Mumbai to Aurangabad to Shirdi: The Ultimate 5-Day Family Road Trip
- Girish Tare
- Jan 1
- 37 min read
Updated: Jan 4
The "Three Musketeers" and the Great December Pivot.
It’s that time of year again! The time when the "Three Musketeers"—my wife Vidya, our son Devansh, and I—huddle around a laptop to plan our annual family pilgrimage.
Usually, this tradition is etched in stone around a very specific window: early November. Why? Because the universe decided to bless our household with a "double whammy" of cake consumption. Devansh’s birthday is November 4th, and mine is the very next day. It’s practically a 48-hour festival, and we’ve always loved celebrating it on the road, somewhere new.
Back in September, the excitement was palpable. We were deep in planning mode, tossing around destination ideas like confetti. But then, as it so often does, "Adulting" kicked down the door and threw a wrench in the gears.
The Villain: "Mandatory Meetings."
Just as we were finalizing the November plan, I got word that some key clients were flying into Mumbai. I was told my presence was mandatory during exactly our planned dates.
My heart didn’t just sink; it plummeted to the basement. There is nothing worse than being the bearer of bad news to your family, especially when the headline is: "Hey guys, Happy Birthday! I got you a cancelled vacation."
I sat Vidya and Devansh down, bracing myself for tears or at least a sulk. But honestly? They were absolute troopers. Vidya, ever the pragmatist, and Devansh, showing maturity that frankly scares me sometimes, understood the work priority immediately. They didn't make me feel guilty for a second (which, ironically, made me feel guilty for hours).
The Pivot: When Life Gives You Lemons, Go in December.
We didn't just cancel; we pivoted. As the saying goes, "If you can't change the direction of the wind, adjust your sails." Or, in my case, "If you can't travel in November, use your stockpiled annual leave in December before HR yells at you."
It actually worked out perfectly. Devansh’s school winter break lines up with the last week of December, and I had a mountain of leave days collecting dust. The decision was made: The Birthday Trip transformed into the Year-End Winter Extravaganza.
The Great Debate: Indiana Jones vs. The Devotee.
Now that the when was settled, we had to tackle the bigger, scarier question: Where?
You know the drill. The world is huge, the bucket list is long, and when you ask three people for suggestions, you get thirty answers. We were suffering from a severe case of "Analysis Paralysis," drowning in open browser tabs.
Then, Devansh—our resident explorer—piped up with an idea out of left field. "How about we explore some caves?"
God knows where he gets this stuff. Although, to be fair, we had been down a YouTube rabbit hole watching documentaries about ancient architecture. The sheer scale of the Ellora Caves had captured his imagination. He didn't just want a vacation; he wanted an Indiana Jones-style adventure.
While Devansh was dreaming of ancient rocks, Vidya had a different suggestion. Knowing that I am a devout follower of Lord Shiva, and since we were staying within our home state, she pitched a curveball: "Why don't we visit the Jyotirlingas in Maharashtra?"
It was brilliant. Maharashtra is blessed with spiritual powerhouses. Suddenly, the puzzle pieces clicked. We had a request for history and adventure from the little guy, and a suggestion for spirituality and gratitude from the boss (Vidya).
The challenge? Mashing these two very different vibes into one coherent road trip.
Go Big or Go Home.
We’ve already ticked Trimbakeshwar (Nashik) off our list. That left two major Jyotirlingas on our radar: Bhimashankar (near Pune) and Grishneshwar (near Aurangabad).
Initially, we sketched out a "hop-skip-jump" 3-day itinerary. It looked simple. Logical. Efficient. But let’s be honest—we aren't "efficient" people. We like to complicate things.
We looked at that three-day plan, then at our calendars. "Baba," Devansh said, giving the itinerary a look of pure skepticism. "That looks way too small for the long vacation I have."
I nodded. "Yep. I’m not wasting my annual leave on a short sprint. Let’s make it a marathon."
So, Vidya—our unofficial Chief Logistics Officer—got back to work. She opened the map to look for "places along the way" (which, in road trip terms, actually means "places within a 4-hour detour"). She struck gold.
"If we just... adjust... a little bit," she mused, "We can hit Shani Shingnapur and Shirdi, too."
The Route Tetris.
With the destination list growing, we locked in our dates: December 28th to January 1st. A perfect way to ring in the New Year on the asphalt.
We opened our old frenemy, Google Maps, and started playing "Route Tetris." After much zooming, scrolling, and debating drive times, the perfect loop emerged:
Day 1 (Dec 28): Drive to Aurangabad. Start with Shree Bhadra Maruti Mandir and catch the sunset at Bibi Ka Maqbara.
Day 2 (Dec 29): The "History & Spirituality" Day. Visit Shri Ghrishneshwar Jyotirlinga and spend hours pretending to be archaeologists at the Ellora Caves.
Day 3 (Dec 30): The Pilgrimage Leg. Drive to Shani Shingnapur for darshan, then head to Shirdi. Overnight in Shirdi.
