked the bearer whose eye I managed to catch.

He nodded tiredly, and we took up the chairs nearest to the beach. The day had started off well. The lean one then realized that he had forgotten his phone at the hotel. So, he had to go back, just as his breakfast was about to be delivered. He was torn between the appetizing scrambled eggs and the costly apple. Steve Jobs won.

And he returned as the first round of breakfast was being cleared from my side. The wise one was well into his second course of poached eggs, and mine were on the way. But not to be withheld for too long, the lean one jumped into the race and polished off his last morsel a quarter of a second before me.

Then came the mug, filled almost to the brim.

"That's more a bucket, than a mug", I said.

"Yeah", said the lean one thumping the empty mug on the table and wiping the milk mustache with the back of his hand.

As the table was being cleared, the second group arrived, hunger gleaming in their eyes. It is an interesting conversation when half are too full and the others are completely empty in their tummies. But the camera's and the innovative photography of the sleepily awakening beach, kept everyone busy till the food arrived.

Once everyone was done with their breakfast, it was time for the wise one to lead the way to the trek he promised we wouldn't forget. But by the time the trek started, we were a couple of hours behind schedule.

"There is no such trek", announced the police man sitting lazily in the jeep parked in the shade.

"But I have been on the trek", said the wise on, taking offense.

And we all followed him over the bridge, across the river, through the shady road and ended up on the steep face of a mountain. The lens cover of one of the camera's fell down the slope, as if giving a warning of what would happen if any feet slipped. The owner of the camera wanted to go down and fetch the cover.

"Are you crazy?", I said shivering with adrenalin, as much as the thin path would allow, "You can buy another one man. Now WALK..."

The path became narrower, and muddier, and pebblier, and slipperier. We were all sweating in the harsh sun, and our hearts beating out of our chests. The hunk at long last declared that he was terrified of heights.

"Me to", I said excited at not being the only one anymore.

The path become so narrow and steep at times, that it was impossible to cross without sitting down and literally crawling on all fours. The sweat was pouring, the goggles were getting smudged with the perspiration, making a stop every few minutes mandatory. The group again got split into two. The three of us were faster and managed to climb the steep path, both uphill and down, quickly and reach the pebble beach. The second group, with the ladies, was traveling slower and much more cautiously, an attitude I had always appreciated and more so as I looked down the sheer cliff.

Almost an hour and a half after starting, with the sun directly above us, we stepped on to Anjuna beach, and were welcomed by the sight of a well toned foreigner, running in the sun and doing push ups. His six packs were as if sculpted and the legendary 'V' cut looked exaggerated the way he moved.

The lean one and I looked down at our own paunches, while the wise one said, "That's the kind of dedication and hard work it takes."

Having seen the peak of male body sculpting, I had become numb and turned into the nearest shack and ordered for a tender coconut. The lean one had three, while the wise one ordered for a beer. The sun was lighting up the calm waters on the beach like a jewel. We sat there for half an hour before the second gang caught up with us. A few more photos later, they finally reached the shack, drenched and heaving.

Well, it had been a long time since I was in Goa and I had not stepped into the ocean. I had not anticipated that I would be going in now, since my wife was still peacefully sleeping back at the hotel, and I would at any time be called for my spousal duties. I must have contemplated the various scenarios for an hour more, and then the thread snapped. I took off my shirt and rushed to the water in my Bermudas. Who cares if I had swimming trunks, neatly and dryly packed back at the hotel. I wasn't leaving dry today.

The second couple, the intellectual husband and his amazing cook of a wife had made the same error in judgment. And they sat sipping on cool drinks, bone dry inside the shack. And I was enjoying splashing like a three year old in a puddle. Only this puddle was the Arabian sea. After an hour of swimming along the beach, being as afraid of depths as of heights, I returned and ordered my small pegs of whiskey.

The wifey called and I was feeling very sad on how I am going to get her. The intellectual then came up with an idea that he and his wife would go back to the room, get dressed for the sea and also get my wife. I was so relieved that I was not going to have to travel with wet underpants, and the sand in unsaid places. That is one feeling that I just couldn't have born.

Anyway, the couple left, and an hour later, he calls to inform me that he has forgotten the keys to his room. Could I tell him the number on the key.

