​23.863028 N 85.029556 E


Unlike the metropolis, an Alto in a town must be worth its price.

By which I simply mean that all the seats must be filled before your ride takes off. It’s inevitable, almost a divine code of travel, that however hard you try to go solo, the family barges its way in. Fed on by shows on TLC and TravelXP that exalt the lonely traveller, you clearly want to be seen as one, and at the age of “twenty-something”, you might be excused for thinking that the odds are on your side.

Well, welcome to a middle-class, small town adventure, where your mother talks vegetables with your aunt, your little cousin needs to pee at every half hour, and your uncle must play on the stereo songs belonging to the period before your birth, a period you call the era of darkness. The driver – oh the driver –  is an essential presence, even though both you and your mother are trained drivers. One should always have a driver when going outside of the town.

It’s so unglamorous, travelling with family, that you spew a hundred curses under your breath. I was the one who told you about this place – that something like a canyon exists on the fringes of the town – and I am the one sitting in the back listening to Naino me sapna, sapno me sajna. 

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