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Challenge. The word itself meant that this task was going to require more of everything. More energy. More power. More time. And more effort. Considerably more effort. It also brings forth all the clichéd sayings about what separates the men from the boys. Yet, it all holds true. Right from planning to coordination, logistics, equipment and, of course, execution, everything had to be good and proper with fall-back options in place. After all, this is India. Where do things ever run like clockwork? We’d set ourselves a challenge. Drive through 29 states of India in 29 days, in the process setting an FMSCI-ratified national record with the Renault Kwid. Tick off each and every state in the country, in the peak of the monsoons, in – what everybody labels as – a city car. No half measures for us! If we were to do something, it not only had to be difficult it had to be unexpected. You expect a Renault Kwid to work well in the city, but can it take on the length, breadth and width of our country, all its attendant challenges, the roads and no roads, and all while running against the clock and ferrying us able-bodied journos who always seem to be hungry?
Maybe it’s only the styling but finding out if it runs skin deep is the task at hand. I can also vouch for the fact that, for its size, it is large and spacious and offers a lot of equipment. Even an automatic transmission. And as we have found out on our previous experiences, the Kwid is also one of the better built cars on the market. 29 states in 29 days? Bring it on!
“You expect a Renault Kwid to work well in the city, but can it take on the length, breadth and width of our country”
But first a good pair of boots. Our plan called for 13,000km in a month over all kinds of roads and conditions and we got our friends at Ceat Tyres to slap on a fresh set of Milaze tyres – tyres that claim to run for 1,00,000km (makes 13,000km seem, so, tiny in comparison). Fuelling our drive was going to be Hindustan Petroleum whose premium petrol PoWeR would enable the cars to run smooth and as efficient as ever. And joining yours truly behind the wheel of the two Kwids (manual and AMT) on the first leg were three seasoned rally drivers – the calm-yet-fiery Anand Somayya, the avoid-me-when-I-am-hangry Nitin Jacob and our very own motorsport editor Aniruddha Rangnekar who took on the mantle of supreme-road-trip-leader. Backing us up in the support Duster was our visual aids team comprising shutterbug Rohit, video and drone master Alameen and budding videographer Steve.
June 18. What better place to begin a drive of this magnitude than from Delhi. No, not from the outskirts but right from the heart of it at the India Gate. Why? Cause, Delhi is all about dil (heart). A couple of quick clicks to capture the landscape and we were off. Where? To partake in a food drive with the fantastic volunteers of Robin Hood Army. The RHA is a global volunteer-based organisation whose aim is to eradicate hunger and food wastage. It started right here in our country, in fact in Delhi. In my honest opinion, we couldn’t have asked for a better start to the journey as we joined the Robins to feed hungry souls. That’s the good karma account which we opened up, we’ll need to call upon it sooner or later.
Hardly a couple of hours into the drive, Nitin’s stomach began grumbling as we approached Karnal. Being in the land of roadside dhabas, our first breakfast of parathas satisfied our voracious appetites, then we jumped into our second RHA food drive in Chandigarh and finally ended the day in Hoshiarpur, the city of saints. Day one, two states and two union territories knocked off the list. Things were looking good.
The roads took us through the lush green fields of Punjab, just like a scene out of a ’90s Bollywood romantic movie where the hero chases his kudi through the fields. The Renault Kwid hatchbacks were ploughing through the brilliant highways that allowed us to cruise at triple digit speeds for miles. A round or two of aloo parathas and lassi preceded our entry into J&K – a quick fuel stop in Jammu, some sights and sounds, and we headed back down to Chandigarh.
With Himachal Pradesh next on our list we headed back via Nalagarh on the state highway notorious for high truck density. To make matters worse, we were stuck at a railway crossing for over an hour. It wasn’t due to the train. That came and disappeared in minutes. It was to clear off the idiots on both sides that decided to go up the wrong way to get out early. Idiots at one end met idiots at the other. Oh joy. We should have just paid more attention to the maps because the next day also took us through Himachal on our way to Dehradun in Uttarakhand, and what lovely twisties we got on the way to Dehradun. Another round of parathas (“Three days in a row! Anu find something else,” hollered Nitin) and we ploughed into the city of Dehradun.