"But there is no number", I said, "It only reads 'FIGHTER', in italics."

Somehow, the hotel owner had a duplicate and after a lot of argument, he opened the door for the couple. Another hour later, my wife was on the way. And I was getting worried about the backlash of not having gone to pick her up. So, I called her and asked her what she would want to eat and ordered it. And as she stepped in, so did the prawn curry, rice and fried pomfret. She ate and I sighed in relief.

Everybody ate, and the table looked like the seventeen course feasts that medieval kings used to host. The ties, that doubled as bibs, and the burly facial bears, were maybe, the only missing elements from a period drama re-enactment. The liquor flowed with reasonable speed, and the sun dipped ever so slowly. I almost felt that peace was around as a person somewhere, and waiting to reveal himself if I knew where to look.

My wife had to be forced into the water, considering she had the fear of water, a little stronger than mine for heights though. But she relented, and dressed in her swim suite and her ear plugs, we got into the water.

"Don't get my hair wet", she said.

"Huh?", I said, "What's the point then?"

"You dare", she said.

She was right. I didn't dare. But her hair was dripping water by the time we got out. All owing to the helping friends I had, who understood my predicament and took the blame. We were happily in the water for a couple of hours and posed for the photographs in all kinds of loving poses. My wife and I are grateful to the lean guy, who also happens to be really tall, for clicking the photographs where we are almost sinking, from his birds eye viewpoint.

I got out and started hunting for the 'shower', everyone was mentioning to clean up. But no matter how I went and where I looked, I just could not find the shower. Finally, I saw the hunk walking with his towel in slow steps. I followed him as he placed his bare feet on the rounded pebbles and made his way to a small enclosure that looked like a bathroom. It turned out to be a well, full of water.

I helped him take a bath by holding the bucket above his head and simulating a shower and he returned the favor. And I thought that this is what everyone was calling the shower. And when I returned, I saw the fuming look on my wife's face. I had completely forgotten that she had asked me to finish quickly and give her the towel. She snarled at me and walked inside a door behind the tree. And there, I saw the shower, complete soap stand and towel hooks.

Since one of the cars was still in Baga, two guy left early in the second car and got both the cars back for the rest of the party. It was a lot of walking around and talking later that they arrived and whisked us away to the hotel for the women to deck up, and for me to catch on the sparse sleep I had been getting in the last few days. My head was still throbbing as I lay it on the pillow and had a fitful sleep. I even fought with my wife in my sleep, I believe, though I don't quite remember much I confess.

After a couple of un-refreshing hours of sleep, and a cold refreshing bath later, we headed out for another night of partying at the St. Anthony's shack. Only this night was Friday, and the beach looked different. There was a net barricade around the shack and I could not understand why. It turned out that on Friday's and Saturday's, the local crowd from Mumbai would overflow into the beach, and the open feeling of the previous night was not possible anymore.

"Population", said the wise one, "is the biggest problem of this country."

"I agree", said the lean one without taking his eyes off the decked babes walking around.

The firework display by the tall dark man, outside the enclosure was short, but mesmerizing. Followed by some idiot lighting up a crate of serial firecrackers right outside the enclosure. And we had sat down at the very first table near the compound and received a healthy dose of hot embers from the beautifully bursting crackers overhead. Another round of innovative and drunken photography ensued and the wife posed in her beautiful party number.

The hunk and his wife missed as they had been laid down with a case of sore throat and fever. The intellectual and his wife enjoyed the Calamari and prawns sizzler, while my wife sipped on the Peach-schnapps. I was as usual enjoying my whiskey and finger chips. And then I asked my wife for a dance and she agreed.

Somewhere during the dance, she asked, "Why are you so conscious?"

But I was not, so I replied, "I am not."

"Then why are you dancing so stiff", she asked.

And I danced stiffer to show her how relaxed I had been before she had criticized me. We stopped dancing pretty quickly from there. Another reason, though unfounded, could have been the increasingly cold night. The clothes that had been perfect till last night, had started to feel fairly skimpy. My wife especially, with her single piece party dress, was raring to get away from the party now. We had planned to be out a little early that day, say latest by midnight. But as nights of revelry go, the night ended again, sharp at 2 a.m.