Day 4 (Dec 31): The New Year's Eve Drive. Travel to Bhimashankar for the final Jyotirlinga visit. Celebrate NYE in the cool hills.
Day 5 (Jan 1): The final leg back to Mumbai (and reality).
The Packing Philosophy (Or: How Vidya Saves Us From Starvation).
With the hotels booked and the route mapped, only one hurdle remained: The Packing.
Now, when I say "packing," that word has two very different definitions in our house.
For Devansh and me, packing is a concept. We operate on the "Throw-and-Go" philosophy. We mentally pack days in advance—"Yeah, I'll take that blue shirt and those jeans"—but the physical act of putting fabric into a bag? That happens about 45 minutes before we walk out the door.
Vidya, on the other hand, is a tactical genius. Her packing starts days in advance. It isn't just throwing clothes in a suitcase; it is a strategic operation. And (forcefully), I have to be part of it.
But thank goodness for her, because her primary jurisdiction is the Department of Hunger Management.
While Devansh and I are worrying about phone chargers, Vidya is ensuring we have enough munchies, and "emergency rations" to survive a nuclear winter. She knows the golden rule of family travel: A hungry road trip is an angry road trip.
So, while the boys were 'mentally' ready, the lady of the house actually got us ready. Finally, the bags were zipped, the car was loaded, and the Three Musketeers were ready to hit the road.
Day 1: The Mumbai Escape & The Concrete Runway.
As is tradition for our road trips, Day 1 started aggressively early. The alarm shattered the silence at 4:00 AM—a time that I am convinced only exists for travelers, roosters, and insomniacs.
Now, on a normal school day, waking Devansh up at 7:00 AM requires a negotiation team, a crane, and threats of Wi-Fi revocation. But today? He was up instantly. It’s funny how the promise of a vacation rewires a kid's biological clock. He usually wakes up at 8:00 AM on holidays, but today he was the most energetic person in the room before the sun even considered showing up.
To be honest, none of us had really slept well. You know that feeling—"Pre-Trip Insomnia." You’re too excited to sleep, checking the clock every hour to see if it’s time to get up yet. Despite the sleepless night, the adrenaline kicked in the moment our feet hit the floor. We were all surprisingly fresh.
By 4:45 AM, we were dressed, caffeinated, and ready to roll.
The "Final Sweep" & Luggage Tetris.
Before we could lock the front door, we had to go through the Standard Operating Procedure. Like every Indian housewife, Vidya has a mental checklist that rivals an ISRO launch sequence.
Gas off? Check.
Windows locked? Check.
Switches off? Check.
She did her final sweep of the house (which takes a solid 10 minutes of intense focus). While she ensured the house was secure, Devansh and I took on the role of baggage handlers, playing a high-stakes game of Luggage Tetris in the car boot.
Hitting the Road: The Ritual.
We buckled up. The city was still dark and surprisingly quiet. As my hand went to the ignition, we waited for the most important part of the departure. It’s Devansh’s personal ritual. As soon as the engine hums to life, he shouts with pure enthusiasm: "Ganpati Bappa… Morya! Mangalmurti… Morya!"
And just like that, with the blessings of the Remover of Obstacles, the wheels started rolling. We were officially on vacation mode.
The Drive: From Traffic Jams to Runways.
Leg 1: Escaping the Concrete Jungle (Borivali to Igatpuri). Leaving Mumbai at 5:00 AM feels like unlocking a cheat code. The usually clogged arteries of the city were wide open. We breezed through Borivali and hit Ghodbunder Road—a stretch that is normally a parking lot of trucks—in record time.
By the time we crossed Thane and the Bhiwandi bypass, the sky was just starting to turn that dusty purple color before sunrise. The air got crisper as we approached the Kasara Ghat. Driving through the ghats at dawn is a vibe of its own. The mist was clinging to the peaks, and the winding roads kept me alert. Devansh was glued to the window, watching the monkeys and the waterfalls (or the sad, dry trickle that remains of them in December).
We made good time, but in the back of my mind, I was waiting for the main event.
Leg 2: The Samruddhi Mahamarg Experience. Just after passing Igatpuri, near Bharvir, we saw the signboards we were looking for: The Hindu Hrudaysamrat Balasaheb Thackeray Maharashtra Samruddhi Mahamarg.
As soon as our tires hit that concrete, the world changed. If you haven’t driven on this road yet, let me tell you—it doesn't feel like an Indian highway. It feels like a runway. Six lanes of pristine, arrow-straight concrete cutting through the landscape.
The Speed: The limit is 120 km/h. For the first time in my life, I could actually use "top gear" without having to brake for a pothole or a cow every 30 seconds.
The Scenery: It’s vast and open. In December, the landscape was a mix of dry golden grass and small hills, totally hypnotic.
The "I Told You So" Moment.
Now, here is where Vidya earned her "Best Planner" Trophy.
I had read online that the Samruddhi Mahamarg was amazing but lacked amenities. I thought, "How bad can it be? Surely there's a McDonald's somewhere." Spoiler Alert: There wasn't.
