The Mumbai-Pune ride is like an old friend. The conversations are silent and filled with each other's thoughts--whispered like a track looping through the hills and the brain. The rattle bump of Mumbai gets over a little after Panvel and soon Khadala is bit too close too wait and savour. Winter in the morning air rushes by the journey, happy, crisp, uphill and soon envelopes in a welcoming uptake. The tarmac eases like fading vestiges of Mumbai and past Panvel it is placid and like a magic carpet.
Like holding your breath in a pool and looking up to a total internal reflection, the azure sky cleanses the mind of stray thoughts... That's when the roar of the engine becomes one with the ride. The traffic, the lumpy way of the paver blocks and the acne marked lunar-scape of millions behind, the engine-growl is not a constant clearing of throat to get rid of the cloying pollutants of the city when you wake up. Rather it reflects the gradient and the curve that reveals foliage and the verdant mountains that waft by like a Forest Essentials advertisement. The mountain looping by is addictive and lulling. The upward gradient and the lonely temple with monkeys whooping across the road is careful designed to pause the greenery and granite and record it in the peripheral vision of the mind. Khandala is soon behind and the slow scourge of a growing concrete Pune is soon rolling in.
Over too soon, the ride still croons of a little vestige of bliss. The laziness that wreathes Pune helps...
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