I had fallen asleep sometime during the last quarter of the night, and had to wake up and gobble my dinner with the other standing around and shivering. I finished the dish in less than three minutes flat and stood up. The faces around me were looking at me with amazement, as if I had just beaten the host of 'Man versus Food'.

"Good night", I said to my friends as I got into my room.

"Good night", said the wise on standing at his room's door, "And a late morning."

I couldn't agree more and nodded as the door shut. I hit the bed, shut my eyes and started snoring, almost simultaneously.

The next day, we all got up late. And for the first time in three days, I slept somewhat decently. My wife slept on for quite a bit longer. I kept visiting the rooms of the others to judge how much time we had left. Somewhere around ten, everyone was hoping to get out for breakfast, and I was hoping my wife would at least get out of bed. The second group left after a long and futile wait.

The wise one and the lean one, tried to hold on for a while longer, but even their grumbling stomach's broke their will and they gave me an ultimatum. I asked them to go ahead and I would catch up with them, since they were not going too far. I could reach their intended location, the Calangute Residency, with a short walk across the beach. This gave my wife some more time, and she finally managed to get out of the room, after a lot of threats and cajoling.

The short walk on the beach, felt much longer than usual. The sun had again hit it's high position, but we trudged along with goggles, hats and umbrellas. The Calangute residency was a decent place with a great view to the beach. The other couples had finished their breakfast and were headed out to the beach, for some water sports. The wise one and the lean one were not interested, having done this many times over, so we left them to their snacks and chilled beer.

After quickly wrapping our breakfast, my wife and I also joined the other couples for the para sailing. It was an amazing experience, dangling above the dark waters of the sea, hanging from the colorful parachute. The wife was hanging in front of me in the dual harness, and we chattered excitedly. I hope the camera on the boat got a few good shots of our excited faces. Once we were down, the other two couples took their trips, and I took their pics. The hunk and his wife also requested and took a dip in the ocean mid way through their flight.

"Can I also do that?", I asked, "I would love to take a dip in the water."

"Sure", said the boatman, "But it will cost you 300 for the dip and another 400 for the second para sailing trip."

"Huh?", said the hunk returning to his seat, "The dip is charged?"

"Of course, sir", said the boatman, "In Goa, everything is charged, especially when you are in the middle of the ocean."

We returned to the beach and then took the next ride, the tire like tube, with me and my wife in it, dragged like rattling tins across the sea surface. Bobbing up and down at literally breakneck speeds, my wife was screaming and I was holding on for dear life. But when the ride returned to the shore, my hand slipped and I went overboard. I tried coming up for a gasp, but was stuck under the tube and had to be extricated by a trained hand and I spluttered for air. My wife on the other hand had such a tight grip, even after the ride had ended, that the boatman had to snap her out of her death grip saying, "Madam, you want to go for another ride or what?"

Next up was the jet ski ride. Though fast and fairly elating, it was nothing compared to the previous ride. Even my wife enjoyed it without having the headlights in her eyes look. She even posed for a couple of pictures for the camera once the ski was safely ashore. I enjoyed it, and also managed to hold the accelerator for a short while. Yippeee, I had successfully driven the first aquatic machine of my life, without capsizing.

Finally came the banana ride. My wife was scared, I could not understand what the big deal was. She backed out and I was okay with that, considering she had done so much, that I was already proud. She wanted to sit this one out, and I asked her to take some pictures. I got on the banana boat, and the other four got in and off we went. The boat ahead was pulling on the air filled banana faster and faster. I was at the head of the boat and was enjoying the water splattering on my face.

I was enjoying the ride and couldn't understand what the deal was with my wife not wanting to be on it, when the boat ahead turned sharply without slowing down, and literally wrenched the boat from under me. I held on for dear life, now spluttering inside and outside the water. Then my hands slipped and I was bobbing in the middle of the ocean. I took a deep breath and looked around to realize that the others were not there. I was about the panic, when the wave subsided and I saw the others in a group, a short distance away.

I swam up to them and they said, "Where did you go?"

"Nowhere", I said, "I just let go later than you."

"Huh?", said the intellectual, "You are supposed to let go, the moment the banana tips over."

"Yeah?", I said, "No one told me."

"I did", said the dark man who was the caretaker of the banana, "and I asked them to pass it on till you."

