Road trips and secret games

In the early 1090s, the world felt wide open, especially when we packed into two cars, and set off on night drives across Tamil Nadu and beyond. I was five, and my spot was always in upfront beside my uncle. Snuggled close around the gearbox, I felt like I belonged to a secret journey where stories, songs, and the night itself became magical. We’d explore far-off places like Pondicherry’s coast, Ooty’s misty hills, Mysuru’s palaces, and even the small town of Madanapalle. Each trip was a new world, filled with sights I’d never seen and games I’d only play on the road.

My parents, aunts, uncles, grandmother, and cousins filled the back seat, their soft voices drifting forward as a gentle hum. I could glimpse my dad’s steady gaze, my mom’s soft smile, and the relaxed way they seemed to settle into the rhythm of the road. My dad’s low laugh or my mom’s quiet comments on passing fields created a symphony, blending with the engine’s hum in a way that forever spelled “family.”

The back seat was my cousin’s kingdom, where she created endless games, turning each mile into a miniature adventure. Our favourite was “Spot the Shape,” where we’d call out shapes in the trees silhouetted against the night sky. “That one’s a dragon!” I’d shout. “A lion!” she’d add. When we passed through villages, distant streetlights or lanterns created “wishing lights.” My cousin whispered, “Close your eyes and make a wish when you see one,” and we’d scrunch up our eyes, asking the lights to carry our wishes forward. I often caught my aunt’s eye in the rearview, her smile like a gentle secret. 

Sometimes, we’d stop at Dasaprakash along the Mysore road, savouring the smell of spices and warm food. One night, I insisted on eating curd, ignoring my mom’s suggestion to skip it. My plate was polished, and I felt drowsy back in the car. My head leaned onto my uncle’s shoulder as my parents teased me about my “curd-induced” sleepiness. My uncle sighed, “Curd’s a no-no on road trips.” I smiled, learning my lesson in the comfort of his arm. 

Back on the road, my cousin’s stories continued. Shadows from trees and streetlights danced against the car windows, and I pressed my forehead to the glass, watching my reflection merge into the darkness outside. “Look, that’s you out there, too,” she’d say as if my wishes and dreams lived among the stars. 

As the night deepened, I closed my eyes, lulled by the hum of the engine,
the laughter, and the surrounding warmth. Those night drives are a cherished memory—a time of stars, dreams, and love, all woven together as we ventured down endless roads that felt enchanted, together.