For kilometers, there were no food malls, no bustling restaurants, no restrooms. If we had relied on finding a fancy breakfast spot, we would have been "hangry" (hungry + angry) within an hour. But Vidya? She smiled, reached into her bag, and pulled out the snacks. While other cars were likely hunting for a vada pav, we were dining at 120 km/h.
We cruised for about 150 km (roughly 2 hours) in smooth silence, but eventually, biology called. We spotted a small eatery on the side—a rare and welcome sight! Most importantly, it had functional washrooms. We pulled over immediately to relieve the "pressure" of the long drive and naturally grabbed a quick cup of Chai to keep the energy up.
But when we looked for food? Nothing. There was nothing substantial to eat. So, with lighter bladders but empty stomachs, we hit the road again.
A few kilometers ahead, we spotted another eatery. We pulled over, fingers crossed. This time, luck was on our side. The menu was a Maharashtrian traveler’s dream: Misal Pav, Vada Pav, and Coffee. We inhaled a quick bite to silence the growling stomachs and hit the tarmac immediately.
Arrival: The Samruddhi Effect & The 11 AM Dilemma.
The drive was so smooth that we lost track of time. We took the exit towards Aurangabad (Sawaswadi/Maliwada interchange) much earlier than expected. The transition from the futuristic expressway back to regular city roads was a shock to the system, but the excitement took over. We were in the land of heritage.
Remember how I said we were making "good time"? That was an understatement. We had severely underestimated the efficiency of the new expressway. Our itinerary had estimated a 2:00 PM arrival. We rolled up to the hotel gate—Hotel Aadarsh Palace—at 11:00 AM.
Experienced travelers know that arriving three hours early is usually a recipe for awkwardness. Hotels love their "Standard 2:00 PM Check-in" rules, and since it was peak vacation season, the place was running at full capacity. I walked to the reception, bracing myself to hear, "Sorry sir, please come back later."
But luck (and good hospitality) was on our side. The staff were incredibly kind. While they didn't have a room ready right that second, they told us some guests had just checked out and the cleaning crew was going in "express mode" for us.
The Garden Wait: We parked ourselves in the hotel’s small garden, stretching our legs and soaking in the Aurangabad sun. It was actually a nice breather—a quiet moment between the high-speed drive and the sightseeing chaos to come.
The Crash Landing: By 11:30 AM—a mere 30 minutes later—we got the keys. We hauled the luggage in, the door clicked shut, and gravity took over. I immediately performed a "face-plant" maneuver onto the bed. The adrenaline of the 4 AM wake-up call and the 6-hour drive had finally worn off.
Devansh, mirroring me perfectly, flopped down right beside me. I turned my head to look at him. "I’m tired from driving non-stop," I groaned. "What’s up with you? Why are you collapsing?"
Devansh didn't miss a beat. With a perfectly straight face, he delivered the punchline of the morning: "I'm tired of sitting and doing nothing."
I couldn't even argue with that logic. Being a passenger is hard work, apparently!
Lunch: The "Temple Mode" Menu.
Once the "flop onto the bed" phase passed, our stomachs reminded us that the snacks from the highway were a distant memory. We decided not to venture out; the hotel restaurant was just a phone call away, and honestly, we were in no mood to hunt for food in the heat.
Now, in our family, the itinerary dictates the menu. Since we had a visit to the Shree Bhadra Maruti Mandir planned for the evening, the "Strictly Vegetarian Protocol" was legally in effect. No chicken, no mutton, just pure plant power.
We kept it simple—classic Indian comfort food:
A yellow Dal Tadka (the ultimate comfort food).
A mixed vegetable Sabzi.
Hot, buttered Naans.
A mound of fluffy Rice.
It wasn't a fancy gourmet spread, but it was exactly what we needed. It was that "quick but soul-satisfying" kind of meal. With our bellies full and the cold weather outside, we finally gave in to the exhaustion. It was time for a power nap to recharge for the adventures of the rest of the day.
The 10-Minute Blessing: Shree Bhadra Maruti Mandir.
After our power nap, we hopped back into the car for the first spiritual stop: Shree Bhadra Maruti Mandir. Now, usually, "driving to a temple" in India involves traffic, parking struggles, and a long walk. Not here. The temple was practically in our hotel’s backyard—no more than a 5-minute drive. A quick acceleration, two sharp turns, and boom—we were at the gate.
The "Vacation Miracle": We walked in bracing ourselves for battle. Given that it was peak vacation season, we expected the usual: long winding queues, pushing, shoving, and a 2-hour wait. To our absolute surprise? It was breezy.
There were separate queues for men and women, so we had to split up. Vidya went to the ladies' line, while Devansh and I joined the gents'.
Why this place matters: For those who don’t know, this temple is special because the idol of Lord Hanuman is in a sleeping (reclining) position—a rarity, as Hanuman is usually depicted standing or flying. It is considered one of only three major temples in India with a reclining Hanuman idol (the others being in Prayagraj and Jam Sawali).
