The Jungle ends here

“Are you from Mumbai?”

“Yes”, I said.

“We have seen you so many times. Every time we see you, it is like – ‘OK so we see him again.’”

He looked impressed with me. I was wearing a biker’s jacket, boots and despite my spectacles, the bandana did the trick. Or so I believe. I smiled at his statement.

“So you drove your bike all the way from Mumbai? This is impressive.”

Guhagar was my first “proper” bike trip. Before this I had a few but Guhagar trip was the first conscious trip that I made. Plus it was close to 300 km, and I was the solo rider.

The bike trip had more elements than were apparent. I was going there on the New Year. There were varied reactions from people whom I told about it.

“Wow! It will be great.”

“Really! You sure? 300 km is too risky, that too on a highway on bike.”

“It does sound exciting though riding alone for such a distance is little unsafe, don’t you think so?”

“What’s party scene at Guhagar?”

I had many reasons to travel. First, and the most important was to discover the answer to the question that whether travel excites me or the mere idea of it. I also wanted to check whether I can take care of situations on my own. I am always engulfed with self-doubt about what will I do if the circumstances go bizarre. I desperately wanted to check this one. Traveling to a new place was one more reason. It has been more than a year in Mumbai, and I have barely seen places in Konkan. It kills me. With those ideas at the back of my head, I moved on.

Royal Enfield Classic 350 is a wonderful bike. It is stable, has a thump and is sturdy. I have heard that it’s moody also, though mine is too new to develop a mood of its own. Oh! Did I forget to add that it’s pretty also?

Roads throughout were in good condition. There were eating joints all through, and there were mechanics. On the road, one barely needs anything else to survive. But survival isn’t what I was looking at – it was living. The Konkan region gave ample opportunities for that as well.

There were different shades of colours all around. Initially there were buildings. I yearned for some solitude and nature. By the time I crossed Vashi, and turned towards Pen, half the wish was granted. While solitude is difficult to get in and around Mumbai, greenery is something one gets easily. The side of the road were lined with trees. It felt as if I was crossing a jungle. Only after some kilometres did I realize that it actually was a jungle.

“Please let the wild animals cross the road first” read a hoarding. Another one talked about the perils of honking to the wild-life. The jungle invited all to visit and appreciate the migratory birds present there.

I was pleasantly surprised. Imaginations have no bounds. Imagination can let you win a Nobel, or make you the President, or even get you a girl. If it’s accompanied by hope – you better be careful. Traveling through that stretch, I imagined what it would be like to cross all the jungles and wild beasts that will come along. I hoped for the beautiful stretch to continue endlessly.

“The jungle ends here” hoarding suggested that I better get control of my head.

There are many advantages of traveling alone. You may talk to yourself – though I will suggest not to. “Streets are filled with idiots” – like the CEAT advertisement says – so are the roads. And the National Highways are filled with Chief Justice Katju’s 90% Indians.

“Dance like no one is watching” – is difficult while driving, however, you may “Sing like no one is listening”. I moved ahead – singing.

What would have been lush green during the monsoons was brown in winters. Grass was dried up, and the hills looked old and worn out. Despite their old age they were majestic – brown and pink across the blue sky with patches of green. The panorama that they provided was enough for me to stop, and gaze. These hills didn’t leave me. They were like the constancy which one wants in life – never changing and never abandoning.

Guhagar is 42 km from Chiplun. There is a bridge on a river which one needs to cross. When I reached there, it was crowded, and one woman was wailing. I enquired.

“Uski beti kood ke jaan de di”, her daughter committed suicide.

“Is this a sign”, I couldn’t help giving this a thought.

Guhagar is a small and lazy town. It’s been long since I visited such a place. Having spent my childhood at similar such places, the first feeling that came to me was nostalgia - narrow roads, old ST buses, small shops and people taking a stroll rather than driving. Two things struck me the most:

One, people talked to each other on the road. So many people knew so many others. There was no surprise when one found an acquaintance in the market. It was as if they expected people to be present there during that period of time. I felt nice.

Two, there were independent houses. The size was big, and each house had big veranda and roof. Being a small town boy myself, I yearn for space in space-starved flats of Mumbai. Every extra square-feet is a cost which may range from 5000 to 50000. The veranda had plants, flower-pots and few chairs which waited without rush for its rightful “sitter”.

The houses were colourful – yellow, pink, blue and occasional red. Trees all around added to the tranquillity of the place. It was pleasant to listen to the birds chirping. Honking was little. Nothing happened there. The shops were locked and the roads deserted in the afternoons. The beach was 78 metres from my hotel room (maybe 100), the breeze was cool. From somewhere far, someone played Jagjit Singh’s song:

Dil dhoondhta hai, fir wahi, fursat ke raat din

Guhagar Beach Festival 2013 was the most happening event in Guhagar. People from nearby towns came to witness that. Half the town would have arrived there and yet the place wasn’t crowded. Maybe it’s Mumbai effect – no place appear to be crowded to me anymore.

Guhagar beach is a nice place. It’s around 7-8 km in stretch. The water is clean. The amount of plastic is low. Though there are no Goa-like shacks (read shacks serving alcohol), they provide ample options to satisfy your taste buds. There are three activities which one can do in addition to stroll on the beach and make mud houses: camel ride, buggy ride and bathing in the sea. Looking back from close to the sea in the reverse direction will give a beautiful view of green and tall trees of palm and beetle nut. Towards extreme right, there is a hill which appears to end in the sea, and towards the left – the same scene.

Places around Guhagar have a number of beaches: Anjanvel and Hedvi. At Hedvi, there is Bamangal Blowhole where a natural phenomenon happens during high-tide. There is a peculiar rock formation which directs the sea water in such a way that it crashes against the rocks and rise up to several meters.

I visited Gopalgarh Fort near Anjanvel. Once an impenetrable fort now lies in tatters. The drive to that place was little difficult. The roads were bad and, rose and fell like sine waves. When I reached there, it was deserted in every sense. I could hear the wind blowing. While I yearned for solitude on the road, when it did arrive – I felt little scared. It looked like an abandoned fort, to be visited at your own risk. Every rustle of the dry leaves caught my attention. Moving towards the gate reduced my apprehensions though. I saw three men, and one of them came towards me with an inviting smile. He gave me a tour of the fort – which ended in 10 minutes.

If Bhutan is situated in the laps of Himalayas, Guhagar and nearby places are in the laps of – hills and beaches. In an imaginary situation, if you start rolling without brakes on one of the hills, you will directly fall into the sea! I wondered what would have God done to create such a place, and till the end kept wondering.

By the time I returned to Mumbai, my tail bone was about to break, and my hands refused to press the clutch. My butts must be uttering profanities to my heavy weight and the spine stopped listening to the instructions my brain gave. Every change of gear was an effort. The last 20 km were the true test of will. I drove like crazies, and seriously – all the philosophy that I came across the whole trip felt useless. All I wanted was a soft couch to park myself.

Every travel book or article that I have read has at least one thing in common: the writer’s life changes during the travel. It was disheartening to realize that nothing similar happened to me. After returning, instead of reminiscing about my experiences, I thought about having to go to office the next day. However, my conviction towards my liking for travel increased. I won’t call that a discovery of self, but maybe – just maybe – I might have put my first foot towards the journey. And like they say

I am learning all the time. The tombstone will be my diploma.