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Journalism of Courage
I had done little more than nudge the accelerator with my foot and the car bounded forward on the highway, its engine rumbling in delight. As the digital speedometer scuttled upwards, mirroring my rising panic, I took my foot off the pedal. The vehicles behind us honked their protest at our sudden drop in speed. Realising I should move to a slower lane, I gave the steering wheel a gentle twitch. Those who are well-versed in the norms of Indian driving etiquette would be familiar with this twitch. It is a declaration of intent, akin to dipping one’s toe into a swimming pool to test the water. When you execute this twitch, you do not mean to immediately infiltrate the neighbouring lane. Rather, you merely place the nose of your car upon its border and commence a battle of wills. If your opponent accelerates, you retreat into your own lane; if they slow down, you swoop in to claim victory.
Only this time, when I twitched the steering wheel, all 1.5 tons of our SUV lurched sideways triggering another spate of agitated honking. Cursing the impressive steering sensitivity, I swung the car back into line. This, I muttered to myself, was not quite the blissful Bombay–Goa road trip that Sid, Sameer and Akash had promised us, over two decades ago.
When Dil Chahta Hai released in 2001, it instantly became a benchmark not just for millennial male friendships but also the perfect road trip. Three guys driving an open-top convertible through idyllic tree-lined roads, their faces lit by dappled sunlight and freedom – this was the stuff of teenage dreams. For an entire generation of adolescents, the title track of the movie distilled the coveted notion of ‘coolness’ into two tangible aspirations: the Bombay–Goa pilgrimage and driving a luxury automobile.
Growing up in Kolkata in the nineties and noughties, scanning the streets for a rare sighting of the exotic Mercedes or BMW (the two most popular names, at the time) had been an engaging sport. When viewed through the window of a Maruti 800, these imperious vehicles invoked a feeling of awe. They seemed to belong to a different, fantastical world; a world one could only hope to encounter in books and films; a world of international travel, five-star-hotels, and high-end fashion.
In later years, many aspects of this glamorous world would become a reality. Yet, the luxury car held fast to its aura; its air of being something that could not simply be owned but had to be earned. So naturally, when a friend conquered this final frontier and became the proud owner of a BMW SUV, it was cause for celebration. And what better way to celebrate, we figured, than emulating the three friends who made the Bombay–Goa road trip a national ambition.
As with life, in road trips too, convenience often comes at the cost of discovery. The multi-lane expressways traversing miles of featureless terrain can certainly shorten your travel time, but they leave no mark upon your memory. It is, instead, the winding ways offering glorious countryside views that remain etched in your mind and become the highlight of your journey. On our road trip, the Anuskura Ghats were the undisputed highlight.
A little over a couple of hours from North Goa, the Anuskura Ghats offered rich fodder for the Instagram-chronicle of our drive. The narrow road snaked around lush green hills replenished by the retreating monsoons of end-September. After climbing to a height of a few hundred metres, we stopped at the shoulder of the road, brought out the thermos and settled down for a tea break in the most gorgeous of settings. In front us, stretching to the horizon, lay a stunning vista of emerald fields, azure blue ponds and reservoirs, and the odd hillock. Further ahead, the road – accompanied, on occasions, by a gurgling stream – meandered through rolling meadows and windmill farms. The charming sight of these gigantic monoliths serenely spinning their arms as if immersed in quiet reverie, engendered a sense of tranquillity – which vanished within minutes of us descending to the plains and the drudgery of highway traffic.
For all the sense of adventure that road trips confer, they are not the most comfortable way to travel. Sitting for hours inside a vehicle, no matter how luxurious, is a tiring enterprise. Add traffic jams and congested roads into the mix, and the situation worsens. Especially, if you’re driving with a battalion of butterflies in your stomach.
I have always considered myself a good friend and one thing – the absolute minimum, some might say – that good friends take care not to do, is wreck a pal’s brand-new car. When driving the months-old SUV on the highway between Karad and Satara, all my attention was devoted to upholding this fundamental rule of friendship. This was no carefree, casual jaunt à la Sameer and gang. This was serious business, and the tiniest mistake could spell ruin. So deep were my levels of concentration that I was oblivious to the honking of other motorists and the invective they hurled in my direction passed by me as the idle wind. After a few hours, when I vacated the driver’s seat, my heart had taken a beating, but the car remained unblemished.
Ruminating in the rear seat during the final leg of our journey, I recalled the breezy nonchalance displayed by the road-tripping protagonists of Dil Chahta Hai and ran my tongue over lips cracked dry by anxiety. I thought about my juvenile yearning to drive a luxury car and how the flames of that desire had been doused in cold sweat. When we eventually stepped out of the vehicle – backs sore, necks stiff – after a 13-hour-long ride, I could not help but wonder how Sid, Sameer and Akash had miraculously completed the same road trip without encountering any traffic or displaying any signs of exhaustion. Perhaps somethings, I thought to myself, are meant to remain in the realm of fantasy.
Rohan Banerjee is a Mumbai-based lawyer and writer