The Legend: According to local folklore, the region was once ruled by King Bhadrasena, a devout worshipper of Lord Rama. One day, while the king was singing devotional songs (bhajans) in praise of Rama, Lord Hanuman was so mesmerized by the melody that he descended and rested on the ground in a trance. The king later requested Hanuman to remain there forever to bless the devotees.
In just 10 minutes, we had a peaceful Darshan and were back out in the courtyard. It was fast, spiritual, and stress-free—the trifecta of a good temple visit.
Oil, Rituals, and Retail Therapy. Just outside the main sanctum, there is a shrine dedicated to Shree Shani Dev. Devansh and I took a moment to follow the tradition of offering oil to the deity. Once the spiritual duties were done, the "tourist" instincts kicked in. You can't visit a famous temple without checking out the row of shops outside. We took a stroll, window shopping through the stalls of trinkets, prasad, and souvenirs, soaking in that vibrant temple-town atmosphere.
The "Taj of the Deccan": Bibi Ka Maqbara.
From the quiet spiritual vibes of the temple, we drove straight into the heart of history—and into the arms of the vacation crowd! Our destination was Bibi Ka Maqbara, often romanticized as the "Taj of the Deccan" (Dakkhani Taj).
Now, if you squint a little, you might think you’ve magically teleported to Agra. The resemblance to the Taj Mahal is striking, and there is a reason for that. This mausoleum was commissioned in 1660 by Emperor Aurangzeb for his wife, Dilras Banu Begum.
Fun Fact: The resemblance isn't a coincidence. The chief architect was Ata-ullah, the son of Ustad Ahmad Lahauri—the principal designer of the original Taj Mahal! Talk about keeping it in the family.
However, history (and locals) often call it the "Poor Man's Taj." Unlike its big brother in Agra which is pure marble, this structure had a tighter budget. It uses marble only for the dome and the lower levels; the rest is basaltic trap rock covered in fine lime plaster to look like marble. It’s a masterclass in cost-effective engineering!
The "Vacation Mode" Reality Check. Remember how I said the temple was empty? Well, the universe decided to balance the scales here. As soon as we stepped out of the car, we knew it was peak vacation season. It was chaos. Hundreds of visitors were pouring in. There were long queues for physical tickets and groups of people huddled together trying to book online. But credit where credit is due—the security team was doing a fantastic job managing the sea of people. We joined the flow, passed the security check, and entered the premises.
Inside the Mausoleum. The layout is classic Mughal—a Charbagh style with gardens, axial ponds, and fountains (though not all were flowing). As you walk closer, the scale feels smaller than the Taj, but arguably more intimate.
The interior is where the difference really shines. In the Taj Mahal, the cenotaph is on the main floor. Here, the actual grave of Rabia-ul-Daurani is in an octagonal chamber at the basement level. We stood on the ground floor, looking down through a large octagonal opening surrounded by a marble balustrade. The grave below is draped in silence and surrounded by exquisite jalis (marble screens).
We spent about an hour here, battling the crowds to get a good view and clicking a few mandatory photos. By 5:30 PM, we had successfully navigated the history and the humidity.
The "Chief Logistics Officer" Strikes Again: Paithan Gate Market.
There is a universal law of physics that states: If there is a market, a woman will find it.
Vidya is no exception to this rule. While Devansh and I were thinking about dinner, she had been secretly researching shopping hotspots. And in true "Chief Logistics Officer" fashion, the new destination was revealed to us not during the planning phase, but literally at the last second.
"Take a left here," she commanded. "We are going to Paithan Gate." Devansh and I looked at each other. We had no option but to follow orders.
The Drive & The Parking Miracle. The market was only about 4 km from Bibi Ka Maqbara, but unlike our breezy morning drive, this was real city traffic. It took us about 15 minutes of bumper-to-bumper crawling to get there. Now, anyone who has driven in an Indian market area knows that finding parking is usually a myth. But the Travel Gods were smiling on us today—we found a spot almost immediately!
Scents of the City: Buying Attar. We spent about 45 minutes wandering through the bustling lanes. While the area is famous for fabrics, we ended up following our noses to something more traditional: Attar (or Ittar).
For the uninitiated, Attar isn't just "perfume." It’s an ancient art form. It’s a natural, alcohol-free oil made by distilling flowers, herbs, and spices. We stood at a small shop, testing tiny vials that smelled like wet earth (Mitti), fresh roses, and heavy musk. It felt like buying a little piece of history. We picked up a few bottles, smelling distinctively regal, and headed back to the car.
Dinner: The Quest for "The Yellow Bread" & The Spice Challenge.
Once the shopping was done, our attention shifted to the next most critical mission: Dinner. Chhatrapati Sambhaji Nagar is a paradise for foodies. We had asked the hotel receptionist for a recommendation—something authentic, not just generic hotel food. He didn't hesitate: "Go to CFC Shalimar Family Restaurant. It's in the heart of the city."
