Hi friends,
Today I want to share not just a road trip, but a journey that tested our patience, a journey that shook our confidence, and finally restored our faith in people and in God.
It was the Christmas season, and there was a Christmas wedding in our family. With joy and excitement, we planned to travel to our native place, Haliyal. This journey was special because it was the first time we were travelling to our village by car. Until now, all our journeys had been by bus or train.
Initially, we had planned A Journey to travel by train. However, at the last moment, we decided to go by car. The decision was not impulsive — it came from practical needs and future plans.
We had recently bought a car — not a brand-new one, but new to us. The main reason for buying it was convenience, especially in the village where transportation is very limited. As I mentioned in my earlier blog, there are only two buses from the main town of Haliyal to our village. With my niece’s wedding approaching, having our own vehicle felt necessary and reassuring.
Another important reason was our future plan. We are planning to shift back to our native village in March–April, after my daughter’s exams. The car would make daily travel much easier once we move back — for errands, emergencies, and regular village life.
However, life had its own little twist waiting for us.
None of us knew how to drive — not me, not my husband, and not even my 20-year-old son. Owning a car without knowing how to drive felt ironic, but it was our reality.
That is when we turned to a kind and dependable friend, Santosh Sharma, and requested him to drop us to Haliyal. Without hesitation or a second thought, he agreed. In that moment, his support meant everything to us. That simple “yes” was not just help — it was reassurance, comfort, and kindness when we truly needed it. Sometimes, it is these quiet acts of willingness that stay with us long after a journey ends.
Hope at Dawn
We began our journey at 4:00 AM on 19th December. The winter air outside was biting cold, but inside the car there was a different kind of warmth — the warmth of excitement, shared laughter, and quiet hope. The roads were calm, the city still asleep, and our conversations flowed easily — about traffic, tolls, and the long road that lay ahead of us.
By 8:00 AM, we reached Pune. The cold slowly gave way to golden sunlight and a gentle breeze, making the morning feel fresh and welcoming, as if the journey itself was blessing us.
A Child’s Innocent Joy
My 7-year-old daughter was glowing with happiness. Her excitement was pure and unfiltered. She was eager to meet her cousins and experience village life once again. What made it even more special was that she had no idea we were travelling by car.
Every few minutes, she looked around and asked innocently,
“When will we reach the railway station?”
In her little world, this was still a train journey — complete with platforms, whistles, and compartments. Her innocent confusion added a quiet sweetness to the long drive.
A journey Laughter That Made the Miles Shorter
As the kilometres passed, Mr. Sharma patiently guided my son, sharing driving tips and important safety advice — small lessons that would surely shape his confidence in the future.
In between, he would turn towards my daughter and tease her gently,
“The station is just five minutes away. We’ll drop you there, you come by train, and we’ll go by car.”
Her immediate protests, little complaints, and dramatic expressions filled the car with laughter. Those moments — simple, playful, and full of warmth — made the journey feel lighter and the distance seem shorter.
Looking back now, I realise these were not just moments of travel, but memories quietly being created — memories that settled deep into my heart without my noticing.
Honestly, I never imagined that I would one day sit down and write about this journey. It felt like such a simple trip, so ordinary at the time. Yet today, as I pen down this experience, I understand that the simplest journeys often leave the deepest impressions of a journey.
What we live without noticing today sometimes becomes the story we treasure tomorrow.
When the Road Changed Its Mind
We stopped at Satara around 10:00 AM for breakfast, rested briefly, and continued. Music played softly, the breeze flowed freely, and for a while, everything felt perfect.
By 2:00 PM, we reached Kolhapur. Though my son wanted to eat in Belagavi, we decided to stop here. We were tired, hungry, and in need of rest. Lunch was simple and comforting — but little did we know that this would be the point where our journey would change.
During lunch, we noticed something strange — both the petrol and CNG indicators were showing together. A quiet worry crept in. Wanting to be safe, we decided to get the car checked.
We stopped near Kagal, just 500 meters from the Kolhapur–Karnataka border, at what looked like a big garage.
Helplessness on the Highway
As the car tried to climb the small slope leading into the garage, it stopped suddenly in the middle of the road. No matter how many times Mr. Sharma tried to restart it, the engine refused to respond. He tried again and again, hoping it would somehow move — but it didn’t.
Slowly, we all stepped out of the car.
Mr. Sharma went back to the garage and requested the mechanic once again to come and check the vehicle. Instead of helping, the man refused to come, insisting that the car be brought inside the garage. Mr. Sharma calmly explained that the car was not moving at all, but the mechanic responded with nothing more than arrogant looks and indifference, as if our problem didn’t matter to him in the slightest.
