Homecoming for Diwali

How I flew across the country on my bike to reach home for Diwali

Diwali reminds me of two adventurous journeys. One of Lord Rama’s—from Lanka to Ayodhya after defeating Ravana—and one of my own, four years back, coming from Pondicherry to my then house in Bombay within 30 hours on my motorbike.

In October 2021, I had signed up for a motorcycle racing course that was due to take place in Chennai, a coast away from where I was living at that time in Bombay. We were going to ride TVS bikes provided by the organisers of the racing course. And yet, as a motorcyclist, it felt rather like cheating on my own bike to leave it rotting in the Bombay October heat—to take a flight and ride someone else’s bike for a couple of hours. So I did what my mind nudged me to do: make a trip out of it.

I rode my bike from Bombay to Hampi in one day, covering 750 kilometres. I spent a week in Hampi, then rode down to Bangalore. I spent another week there, where I attended my life’s first solo concert, ate a lot of vegan food, met friends after COVID, and had a great time. From Bangalore, I rode to Chennai, where I attended the racing course. And from there, not wanting to return after the thrilling experience, I rode down to Pondicherry to fulfil another dream of mine—to ride my motorbike on the infamous ECR road from Chennai to Pondicherry.

In Pondicherry, my parents, after noting that I had ticked everything on my bucket list and more, reminded me that I should be back home by Diwali. I replied with a stern no. I had a full itinerary planned and was dreaming of going beyond Pondi to Rameshwaram to explore India’s southernmost point. COVID had just passed, and I’d spent enough time with family. While I didn’t mind being home for Diwali, I couldn’t just take a flight from Pondicherry and reach Bombay by evening. I was on my bike, and a distance of around 1300 kilometres would have taken at least four to five days—meaning I’d reach home after Diwali. That would have defeated the purpose.

So I sat back and continued to explore Pondicherry. I was already beyond the third week of my travels, and slowly it started to hit me: a subtle wave of homesickness and nostalgia connected to Diwali. Watching my friends’ Instagram stories of coming home for the festival made it worse. With every passing minute, the possibility of reaching home for Diwali became a distant dream—a distant challenge.

While the journey felt impossible, what confirmed my decision to try to get back home against all odds was a stupid tyre puncture. I was already feeling nostalgic and a little lonely. And on that same day, the bike that had carried me all the way from Mumbai to Pondicherry got a puncture. Usually tyre punctures are quite common—I’ve had them right outside my house. But this one happened in the middle of the road in a faraway town, under Pondicherry’s scorching October heat and humidity. My T-shirt drenched with sweat, my mental energy drained, I dragged the bike to a nearby mechanic with my tshirt drenched in sweat. I got my bike fixed, and as it was being serviced I told the mechanic to oil it well because I had to return home on a 1,300 km ride the next morning on Diwali eve, or Chhoti Diwali.

Just as I was returning to my modest hostel after getting the tyre fixed and the bike lubricated, my nostalgia and homesickness shifted to excitement and nervousness about the next big adventure. Since I was already on the road, my bags packed and equipment ready, there was less apprehension about the long journey. Technically I had less than one and a half days to cover the distance. Usually it takes me an entire day—riding from 4 a.m. to 6 p.m.—to cover about 700 kilometres. So it would take the next two full days to reach home by the evening of the festival. Part of me was confused, part of me scared that I’d be pushing too hard.

Leaving Mumbai in the middle of the night at 3:30 or 4 a.m. never felt scary because I knew the road to Pune like the back of my hand. But now I was on foreign land. I didn’t know whether it would be safe to ride unfamiliar roads in Pondicherry at those hours. However, I had no choice… I would rather ride at 4 a.m. than late in the evening. The next morning I packed my bags, wore my riding suit, checked out at 3:30am, loaded the bike, and started from Pondicherry.

Riding through Pondicherry and Tamil Nadu in the middle of the night was terrifying. Everything looked unfamiliar. Every road felt like it would end at some scary intersection. Every tree looked haunted. The humidity was quite high; there had been frequent rains the past few weeks and by the looks of the weather that early morning, chances of downpour were high that day too.

Clouds were heavy and dark; the moon shone behind them, cutting a strange, eerie landscape. Even writing about it now makes me uneasy. How did I do it—absolutely alone for miles, surrounded by the unfamiliar, and yet exhilarated and terrified at the same time?

Till sunrise I was riding at low speed; my shoulders and hands taut. I stopped in a small village just when the sun was slowly coming up, watched locals go about their morning, and had my first proper cup of black filter coffee. I thoroughly enjoyed being scanned from head to toe by curious eyes.

Most of my route was through the National Highway—half boring, half okay-ish—but the best stretches were through little hamlets and villages along the state highways. The terrain changed from the coastal plains of Pondicherry to dense, luscious forests of Tamil Nadu, and eventually to the outskirts of Bengaluru. I finally reached Hubli by early evening, around 5 p.m. I was drenched from sporadic rains, and I couldn’t afford many stops—if I failed to make Hubli that day, there was no chance I’d make it home for Diwali.

At Hubli I filled my bike and checked Google Maps. Home was still 600 kilometres away—a daunting number after 12 hours of riding in bad weather. I noticed Kolhapur on the map, a town I’d visited three years earlier. It was 200 kilometres away—about four hours, which translated to riding for three hours in the dark. I’d never ridden in the evening darkness, but the plan felt right. Covering a greater distance that day meant less for the next day So I set off.

Initially a burst of energy carried me, but after sunset it faded quite quickly. I was in the middle of nowhere, it was pitch dark, the moon hadn’t risen, and hundreds of trucks thundered along the highway. It was hard to stay on the edge of the road with so many trucks whizzing past. My energies and intentions locked on Kolhapur and a first proper meal of the day, I pushed on and finally parked outside Kolhapur at a highway hotel at 10 in the night where a wedding was taking place.

When I got off the bike I realised I’d been riding for 18 hours, covering a distance of nearly 1000 kms. It was almost 10 p.m. I hadn’t eaten a proper meal all day—just coffee and water. My legs shook. I couldn’t feel my bum. My back creaked. My ears were partially deaf. I messaged home to say I’d reached, had a hearty dinner, and slept.

I woke at 4 a.m. the next day, carried my saddle bags to the bike, tied them down, and started the remaining 350 km to Bombay.

I could have left later, but I wanted to reach home early to get some rest before evening. Google Maps said I’d get home by noon. I called and told my mother, “Prepare lunch for me. I’ll be home before lunch.”

The heroism of having ridden 1,000 km the previous day—the sheer achievement, the absolute craziness of riding through the gorgeous roads of Pondicherry, Tamil Nadu, and Karnataka—and now being back in Maharashtra, all those energies carried me through the comparatively shorter ride from Kolhapur to Bombay. I’d ridden that stretch six months earlier on a Bombay–Goa trip, so I barely stopped except for a midday lunch.

When I parked outside my home at around 12:30, my bike had changed in colour from dusty green to muddy. My bag covers, riding suit, helmet, my face—everything was tanned and muddy. That was my badge of honour, the rustic and rugged look of having done an adventure.

At home, I met my parents, hugged them tightly, had a meal at home after what felt like forever, and slept through the afternoon to celebrate Diwali with family in the evening.

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