Navigating the "Heart". Now, when locals say "heart of the city," they usually mean "densely packed, high-traffic arteries." This was no exception. The restaurant is located in the Kat Kat Gate area. The drive was only 4 km, but it took us a solid 20 minutes of white-knuckled driving. Why? Because the road is designed for autorickshaws, but it was currently occupied by SUVs, bikes, carts, and pedestrians. Our SUV felt like a tank trying to navigate a go-kart track.
The Menu: "I Want That Yellow Thing". CFC Shalimar is legendary for its non-veg Mughlai and Chinese dishes, but we had a specific target. On the drive over, Devansh—who has eyes like a hawk for food—had spotted a street stall selling a specific type of bread. It was round like a poori but yellowish and fluffy. "I want to try that," he declared.
We sat down, and I tried to describe this mysterious yellow bread to the captain. He smiled instantly. "Ah, Naan Khaliya," he said.
For those who don’t know, Naan Khaliya is the dish of Aurangabad. It’s a rich, slow-cooked mutton gravy (Khaliya) served with soft, tandoor-baked naan. It’s famous for its spicy kick and the layer of flavorful oil (taree) floating on top.
The Hospitality & The Heat. Here is the kicker: The restaurant didn't actually have it on the menu. But in true Indian hospitality style, the captain said, "Don't worry, Sir. We will arrange it for you."
Ten minutes later, a steaming bowl of Naan Khaliya appeared on our table, alongside Devansh’s mandatory Chicken Lollipops and a fragrant Chicken Biryani.
The verdict? Explosive. The Khaliya was incredibly spicy—the kind that makes your eyes water and your nose run—but it was so delicious we couldn't stop eating. There was zero conversation at the table. Just three people silently crying, sweating, and absolutely loving every bite.
We cooled down the fire with Devansh’s favorite dessert: Caramel Custard. He has a rule—if custard is on the menu, we aren't leaving until he eats it.
The Reality Check: Grishneshwar Tomorrow.
After an hour-long drive back to the hotel, we had one final task before bed. We knew our next stop, the Grishneshwar Jyotirlinga, would be packed. We asked the hotel reception if there were any "VIP" or express entry passes available. They gave us a contact number, but the news wasn't good.
"Due to the massive vacation crowd," the contact told us, "all special entries are suspended. The only way in is the queue." He gave us a piece of advice that sobered us up instantly: "If you reach after the temple opens at 5:00 AM, you’ll be standing in line for 2-3 hours. Be there by 4:00 AM."
We looked at the clock. We looked at each other. As soon as we reached the room, we changed into night suits, set the alarm for 3:00 AM, and crashed.
Day 1 was done. Day 2 was going to start very early.
Day 2: The 3 AM Wake-Up Call & The Lord of Compassion.
If you thought our 4 AM start yesterday was aggressive, Day 2 laughed in our faces.
Our target was Shree Grishneshwar Jyotirlinga. This isn't just any temple; it is the 12th and final Jyotirlinga in the holy circuit. Located in Verul, this ancient shrine is known as the "Lord of Compassion."
The current structure is a marvel of resilience, rebuilt in the 18th century by the legendary Queen Ahilyabai Holkar of Indore. It’s constructed from striking red volcanic rock in the Hemadpanti style, with a five-tiered shikhara adorned with intricate carvings of the Dashavataras.
But to see this beauty without spending half the day in a queue, we had to beat the crowd.
The Early Bird Struggle.
The alarm situation was military-grade.
3:00 AM: Vidya is up. (She is unstoppable).
3:15 AM: I manage to drag myself up.
3:30 AM: Our "Brave Soldier" Devansh wakes up, surprisingly without complaint.
Our target was to hit the road by 4:00 AM sharp. Naturally, we missed it. By the time we mobilized, it was 4:15 AM. We jumped into the car, hoping that 15 minutes wouldn't cost us hours in line.
The Race in the Dark.
The drive was short—only 5.2 km—and took less than 10 minutes. The roads were pitch black, silent, and empty, save for a few lumbering sugarcane trucks.
We reached the parking lot just opposite the temple entrance. It looked like an abandoned wasteland in the dark. There were a few cars already there, and I pulled in between two of them.
Suddenly, the vibe shifted. As soon as I killed the engine, the doors of the neighboring car flew open. The passengers jumped out with urgency. It felt like the start of a Formula 1 race—the Grand Prix of Darshan. We grabbed our phones, switched on the torches, and power-walked through the darkness to find the queue.
Har Har Mahadev!
We thought we were early. We were wrong.
As our torchlights hit the main queue area, we saw 100+ people already lined up. The temple grounds were buzzing. The priests inside were already chanting ancient mantras, their voices drifting over the walls. Outside, the crowd responded with roaring chants of "Har Har Mahadev!"
Standing there in the cool pre-dawn air, surrounded by that energy, the sleepiness vanished. You could feel the devotion.
The Darshan.
At 5:00 AM, the temple doors swung open. The line moved surprisingly fast. Within 15 minutes, we were standing in front of the sanctum.
