Wayanad Diaries: A Rainy Ride-Part 1
What’s the joyous part of a travel? Is it the destination, the journey or the company you have? Don’t get me wrong… I was not someone who used to travel or who loved to travel. I feel the company matters the most than the destination. You might wonder, why not focus on the destination or the journey itself? For me, it’s the company that truly enriches the journey. Just like a different seasoning, each companionship leaves its own unique flavor to your journey. A good one will make you crave for more and relish the journey and destination.
If you are savoring the moments of the journey, being fully present and living in the moment without focusing on the destination could eventually teach you to enjoy the present.
If you haven’t yet mastered the art of enjoying the ride, you might catch yourself calculating the distance remaining to your destination, becoming impatient, much like reading a book just to reach the end and keeping track of the pages left to finish. :P
Our drizzled drive began in Bengaluru at around 5 am in the morning, with my better half Jacob and his/our sidekick, Jose. It was raining cats and dogs in the Malabar region, and news of red alerts had been aired the day before.
Along with that, our route included a cut through the Nagarhole tiger reserve, so our families were concerned and praying for the heavens to bestow some sense upon these “dimwits”. :P
I scanned the sky, to find wind flagging the dried cloths on our neighbouring flats, and dark clouds transported in the direction of our journey. I exclaimed to my husband “ It could be raining towards that side”. Pointing to the direction of our journey and predicting rain like an expert. We crossed Bengaluru and as we progressed to Kengeri, my visor was filled with teeny drops of water. We pulled on my raincoat and began riding again. We were too lazy to slip into the rain-pants.
We cooked up this brilliant plan to hit Wayanad, with a sneaky motive: soaking up the soon-to-be off-limits Bangalore-Mysore expressway joyride for bikes.
Not long before 9 AM, we stood on the brink of the expressway. My husband cued for the little breakfast summit, knowing that once we joined the expressway, our hopes of finding any roadside eateries would dwindle. You see, a fence that’s about 2 guy-tall separated the expressway from the service road, where all the restaurants were conveniently located.
The expressway has indeed narrowed their chances of visits.
After a lightning-speed debate, we high-fived our way into the nearest restaurant haven. Otherwise, he knew that ‘I wouldn’t be myself when I’m hungry.’ Well, he figured that out pretty quickly, even before I realized it about myself. :P
We stepped in what appeared to be Tulu veg restaurant, I was certain that there could be no mallu folks around. I pulled out my jacket and gloves, settled down with his bag. Ah so relieved!
Soon before they both stepped in , I was greeted by guy who appeared to be Kannadiga, to take my order. I spluttered “Two more to join”. He went away and soon these two came and made themselves comfortable. The bearer appeared again and asked the two” Kazhikan entha vende ?” . My eyes gleamed with surprise and happiness, like any typical mallu seeing another mallu and immediately they are united by their language.
He ,”Poori masala “ , Jose “ Dosha chutney”. Me “ Idli”. The barer “ kudikkan ? “ . He” coffee” , Jose” Tea” and finally I exclaimed “ Kattan “. Suddenly, he looked at me with an equal blend of surprise and happiness, and then he nodded with a lopsided smile, indicating, ‘Oh, you too!”
Enjoying a satisfying morning meal, we set off on our journey once again. As a trio, our differences were quite pronounced. We each ordered three snacks, chose three different beverages, and our eating habits varied considerably. But the most amusing aspect? Among us, I had a grasp of Hindi, Jose comprehended it, while Jacob found it all beyond his ken. It was almost like we embodied the tale of the three blind men and the elephant! When it came to directions, I might not have known the route, but I was able to communicate in Hindi and understand it. Jose had a strong grasp of Hindi, and while Jacob neither understood nor spoke it, both he and Jose possessed an uncanny talent for navigation.
After enjoying a satisfying breakfast, we slipped into our jackets. Jacob cued me to inquire about directions from the security guard stationed at the hotel entrance.
I mustered the courage to approach him and sputtered out the bits of Hindi I could recall from my 8th grade ‘Bhaiya, Mysore-Bangalore kis taraf hain?’ Phew! And just like that, the conversation kicked off!
He explained to me the two ways to enter the (not-so)estranged Bangalore-Mysore expressway: either with a swanky U-turn to join the Bangalore-Mysore expressway or by driving straight and slipping into the expressway through a noticeably torn section of the fencing. This neatly stretched fence had received a makeover by restaurant groups , all for the sake of customer retention — now that’s dedication!
Jacob, who’s always wary about ‘secondary information’, approached the security, and his sidekick Jose stepped in as the translator.
We chose to take the groovy U-turn and entered the Bengaluru-Mysore expressway where Xpulse quivered in the wind of whizzing cars. And we began our journey to Wayanad…