Watching this, I felt a mix of helplessness and anger rising inside me.
I then got out of the car and walked up to the garage myself. I explained clearly and politely that the car was not moving and that he needed to come and check it where it had stopped. Only then did he agree to come down.
But even when he finally did, his body language was casual and careless — there was no urgency, no concern. That attitude hurt more than the breakdown itself. It left me wondering, does he even know how to repair a car?
The garage looked big and well-equipped, but his heart felt small.
Still, I chose to remain quiet. I did not want an argument. At that moment, all I wanted was help, not confrontation.
After a brief and careless look, he declared that the clutch plate had failed and would take two days to repair.
Two days — said so casually, without a trace of concern or compassion.
My son’s frustration finally spilled out,
“I told you not to stop in Kolhapur.”
Still hoping for some help, we requested the mechanic to at least try and repair the car. Mr. Sharma calmly explained that in a city like Mumbai, such a repair would take two to three hours and requested him to help us in the same way.
The mechanic’s response was cold and dismissive.
“Then go to Mumbai and get it done,” he snapped.
An argument began to build between them. Sensing the tension, I stepped in and tried to explain our situation. I told him gently that we still had nearly 200 kilometres left to travel, that we could neither stay there nor leave the car behind for two days.
Instead of understanding, he replied arrogantly,
“Madam, if you have to travel 200 kilometres, that itself takes time. In the same way, repairing the car also takes time. Nothing can be done before two days.”
There was no empathy in his words, only a firm refusal to help.
Left with no choice, we asked about the cost. After a rough estimate of parts and labour, he quoted ₹14,000. Even after hearing this amount, we realised that paying it would not change anything, as he was still unwilling to repair the car unless it was left there for two days.
At that point, we knew we had reached a dead end.
In the end, we had no choice. Since the car was blocking the road, we decided to at least move it a little. Even though there were six to seven people standing inside the garage, not a single person stepped forward to help.
My son and Mr. Sharma struggled to push the car on their own, inch by inch, while we stood watching helplessly. My husband could not assist at all — he has plates and screws in his pelvic bone due to a past accident and is strictly advised not to lift or push any weight or even bend forward.
Standing there on the roadside, surrounded by strangers and indifference, I felt painfully small and vulnerable — not because the car had broken down, but because of how easily empathy can disappear when someone needs it the most.
Light Through Strangers
A small PUC shop a few metres away soon became our shelter. Mr. Sharma decided to enquire there if any other garage was nearby. The shop owner listened patiently and immediately shared a few contacts. Mr. Sharma called one of them and explained our problem, but when that mechanic realised the earlier garage had already refused us — and that they were related — he declined to come, saying, “It’s in his area, ask him to do it.”
Still, the PUC shop owner didn’t turn us away. He offered us chairs to sit, allowed us to charge our phones, and even tried calling a few more people himself, though none of those calls went through.
While my husband and daughter stood outside, a man, out of sheer curiosity, asked what had happened. My husband, being his usual talkative self, explained everything. The man immediately said he knew a mechanic and offered to arrange help if nothing worked out, mentioning that the mechanic lived right next to the PUC shop.
Just when despair felt overwhelming, kindness arrived quietly.
A few passersby who overheard our conversation stopped and spoke to us. They suggested other mechanics and assured us that if our contacts didn’t respond, they would help us find someone.
That moment stayed with me.
At the very same place, we experienced both negativity and kindness —
one person who refused to help, and strangers who genuinely tried to.
It reminded me that good still exists, even when we least expect it.
Around the same time, Mr. Sharma suddenly remembered that one of his clients had contract work in Kolhapur. He called my housing society’s technician, who then provided us with another contact — Rahul.
That call changed everything.
Soon after, Rahul called Mr. Sharma and assured him that he would reach us within 20 minutes. By then, it was already close to 6:00 PM. We waited with cautious hope.
When Rahul arrived, he already understood our situation. We had shared the car details and the issue with him on WhatsApp, and he had spoken to his mechanic beforehand. Calmly and kindly, he said,
“Madam, if you want to continue your journey, we can arrange a car for you.”
Even Mr. Sharma suggested,
“You all move ahead, I’ll stay back, get the car repaired, and bring it later.”
But we couldn’t agree to that. We didn’t want to leave Mr. Sharma alone — he had stood by us from the very beginning.
So I asked Rahul if he could help us find a nearby hotel for the night. Without hesitation, he arranged one through a friend — Raj Deluxe. It wasn’t fancy or big, but it was clean, safe, and comfortable, exactly what we needed for one night.