We weren't allowed into the main Gabhara (sanctum sanctorum) to touch the Shivling, but just the sight of it was enough. As soon as you lay eyes on the idol, a wave of comfort washes over you. It’s a grounding feeling—a sense of strength and support that is hard to explain but easy to feel.
A Detour for Rituals: Shree Siddheshwar Mahadev.
The security guards were efficient (maybe too efficient), keeping the line moving so no one could linger. I had brought Panchamrut to offer to the deity, but with the strict crowd control, there was no chance to perform the abhishek at the main Jyotirlinga.
I asked a security guard if there was any way to offer it. He kindly pointed us next door. "Go to Shree Siddheshwar Mahadev Temple," he said. "It's right there in the complex."
We walked over to the smaller, quieter shrine. There, amidst the early morning calm, the three of us offered our Panchamrut and water to the Shiva Linga. It was the perfect, peaceful conclusion to a frantic morning.
The Unspoken "Chai Protocol" & A Lesson in Patience.
The sun wasn't even up yet, but we had already accomplished the biggest mission of the day. With our spiritual batteries charged, we walked out of the temple premises into the cool, dark morning air.
Right in front of us, glowing like a beacon, was a small Chai Shop. There was no discussion. No "Should we stop?" or "Do you want tea?" All three of us just instinctively drifted into the shop. We sat down in comfortable silence, watching the steam rise from the cups. That first sip of hot, sugary tea after an early morning start is less like a beverage and more like a life-saving elixir.
Devansh and The Good Boy.
While I was nursing my tea, Vidya bought a few packets of biscuits—ostensibly for us. But Devansh had other plans.
He spotted a street dog sitting nearby, watching us with hopeful eyes. Devansh took a packet not for him but for the dog. Now, usually, street dogs can be skittish or aggressive with food. But this one? He just sat there, wagging his tail gently, waiting with absolute patience. It was a sweet moment—the boy fumbling to open the wrapper, and the dog waiting politely, as if he knew the treat was guaranteed.
Devansh placed the biscuits down, the dog enjoyed his breakfast, and we sat there watching them, feeling just a little bit warmer on the inside.
The "Second Sleep" Luxury.
After the tea and the biscuits, we looked at the time. It was barely 6:00 AM.
The world was just waking up, but we had already lived a whole day’s worth of emotions. We drove back to the hotel, the roads now slightly brighter as the sun began to peek over the horizon.
We walked into our room, which was still freezing cold from the window we’d kept open. Without a word, we all performed the same synchronized maneuver: shoes off, blankets up, lights out.
There is a specific kind of joy in going back to sleep when you know you’ve already been productive. We silently slipped back into bed, guilt-free. The Ellora Caves could wait a few more hours. We needed to recharge our batteries for the history lesson that lay ahead.
The 10 AM Resurrection & The Network Hunt.
We slowly peeled ourselves off the beds around 10:00 AM, feeling like entirely new people. The "Second Sleep" had worked its magic. We were refreshed, recharged, and ready for history.
But first—fuel. We didn't want to waste time hunting for a cafe, so we hit the hotel breakfast buffet with efficiency. The spread was classic Maharashtrian comfort:
Fluffy Puri Bhaji.
Hot Paratha.
The inevitable Poha.
We inhaled the food in 15 minutes flat. By 10:45 AM, we were in the car, GPS locked on the Ellora Caves.
The 4.3 km Obstacle Course. The distance from our hotel to Ellora Caves was a laughable 4.3 km. Under normal circumstances, that’s an 8-minute drive. But remember, this was December Vacation Season.
As we approached the site, it felt like the entire population of India had decided to visit Ellora on this specific Monday. About 100 meters from the parking lot, we hit a wall of red taillights. Bumper-to-bumper traffic.
The main parking lot was already bursting at the seams. The security guards, looking exhausted but determined, waved us away from the main gate. We were directed to park on a back road behind the official lot. We squeezed the car in, grabbed our water bottles, and marched toward the entrance.
The "Dial-Up" Disaster & The 5G Hack. If the parking lot was crowded, the ticket counter was a mosh pit. It looked like there was one person standing on every available square foot of land. The queues for physical tickets were winding endlessly. Naturally, I thought, "I’m smart. I’ll just book online."
Plot Twist: The mobile network inside the complex area had decided to go on vacation too. The signal bars dropped to zero. The internet speed felt like a dial-up connection from 1999. I stood there, watching the loading icon spin, while Devansh looked at me with that "Baba, fix it" expression.
Then, I had a lightbulb moment. I scanned the QR code on the poster, turned around, and walked away from the crowd, stepping just outside the complex premises.
Boom. Full 5G bars. I booked the tickets in 30 seconds, downloaded the PDF, and walked back in like a boss. While hundreds of people were still struggling with the offline line, we breezed through the scanner.
The Explorer, The Monolith, and The "Ice Gola" Rescue.
As soon as we stepped through the scanner, Devansh went into full "National Geographic" mode. He mounted his phone onto his gimbal, calibrated the balance, and looked ready to shoot a documentary.
