A herd of cows has found a spot next to a roadside restaurant where we also stop because my daughter needs to use the washroom and we are getting hungry. ‘I think I’ll be traumatised,’ she predicts with mocking scepticism as she walks towards a building that looks like a garbage place in the first place, but the sign ‘washroom’ makes it clear it isn’t. And it doesn’t smell at all to fragrance sticks. I laugh and cringe at the same time, hoping I don’t have to go to the toilet soon whilst knowing I can’t put it off for all fourteen hours of the trip.
Although, we have become used to such unsavoury facilities by now, there is always that moment of dread when we are overwhelmed by the stench of urine, dodge flies and possibly encounter a cockroach or two, only to find nothing more than a hole in the ground for a toilet.
Having survived the washroom ordeal, we venture into the restaurant for dinner, even though the kitchen looks like it hasn’t been cleaned in years. We take a seat at the only table that is not under or next to a fan so that we reduce the risk of dust blowing up into our food.
There is no cutlery, so we bathe our hands in hand sanitiser as our lunch is served on dubious crockery that may have survived several disasters and has likely never been washed. Nevertheless, we enjoy the tastiest dal makhani, the airiest chapati, and the freshest steamed rice ever. If the restaurant looked as good as the food tastes, it would be the most visited place in no time.
Family reunions and dressed up elephants
With a full, satisfied stomach (and the hope that our fantastic but likely unhygienically prepared food does not end up inspiring a case of ‘Delhi belly’), we continue our drive and observe daily street life unfolding on the parallel road. An elephant is waiting patiently between parked motorbikes, its trunk painted in vibrant colours — probably the most stylish elephant I have ever come across.
In Punjab, we pass a truck with an open cargo bay, which is hosting a mobile family reunion of sorts with at least 30 people sitting on top of their luggage. On the other side, we see not cars, but a camel approaching us. Once we have finally reached Himachal Pradesh, we navigate through mountains, dodging potholes, craters, falling rocks and impatient scooter riders. We feed our left-over snacks (bananas) to the roadside monkeys.
And so our fourteen hour expedition comes to an end, proving that the key to surviving a road trip in India is a mix of bold manoeuvres, culinary courage and the occasional encounter with a fashionable elephant.