We saw the extremes of Uttar Pradesh. Coming down from Dehradun and heading towards Muradabad, Uttar Pradesh, it was the pits. The narrow highway plus night driving along with a dash of over ambitious truck drivers and a side of roadside cattle, made sure we were on our toes. Even the place where we did stop over for the night… let’s just say we were thankful that the beds didn’t have (visible) bugs and stains. But as it goes in my favourite football anthem, “At the end of a storm, there’s a golden sky.” And the golden sky did come the next morning, in the form of a pristine six-lane wide highway.
“Big multi-axle trucks came thundering down the wrong way, in the fast lane, the only courtesy shown being one headlamp shining. Jaywalkers strolled on to the highway as if it was their local promenade”
Yet the traffic came at us, on us, for us, all from all directions. Blatant disregard for one’s life, and everybody else’s, is very much the cause of so many accidents in our country. Big multi-axle trucks came thundering down the wrong way, in the fast lane, the only courtesy shown being one headlamp shining. Jaywalkers strolled on to the highway as if it was their local promenade. One clever individual decided he wanted to run across at the precise moment we were changing lanes. To deal with such stupidity, the Renault Kwids light steering helped us dodge obstacles and stay on the road.
I had booked a hotel in Gorakhpur, sauntered in, and then realised I’d booked it for the next day! No rooms were available for the night, I could feel Supreme Leader’s eye burning two holes in the back of my neck. Rohit, without any resort to diplomacy screamed he needed a bathroom for a big job. I stuck my hand in our jar of good karma and the hotel manager arrived with the keys to the party hall, letting us bunk there. It showed us a different side of Uttar Pradesh, a kind, gentle side, that would have all but escaped us.
Back on the road, and the heat. Never did the mercury drop below 40°C. You could feel your skin burning, the air-cons ran at full blast all the time. Thankfully, Uttar Pradesh’s wide highways continued till Bihar and then it was a mess of troughs, grooves, dips and potholes. The cars were sliding around, forcing us to drive gingerly. Clearly the summer heat had done its work on roads that were, inexplicably, not built to withstand that heat or the loaded trucks. After a while the roads did improve somewhat but they weren’t smooth sailing, unlike the Yogi’s backyard, as we set sights on Siliguri, the gateway to the Seven Sisters.
Even for us who take great pride in covering unexplored parts of the country, the North East is still a mystery and we were going to do it at the peak of the monsoons – without doubt the worst possible time. You need an SUV, we were told. You need big tyres and lots of ground clearance, we were told. We arrived in two Renault Kwid hatchbacks. If these two cars could make it through the next week, they could go through just about anything.
“The roads to Melli, the border town of Sikkim, were just what the doctor ordered – twisties! They snaked around the picturesque eastern Himalayas prompting our camera crew to go ga-ga”
There was a small and a relatively relaxed matter of heading off to Sikkim before we began worrying about the North East. And the roads to Melli, the border town of Sikkim, were just what the doctor ordered – twisties! They snaked around the picturesque eastern Himalayas prompting our camera crew to go ga-ga. We had to come back towards Siliguri and crossed the famous Coronation Bridge to head further into the east. It was the sixth day of our drive but it was more importantly the first day of change from the routine paratha-for-breakfast stop. Momos, poori sobzi and chicken fry appealed greatly to our paratha-exhausted taste buds. There were a few fussy eaters in our midst, especially the guy who shot all these images, and we left him to nibble on the pooris.
No offence to my Assamese friends but man you guys are as bad as the rest of the country when it comes to traffic etiquette. Actually, worse! You make UP look good! The frequency of motorists as well as cyclists going in the opposite direction was significantly higher than anywhere else. There was a new bizarre discovery too – sitting on the national blithering highway to have a jolly chat with friends over chai. What the hell is wrong with you people??!! We had to significantly slowdown, which was a bit of a dampener on the great day we were having. The roads didn’t do us any favours either. Bumps, potholes, barricades and poor quality in general made for a tiring drive from Bongaigaon in west Assam till Tezpur and our spirits only perked up when we got to Bhalukpong in Arunachal Pradesh and overdosed on clean mountain air. It was the seventh day on the road and the Kwids were showing no signs of distress. In fact, we were amazed by the way that they were holding up over these roads while returning a great fuel efficiency figure of 17.5kmpl!
