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With the Renault Kwid already clocking thousands of kilometres from our daily driving and the shoots which take place at far away destinations, we decided to take it easy this time. Not that the car felt weary, but we did. So the location we chose was a mere 60km away from our office, barely an hour and a half away. But that’s all we needed to get away from the city.
Full of colours, sounds, and fragrances (sometimes, even cow dung). Every turn holds a different sight and with that, a different story. So rich with history, that a 1000-page book would fall short of words. It’s no surprise that most of our Kwid drives take place in the deepest nooks and crannies of Maharashtra. This time round, we were heading to a small village called Nighoj in Ahmednagar district. But we would be taking a detour first to Morachi Chincholi.
We woke up before the crack of dawn and with all our camera equipment comfortably placed into the massive 300-litre boot, we set out on the road. To get to Morachi Chincholi, you first get on to the Ahmednagar Highway (SH 22). The tarmac is usually well laid on this patch and the roads are mostly straights. But the small four-lane highway has pedestrians, motorcycles and cars perpendicularly plunging out onto the road which turns it into a very risky highway to drive through. The 67bhp three-pot motor is a hoot in the city, there’s no question about that. But what surprises you is the highway-friendly character of the engine. The sub-compact car had no problem carrying triple-digit speeds throughout our highway stint. A few scary situations arose on the highway where I had to brake hard. But the Kwid handled itself well and seemed unbothered by the plethora of idiots out on the road.
Just after Shikrapur at Malthan Phata, you turn left onto SH 54. The entry into a state highway gives way to quite a transition. The vehicles disappear, and so do the pedestrians. Roads start degrading more, and you’re often greeted with a cow lying right in the middle of an already slender road. By name, Morachi Chincholi means a village of tamarind trees (Marathi: chincha) and town of peacocks (Marathi: moar). It is said that during the Peshwa dynasty, many tamarind trees were planted and these attracted peafowl. The villagers also claim that their ancestors kept planting tamarind trees and cohabited with this bird. Now there are around 2500 peafowl in this region. And the city dwellers that we are, we haven’t seen much of these exotic looking birds. So at the first sight of a peacock, we got overly excited and out came the cameras. At peak summer though, the birds were apathetic to our enthusiasm and shrugged off every chance to look good for the shots. And you may call it bad luck, but out of 2500 peafowl, we only saw 25.
The summer also meant that the lush green surroundings Maharashtra is fondly linked with had given way for a brown and dusty landscape with the trees and shrubs gasping for a sip of fresh water. Another thing the summer brought along was the soaring temperatures borderlining 40-degree Celsius. But Renault has fitted the Kwid with a top-notch air-conditioning system that did not allow us to break a sweat. Switch the unit on, and all four of us in the car were overlaid with a cool, dry breeze.
Leaving Morachi Chincholi, we then directed the course onto our next spot, Malaganga temple, which is nestled in the small town of Nighoj. The roads by now started getting narrower but what was admirable is how well the government had maintained them. They weren’t paper-sheet smooth but potholes were extremely sparse and so were speed breakers. There were a few bad patches but the Kwid, with its 180mm of ground clearance and excellent suspension set-up, glided over the ruts with ease. The next spot was just 20km away and after a quick breakfast pit stop, we were on our way. A quick side note; when you visit these rural spots in Maharashtra, consume nothing other than the local cuisine, or you’d be missing out on quite a gastronomical experience.
After a short while, we entered Nighoj and soon after, Malaganga temple. We weren’t here to visit the temple though. No. What we were here for was an interesting natural phenomenon for which experts from all over the world come here every year to study. We were here to see the naturally created potholes on the riverbed of the Kukadi river. For the first time when you see the surface of the riverbed, you instantly think of the moon. It’s quite similar in fact. Grey surface with a lot of tiny craters. No scratch that, it looks like Mumbai’s roads after a heavy monsoon. It’s quite beautiful actually, but someone with trypophobia should not, I repeat, should not come here. Geologists indicate that formerly there was greater rainfall in this area. The Kukadi river flowed out from the highlands with such force that the bedrock scoured and resulted in the formation of these potholes and the gorge. After a quick photo session, we wrapped up the shoot and decided to head back home.
The drive back was pleasant too but it meant that we’d be getting back in the chokehold of the city. Oh, the horror. But there are no two ways about it. At the end of every trip, we all need to fit right back into the system and pick up where we last left off. But you have two choices. Either you wake up one morning, grab your car keys and head out into destination unknown, escaping the city and learning much along the way, or you opt for a mindless pre-planned vacation package. Your choice.
Words by Ajinkya Nair