Entry Protocol: "Operation Don't Get Lost". Given the sea of people, I had to interrupt his artistic process for a quick safety briefing. "Listen," I told him, pointing a finger. "Stay in sight of me or your mom. If you get lost, DO NOT PANIC. You have the phone. Call us immediately." He nodded, hit the record button, and we officially switched on Explorer Mode.
The First Impression: A Wall of History. When you walk into the complex, the scale of it hits you instantly. You aren't just looking at a building; you are staring at the vertical face of the Charanandri Hills, stretching over 2 km. The complex is divided into three distinct zones: Buddhist (South), Hindu (Center), and Jain (North). We decided to start with the crown jewel right in front of us.
Stop 1: The Impossible Temple (Cave 16 - Kailasa). If you visit Ellora and only see one thing, make it Cave 16: The Kailasa Temple. This isn't just "architecture." It’s a miracle. It is the largest monolithic structure in the world, carved top-down from a single massive rock. Just let that sink in—they started at the roof and dug their way down. No scaffolding, no cement, just chisels and hammers.
We entered through the two-story gopuram into a U-shaped courtyard. It’s overwhelming.
The Strength: The base of the temple looks like it’s being held up by a row of life-sized stone elephants.
The Drama: On the southern side, we spotted the famous relief of Ravana shaking Mount Kailasa. The detailing is hilarious and powerful—Ravana is straining with all his might, while Lord Shiva is sitting above, casually pinning him down with just a toe.
The Epics: The galleries are like a stone comic book, narrating scenes from the Ramayana and Mahabharata.
Stop 2: The Electric Bus to the North (Jain Caves). After Kailasa, we realized that walking to all caves would result in us needing a stretcher. So, we made the smart move: we headed to the pickup point and hopped on the government-run electric bus. It dropped us off at the northern end of the complex for the Jain Group.
Cave 32: The Indra Sabha. This is the "Assembly Hall of Indra," though it’s dedicated to Jain Tirthankaras.
The Vibe: It mimics the style of the Kailasa temple but feels much more delicate and intricate.
The Details: The upper floor is the real showstopper. The pillar carvings here are arguably finer than the Hindu caves. We even spotted traces of the original ancient paint on the ceilings—a tiny glimpse of how colorful this place once was.
The Guardians: We paid our respects to the large statues of Matanga Yaksha (on an elephant) and Ambika Yakshi (on a lion) resting under a mango tree.
Cave 31: The Unfinished Neighbor. Right next door is Cave 31. It’s a smaller, intimate four-pillared hall. It lacks the grandeur of Indra Sabha, but seeing the unfinished carvings gives you a raw look at how the artisans actually worked.
Stop 3: The Trek Back (Hindu Caves). We started walking back towards the center, hitting two major stops on the way.
Cave 29: Dhumar Lena. This one felt eerily familiar. If you’ve been to the Elephanta Caves in Mumbai, this is its twin. It has a massive "Cross" layout guarded by colossal lions.
Sita Ki Nahani: The northern entrance opens up to a seasonal waterfall and a pool known as "Sita's Bath." In December, it was dry, but the drop-off into the valley is still stunning.
The Marriage: We saw the beautiful relief of Kalyanasundara—the celestial marriage of Shiva and Parvati.
Cave 25: The Surya Cave. This one is unique. It’s quieter, likely used as a monastery. But the highlight is on the ceiling of the vestibule: a magnificent carving of Surya (the Sun God) driving his chariot drawn by seven horses. It’s rare to see such a prominent solar dedication here.
The "System Shutdown" & The Chammach Gola.
By the time we walked out of Cave 25, our batteries were blinking red. "Baba," Devansh said, lowering his gimbal. "I'm done."
Honestly, so were we. We decided to skip the remaining caves. We had seen the best, and pushing further would have just been torture. We headed for the exit with one goal in mind: Hydration.
And there he was—a savior in the form of a Gola Wala. We didn't just get water; we went for the full experience.
Fresh Lemon Juice: To bring us back to life.
Ice Gola (Chammach/Spoon Gola): The ultimate Indian summer treat (even in December).
Sitting there, slurping on that shaved ice with tangy syrup, feeling the cool relief wash over us... that was arguably as good as the caves themselves. We rushed back to the parking lot, hopped into the car, and blasted the AC. Ellora: Conquered.
The "Eclectic" Lunch & The Hotel Hibernation.
Pit Stop: Hotel Great Annapurna. By the time we left Ellora, it was well past standard lunch hours, but our hunger levels were critical. We drove back towards our hotel base and spotted Hotel Great Annapurna. From the outside, it looked popular. Inside? It was a zoo. The place was absolutely overflowing with people—always a good sign for the food, even if it’s bad for the noise level.
The "Monday Menu". Since it was a Monday, the "Strictly Veg" rule was back in play. But our order was... well, let’s call it "culturally diverse."
Devansh: "I want Noodles." (Chinese).
Us: "We want Baingan Masala and Dal Tadka." (Desi).