The roads mimic that of lunar craters which would give even the mightiest of SUVs a scare but here the diminutive size of the Kwid worked to her advantage as she merrily drove in and out of the ditches without any fear of scrapping anything. It was about lunch time when we reached Dimapur, at the foothills of the ascent to Kohima, and came across the best food we had on the drive – a local preparation of pork and bamboo shoots. Oh my god! Rohit’s food fussiness began all over again. Anu and Somayya had freaked him out about dog meat and we became the snapper overlord’s official tasters and validators. Then on it was smooth sailing – NOT! 60km to Kohima took us close to four and a half hours. And the only thing worse than the roads was Alameen’s playlist – garbage noise on an endless loop. I’m told this rubbish goes by the name trance.
Here’s where the North East threw a spanner. Okay, another spanner. One more and we will have a fully-equipped tool kit. The monsoons had wreaked havoc, caused several roadblocks and washed away a bridge. We heard of this only in Mao, Manipur, and that meant going back the same way to Dimapur. Oh great. Another drive over the toughest roads so far. Luckily, Mao treated us to an even better meal than Dimapur – a homely dish of chicken, with a side of lentils and chickpeas and chicken chutney to chase it down. Gobsmacking. Even Rohit the drama queen wolfed it down, but only after bring force-fed the first bite.
We were back in Assam for the night and if we had to remain on course we needed to be done with Mizoram and Tripura on day 10. A severely daunting task. The roads after the town of Silchar began the medieval torture routine and it didn’t stop at yanking out all our finger nails and burning our eyebrows. These roads would give the Raid-de-Himalaya route an inferiority complex. We were averaging a best of 25kmph. But even more surprising was how well the Kwids were holding up. What is the secret sauce?
“As for the roads in Tripura, they were subjecting the Kwids to water-boarding that would make the Guantanamo Bay guards blush”
As soon as we entered Mizoram, we could sense the strong presence of the army, but there was an innocence to the state. Young kids enjoyed their evening game of football, each one of them bearing a look of childish innocence. People strummed guitars on the road side. The scenery was green and lush. All seemed well. As for the roads in Tripura, they were subjecting the Renault Kwid cars to water-boarding that would make the Guantanamo Bay guards blush. The suspension was getting a pounding, the car was getting a hammering, Alameen’s music was making our brains explode. And in the dead of night, when we finally hit some great roads, we screeched to a halt. Wild elephants. On the highway. Reverse gear engaged on both cars. Headlights dipped. Silent and loud prayers. I think I heard Rohit whimper “mummy”. Gently we backed up, found another route that inflicted more pain and torture on us, and eventually found a hotel.
I think I have found my retirement home. Shillong. It has the North East’s stunning landscape overlaid with beautiful driving roads and cheap fuel. Plus the drivers are not only sensible but really good, taking racing lines up the mountains and yet never coming in the way of oncoming traffic. From the border town of Panchgram in Assam to Shillong 150km away, we snaked up simply stunning mountain roads. It was the best day of our journey, the Kwids revelling in zipping round the corners, and the rally drivers had to be reminded that they are actually rally co-drivers!
It was here that 5,000km came up on the odometers – 5,000km of the most extreme roads that India had to offer, had been conquered. From Delhi’s insane traffic to roads snaking through Punjab’s lush fields; from UP and Bihar’s blistering heat, to Arunachal’s intoxicating mountain air; from the North East’s kaleidoscopic scenery and crazy roads to the town I want to retire in; it has been the best road trip I have ever been on. As for the Renault Kwid, it has been more than a faithful partner, and I say it with all seriousness. It didn’t cough or splutter through the torturous roads. We didn’t mollycoddle it and she didn’t cry out for some TLC. 16 states ticked off in 12 days. Stay tuned for part 2 of our epic challenge.
