It was one of those perfect mornings - bright, clear skies with the crisp mountain air filling my lungs as I rode through the serpentine roads of the Himalayas. The thrill of every curve on the Nahan-Kala Amb road was a part of my everyday commute to work. My MLG helmet sat firmly on my head, and as the engine hummed beneath me, I felt alive. Life had settled into a routine. My wife, Sonu, was a doctor posted at a hospital in Nahan, preparing for her FRCS exam, while I worked at a pharmaceutical company. Our days were predictable - until that one evening.
We were sitting on the veranda, savouring the last sips of our evening tea when my phone rang. The screen flashed the name of my mentor - Tapan Das, who I affectionately called "Dada." He rarely called without a reason, so I immediately knew something was up.
"Hello?" I answered.
"Ha Bolo, Kemon Achoo?" ("Hi, how are you?") he asked, his voice carrying the warmth of familiarity.
"Thik achi Dada, tumi bolo?" ("I'm good, Dada. How about you?")
Without wasting time, he jumped to the point. "Bolchi, amra jacchi Taki, jaabe naki? Bangladesh Border ektu ghure ashi?" ("We're planning a trip to Taki, near the Bangladesh border. Want to join us for a short trip?")
I paused for a second, the idea of a spontaneous trip instantly grabbing my attention. He wasn't done yet. "Partha Da r maa er o sorir ta bhalo na, ekbare ektu dekha korao hoye jaabe. Ki bolo?" ("Partha Da's mother is unwell too, so we can visit her as well. What do you say?")
I didn't need to think much. The idea of a trip was irresistible. "Cholo, oshubidha kichu nei. Next month chhuti niye ashchi." ("Let's do it, no problem. I'll take a leave next month.")
Before hanging up, Dada added a cryptic line, as he always did. "R ekta plan korchi, ektu suspense eii rakhi. Asho, elei byapar ta chorcha kora jaabe." ("I've got another plan brewing. Let's keep it a surprise, we'll discuss when you come.")
"A new ride, Dada?" I couldn't help but ask.
"Bolchi ashbe toh!" ("Just come, you'll see!") he laughed.
And just like that, the seed of adventure was planted. I told Sonu about the plan, and though she was always practical, she understood that when Dada called, it was more than just a trip. It was an experience.
Fast forward a month, we found ourselves boarding an early morning flight from Shaheed Bhagat Singh International Airport in Chandigarh, en-route to Kolkata. The excitement in the air was palpable. We landed at Netaji Subhas Chandra Bose International Airport, and it felt like a homecoming of sorts. Kalyani, where Dada lived, was my hometown, though work had taken me to Nahan.
The first thing we did upon landing was head straight to meet Dada. A familiar warmth washed over me as we stepped into his home. The air was heavy with nostalgia, but there wasn't much time for reminiscing. Dada had plans, and those plans included a certain Partha Da, someone I had never met but had heard a lot about.
Partha Da arrived shortly after in his car. He was a striking man - around 5'8", athletic, with a ready smile and a sense of adventure that matched Dada's. "Cholo, Dada drive korbe. Oneek kotha bolar ache." ("Let's go, Dada will drive. We have a lot to discuss.") His voice was lively, and I could tell he was someone who loved the thrill of the unknown.
He had brought homemade tea, served in paper cups, as we sat down for the serious business of planning. Just when I thought we were finalizing the Taki trip, Dada casually dropped another bombshell.
"Nepal jaabe October e?" ("Want to go to Nepal in October?")
I was floored. "Nepal? Ami kokhono jai ni! Khorcha koto hobe bol toh?" ("Nepal? I've never been! How much will it cost?")
With a grin, Partha Da quipped, "Maati taka," and Dada immediately followed up, "But it'll be an experience like no other." (Literally translating to "peanuts" but meaning it wouldn't cost much, followed by the assurance that it would be unforgettable.)
As a rider, my first thought was, "This has to be a bike ride." I started imagining the feel of the road under my wheels, the hum of the engine as we crossed borders, but Dada quickly shattered that image.
"Ebar bike e noy, train e jaabo." ("Not this time, we'll take the train.") He said it as casually as if he were discussing the weather.
A bit surprised, but equally intrigued, I nodded. "Thik achhe, Dada." ("Alright, Dada.")
And with that, our journey to Nepal was set in motion. What had started as a casual phone call had now become an epic plan for a trip across borders, filled with mystery, excitement, and a touch of the unknown. Over the next few weeks, we would carefully prepare for this adventure, which, if Dada was right, would be an unforgettable chapter in all our lives.