"Yes", said the intellectual's wife sheepishly, "He did, but before I could pass it on, the boat was upside down."

Anyway, the life jacket was a great thing, allowing me to swim in deep water for the very first time in my life without panicking. I think I will get one for my swimming pool too. It is just so much more relaxing to get into the water knowing that you can't not possibly drown. My wife wants it in red. She says that is will go perfectly with her swim suit.

After the water sports, it was time to laze in the water and get sun burnt. Of course, I did not realize it then, but my shoulders are burning like mad right now. Hind sight is the best sight, you say?

By this time, the stomach was ready for lunch. The group couldn't agree on one place to go, so we split up. I heard the other gang devoured some lobsters and calamari sizzlers, while we had to make do with American Chopsuey and Prawns biriyani. The game of pool and the shot of whiskey almost made up for missing the lobsters. But, I was running out of time, since my wife was leaving in a couple of hours back to Poona. Her vacation was ending a good 12 hours before mine.

She returned to the room and packed up the dry clothes, leaving the rest for me to pack up and take back to Bangalore. At the bus stand, she suddenly realized that she wanted Crocin, so the lean one hunted for it, while I was speaking with the bus conductor that the ladies seat adjacent to the one my wife was in, was being occupied by a man.

"What can I do?", he asked.

"But", I protested, "How can he call himself a Ms, only to get a seat."

"There is no rule against this", he said.

"But...", said my wife, her legendary anger rising behind her eyelids.

"Shhh", I said to her and then turned to the conductor, "Please, sir."

"Okay", he said after a short contemplating pause, "I will do something."

"Thank you, sir", I said as we exited the staff lounge.

Couple of minutes before the bus left, the lean one arrived with Crocin and the conductor showed my wife another seat, with a girl on the adjacent seat. This was good, I thought, as I alighted from the bus. I had a nagging feeling that I was forgetting something. And as I waved to the bus as it moved a bit, I remembered. I ran to the front of the bus and waved for the driver to stop. He did, but he opened the door with the nastiest face he could muster.

I rushed to my wife and said, "Happy early anniversary, baby."

She looked up and tears rolled down her eyes, "Happy wedding anniversary to you too, sweetie."

I got down from the bus in a hurry, afraid that the grumpy driver would start the bus and drop me a long walk away. But it was worth it. Having completed 5 years of marriage, and currently a forced bachelor as my wife does her MBA in Poona, I think any long walk would be worth wishing my wife face to face, even thought it was 4 hours before the anniversary midnight.

And then the rest of the evening was spent lazily lying and watching some repeat movie at the hotel. We were planning to leave that very night and reach Bangalore with a day to spare. The second gang wanted to leave too, but they were not yet at the hotel. After some time, the hunk and the intellectual came and informed us that they would leave a little later, somewhere at the middle of the night. That signaled the three of us to pack and bundle up, and we kicked off from Goa at around 10 p.m. We would make it to Bangalore pretty early.

On the way, we were repeatedly stopped by the cops at various checkposts, asking if we were carrying any liquor or 'fenny'.

"No, sir", said the lean one.

"I don't believe you", said the cop, "Open the boot."

The cop searched the whole car thoroughly, inside and out, even opened my bag to check if I had stuffed some 'fenny'. Once he was satisfied that there was no liquor on us, he looked around in a daze and was unable to understand how the strong hunch he had went wrong. He walked around to the back of the car, asking the lean one to follow behind him.

"Well", said the cop, "It seems that you have liquor."

"Seems like that, don't it", said the lean one sarcastically.

The cop nodded and said in a whisper, "Then how about some change for tea?"

"What?", said the lean one stepping back, "After all the inconvenience you put us through?"

"But...", the tried protesting.

"Nothing doing", said the lean one getting into the revving car.

The next half of the journey along the western coast was rather uneventful, except that we missed our turn towards Hubli, and ended up a good 80 kilometers ahead.

"Turn around?", I asked the wise one who was driving.

"And add to the trip distance?", said the wise on scoffing, "Check the GPS and tell me if there is another road."

"Yup", I replied peering into the phone, "Via Shimoga."

"Cool, then", said the wise one taking off.

