Life. It’s like the Sea. When we start sailing, it’s sometimes rough, sometimes calm. Some brave it all, make it to the coast gloriously. Some wash ashore with a quiet wave, some hit a rock, sink without a trace. But no matter who we are, there’s always a guiding light to warn us of what lies ahead, beneath and around. They’re like that lighthouse on the shore, we call them friends.
I’ve known one such person for the last 22 years. And I’m getting to know another one who I believe will be a guiding star when i’m lost at high sea. So the two of them and my oldest friend’s better half, decided to travel to a place, where the water’s blue, the surf is clean, and when it’s dusk, someone fires up a filament in a tall lighthouse and makes the place appear magical, makes it look like a dream.
It was the Honda BR-V which would take us there. And since the place was almost a 1,000 km drive away, powered by a frugal 1.5-liter diesel, six ratios and oodles of space to play with, it seemed like the right ark. Last row of seats bent forward, most of the space eaten up by stuff women like to carry and all the passengers in place, we left the city sometime around lunch time.
With a plan to reach the destination next morning, we were making brisk progress, with places like Pune and Kolhapur in our rear view by dinner time. Post that, we had to decide if we’d hoist the sail through the night, reach Hubli, cut through some forest in Karnataka, hope for some striped animal to cross our path. Or roll down into Goa and take the NH 66 all the way till a little known town called Kaup Painteh, 45 kms shy of Mangalore. And for the first time, since I had the company of wise friends and sane advice, we settled for the latter.
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