It was the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last. As he boarded the bus to return to his karmabhoomi, he couldn’t stop but wonder when he will be back.
It had been an impromptu trip, so unlike his usual self. He didn’t know how he was traveling, where he was staying, the people he was traveling with, anything of that sort. All he knew was the name of the destination, and he knew two people in the group, that too just barely.
By the time they had reached Hampi after an adventurous bus ride involving lost tickets, heavy rains and a damaged floor that kicked up gravel inside the bus once in a while, he had gone to a different zone. Usual worries that plagued his life had taken a back seat and a weird sort of calmness had taken over. Relax, the mind ordered, Relax and enjoy this journey.
Their “group” was 7 people, travelling from Hyderabad, Pune, Chennai and Bangalore, people who barely or not at all knew each other. The trip turned out to be as much about history as it was about getting to know each other, building friendships, running from cops, banters post midnight, copious amounts of gobi manchurian , and such nick knacks. Throw in a river crossing, moped rides, hills, banana pancakes, books, a slip on the river, hurt legs, hurt egos, rickety buses, sunrises, sunsets, and a lot of other random stuff, and you somehow grasp the entirety of the trip.
It was exhilarating, fun, tiring and relaxing all at the same time, and he was dying to do it again.
The opening line challenge.