Roads to nirvana



There's a strange but pleasant knot in my stomach. I keep glancing at my watch, and then towards the bike parked outside my bedroom window. My bag is packed and my kit is cleaned and ready. I can't sit still and suddenly, even Bob Seger, Blondie and Uriah Heep all singing together can't keep me in one place.

Food doesn't appeal anymore and conversations are now mere monosyllabic grunts. The friends suddenly have stopped calling. But my cell's been ringing its head off, and it could be them, but I don't want to catch a flick, go for a drink nor shoot small talk on the terrace water tank.

Am I slipping into a rut? Am I depressed? Far from it! I'm prepping myself to let go. I'm holding it all within in anticipation of total freedom. The road suddenly doesn't end outside my office building. It goes on, and on, and on. Till I decide to lay my head down. Or when the fuel tank runs dry. Which ever way, I suddenly make all the decisions. I stop if I want to, run if I feel like it or snooze when my brow grows heavy.

Should I drink brews and watch the sun dive into the sea on a beach in Goa? Or do I head further down south and chill beside the back waters of Kerala, munching on river prawns and sipping a cold one? As today stands, I don't know where I will be tomorrow. And the day after. But that's the whole point - there is no plan, no itinerary and definitely no destination. All that matters is with me - a motorcycle and the open road.

Nirvana, here I come! I'll see you all on the other side! Ride safe!