But as the night progressed, and the road became narrower, both of us kept looking at each other. The streets were desolated and as the ghat section started, they became single lane. We did stop at a nice little shop for a hot pot of tea, and this was undoubtedly the best tea of the trip. But we had to brave horrible roads and pitch darkness and hearts beating in the throats with blind turns and unknown people walking around in the dark, for that little cup.

And it got worse. The higher we went on the narrow and dark mountain roads, the lonelier we felt and were getting wary of any people walking outside. And there were not too many of them either. It was as spooky as it could get. And they the GPS lost connection and so did the mobiles. We were in the middle of a mountain range, with no houses or people anywhere in sight, and no one knew where we were.

Somewhere at around 2 in the morning, as we were crossing another lonely stretch with a blind turn at the end, the wise one brought the car to a grinding halt. I looked out and realized that there was no road in front of us. My heart was thumping in my ears now.

"Where is the road?", I asked as if accusing the driver for missing it.

"I don't know", replied the wise one leaning towards the windscreen.

And as suddenly as it started, the breeze blew the clouds away, and revealed the intact road ahead. We both sighed with relief realizing that we were merely stuck inside a cloud. But the road ahead was peppered with more of the clouds and out average speed that was around a 100 km/h on the flat roads and had dropped to 70 km/h in the ghat section, further dropped due to the clouds and the resulting low visibility to a mere 30 km/h.

And we drove like this for the next 4 hours, with necks craned over the dashboard. The windshield was fogging inside for sometime and we had to start the air-conditioning despite of the cold, and then it started fogging outside and I was about to lean outside the window to wipe it, when the wise one stopped me with a 'what the hell are you doing' look and switched on the wiper.

"Yes", I said feeling like an idiot, "That is a better option."

"Don't you think?", said the wise one.

"Sometimes...". I said sheepishly.

And somewhere at about 5 in the morning, the wise one handed the steering wheel to me and went to sleep on the co-driver's seat. The lean one got up as I started the engine and looked out of the windshield.

"Man!", he exclaimed, "Where the hell are we?"

"On a mountain", I said craning my neck forward, "And driving through the worst fog I have ever seen."

"Oh, okay", said the lean one as if he heard such things everyday, and comfortably went back to sleep.

I drove carrying the two blissfully asleep buddies, carefully avoiding the pot holes and bad roads. But at places the road was so narrow, that the choice was which side will go on it. I mostly chose the passenger side trying to keep the sleep of the others unbroken.

At around 6 in the morning we reached Shimoga and the clouds were gone. The wise one was gone too, to the back seat and into the world of dreams. The lean one was back on the co-driver's seat and enjoying the view. We stopped for another cup of tea, which deteriorated again, from the top of the mountain cup of tea. We still needed the warmth after having driven through the cold fog, sitting inside an air-conditioned car.

And then I gave up, once I saw the clouds reappear as my nemesis after we crossed the Shimoga town. I stopped on the side of the road and handed over the car to the lean one.

"What happened?", he asked, "You tired?"

"Yeah", I said shrugging my shoulders, "I think it's time for you to deal with the clouds for some time."

I sat in the co-driver's seat for some time, but the clouds had made a miraculous disappearance, and I was weeping inside my sleepy eyes. I had never driven this slow, with this much tension on my shoulder, ever in my life. I looked around for clouds, and they were nowhere to be seen. Had they dispersed because the sun was coming up, or because I had stopped driving, will remain a mystery, at least to me.

I woke up with a start in the middle somewhere, to realize that I had doubled over and gone to sleep in the co-driver's seat. The wise one was up at the back and I exchanged places with him and lay down on the back seat. The rest of the trip, maybe the last 3 hours, was a beautiful dream with my wife and a lot of money. I must have been smiling in my sleep, but no one noticed.

We reluctantly handed the Rs. 100 note to the toll booth operator on the nice road. And at around 11 a.m., we turned into the wise one's parking lot. The trip was over, and it was not without adventure. For moments I had felt like Alladin and Sindbad, in others I felt like Robinson Crusoe or Tarzan. But the lasting memory was the three of us in the Ford Figo, that did its job beautifully.

As I drove my bike from the wise one's house to mine through the lakeside road, I could not help but be lost in the memories of the last three days, and looking forward to the next one. I overheard that the lean one is interested in visiting Shirdi, and the wise one wants to touch Leh. Sounds interesting.

I am in...