We booked a family room and checked in. Rahul and Mr. Sharma then towed the car to the garage. Even though it was already evening, Rahul reassured us,
“It’s late now, but I promise your car will be ready by 12 noon tomorrow, maximum.”
That night, as we rested, tired but relieved, I realised something deeply comforting —
when one door closes with indifference, another opens with compassion.
And sometimes, the people who restore your faith are complete strangers.
A Night of Exhaustion
We booked a nearby hotel, a small and simple place that belonged to Rahul’s friend known as Raj Deluxe, yet it felt like a blessing at that moment. By 7:00 PM, exhaustion had completely taken over.
My husband and son lay down and fell asleep almost instantly. My daughter stayed awake for a while, quietly playing, before sleep claimed her too. Around 8:00 PM, she woke me and asked in her innocent voice,
“Why aren’t we having dinner?”
I replied softly, “Just five more minutes.”
Those five minutes turned into deep sleep.
No dinner. No planning. No conversations.
Just complete surrender to exhaustion.
The next morning, as I went to the reception counter to collect some toiletries, I casually spoke to the receptionist. While chatting, he asked what had brought us to Kolhapur. When I explained the entire situation with the car, he listened carefully and then said,
“Madam, today is Sunday, and because of election vote counting, most places are closed. Tomorrow is Monday, which is market day in Kagal. The entire town remains shut, and people usually don’t work. That’s why the garage fellow said it would take two days.”
Suddenly, everything made sense.
Not because the mechanic had explained it — he never did — but because we learned the truth from someone else. The issue was never the time required; it was the lack of honesty and the arrogance in the way it was communicated. Had he simply explained the situation clearly, the frustration and hurt could have been avoided.
It wasn’t the delay that upset us the most —
it was the attitude, the dismissiveness, and the feeling of being spoken down to when we were already vulnerable.
Understanding the reason later did not justify his behavior, but it gave us clarity. And that clarity helped me regain my calm — not by excusing rudeness, but by choosing not to carry its weight any longer.
The Road Opens Again
The next morning greeted us with a sharp winter chill. We had breakfast at Hotel Vithal Kamat, and then called Mr. Sharma to check if he had eaten. He said he had already finished his breakfast and that the mechanics had started working on the car.
We waited — with quiet hope and tired hearts.
by11:30 PM, the call finally came. The car was ready.
Mr. Sharma explained that the issue was not the clutch plate at all, as we had been told earlier. Instead, the wheel axle had loosened and developed a fault. Hearing this left us relieved, yet saddened by how easily misinformation and indifference could have changed our journey.
By 12:30 PM, we were back on the road.
And by 3:00 PM, we reached Haliyal. A Journey which Our family was stunned. They had been waiting for us to arrive by train and could not believe we had travelled all the way by road. Over lunch, we finally shared everything that had happened — the breakdown, the helplessness, the kindness, and the quiet miracles along the way.
A Journey -A lesson
This journey taught me a lesson I will carry for life — relationships and human connections truly matter. We never know who might come forward in times of emergency. Had we not reached out to our contacts, we could have been stranded for two long days.
Later, we understood that the delay was linked to circumstances beyond our control — election vote counting in Kolhapur, followed by Monday market day, when the entire area remains closed. That was the reason the mechanic mentioned two days — not because the car had a major fault.
In the end, we were fortunate to meet the right people at the right time. We made new connections and met kind souls along the way — the hotel owner, the PUC shopkeeper who offered us a place to sit and charge our phones, Rahul who stepped in without hesitation, and many others who helped in small yet meaningful ways.
Now, whenever we cross that road again, we won’t just see a highway — we’ll remember faces, kindness, and support. These were strangers once, but in a moment of need, they became friends.
This journey reminded me that knowing people in different places matters — because sometimes help comes from someone familiar, and sometimes from a complete stranger who chooses kindness.
Even when a few people disappoint us, many others quietly restore our faith in humanity.
Every journey leaves behind a story — this one left us wiser. a journey which we will remember, A journey of travel became a journey of resilience, a journey of helplessness became a journey of hope, a journey of strangers became friends, a journey of hardship, a journey of learning, and a journey of roads, a journey of life.
Life is often described as a journey, and perhaps that is because none of us truly owns the road—we only travel it for a while. We arrive with stories yet to be written, walk through seasons of learning and loss, and move forward carrying both memories and hope. Along the way, we meet fellow travelers who teach us, challenge us, and sometimes quietly change us. The destination may remain uncertain, but it is the journey itself that shapes who we become. And when we finally pause to look back, we realize that every step, every stumble, and every moment of courage mattered.
Remember: every journey teaches something
Some journeys teach joy, some teach patience, and some teach trust — but all leave us wiser.