So, our table looked like a culinary conflict zone: Hakka Noodles sitting next to Roti and Baingan Masala. But honestly? When you are that hungry, everything tastes amazing. We polished off the plates with zero complaints.
The Great Crash. We rolled out of the restaurant at 3:45 PM and headed straight for the hotel. Originally, we might have thought about exploring the city in the evening. But after climbing caves and waking up at 3 AM, our bodies went on strike.
We entered the room, and made a unanimous executive decision: We are not leaving this room. For the next few hours, we did the most relaxing thing you can do on a vacation—we lay in bed and watched movies. No walking, no queues, just mindless entertainment.
Soup, Thali, and Sleep. By evening, we were still too full from lunch to handle a heavy meal. We kept dinner incredibly simple.
For Me: A hot bowl of soup.
For Vidya & Devansh: A simple Veg Thali shared between them.
It was the perfect light end to a heavy day. We wrapped up everything and were tucked into bed by 10:00 PM. Day 2 was in the books. We had conquered the Jyotirlinga and the Caves. Now, we needed to rest up for the pilgrimage leg of the tour.
Day 3: The Doorless Village, The "Double Breakfast," and The Shirdi Sprint.
Route: Aurangabad -> Shani Shingnapur -> Shirdi.
We were up by 5:00 AM, sticking to our disciplined routine. Since we had packed our bags the night before (thank you, Past Us), getting ready was a breeze.
By 5:45 AM, we were lugging our bags to the car. The hotel staff was still deep in slumber, so we performed a "Self-Service Checkout." I had told the receptionist the night before that we’d be early birds, so I simply left the keys on the desk, loaded the trunk, and we were off.
The Butter-Smooth Drive. The drive to Shani Shingnapur is about 95 km (approx. 2 hours). As soon as our tires hit the highway, I breathed a sigh of relief. The road was smooth as butter—no potholes, no patchwork, just glorious, flat tarmac. Combined with the empty early-morning lanes, it was driving nirvana.
Pit Stop 1: The "Chilled" Poha. About an hour in, we decided it was time for a snack. We pulled over at a small roadside eatery. Now, inside the car, the climate control was set to a cozy 22°C. I opened the door and—Whoosh. The 15°C morning chill hit us instantly. It was that crisp winter air that wakes you up faster than caffeine.
We warmed up with the holy trinity of road trip snacks:
Steaming hot Chai
Fresh Poha
Crispy Bread Pakoda
There is something about eating fresh, hot food in the chilly morning air that tastes like heaven. Ten minutes later, we were back on the road.
Arrival: Shani Shingnapur.
We reached the temple town by 8:00 AM. For those who don’t know, this place is legendary. The entire village follows a "doorless" tradition. Houses and shops have no front doors or locks because the locals believe Lord Shani protects them from theft.
A Transformation 14 Years in the Making. I had visited this temple about 14 years ago, and my jaw dropped at the changes. The development is commendable. It has transformed from a simple village shrine into a world-class spiritual complex.
The Entrance: We walked through the massive new Maha Dwar (entrance gate).
The Queue: Gone are the days of chaotic pushing. There are now organized, covered queue lines (Darshan Bari) to protect pilgrims from the sun.
The Facilities: The trust has added a massive Prasadalaya (dining hall), a hospital, and even a Bhakta Niwas for accommodation.
The Darshan: Open to the Sky. The best surprise? The crowd. Or rather, the lack of it. It felt like the temple was waiting just for us. There were barely 10-15 people ahead of us.
We walked up to the sanctum. The presiding deity is a 5.5-foot high black stone (Swayambhu) installed on an open-air platform. There is no roof—Lord Shani stands exposed to the sun, rain, and cold, symbolizing that he is omnipresent and that nothing stands between him and the sky. Even the Neem tree nearby seems to respect this rule; its branches famously refuse to grow over the deity.
The Ritual. Devansh and I performed the traditional oil offering (Tailabhishekam). The new setup makes this so much easier—there are dedicated areas and vessels to prevent congestion at the main idol, and even bathing facilities for men who want to perform the wet-cloth Abhishek.
We offered the oil, took our blessings, and soaked in the powerful, protective energy of the place. In just 30 minutes, we were done.
Pit Stop 2: The "Second Breakfast" Strategy. We walked back to the car, fully satisfied with the darshan. But as we reached the parking lot, a delicious aroma drifted towards us. It was a restaurant right next to where we parked. Suddenly, the Poha from earlier felt like a distant memory.
"Breakfast Round 2?" I asked. "Breakfast Round 2," Vidya confirmed.
We sat down for Idli, Dosa, and another round of Chai. With our stomachs full (again) and our spirits high, we hopped back into the car. Next Stop: Shirdi.
The "Off-Road" Adventure & The Miracle at the Hotel.
Route: Shani Shingnapur -> Shirdi.
Driving out of Shani Shingnapur, I was feeling confident. The road was still butter-smooth, the music was playing, and life was good.
Then, at the 25 km mark, reality hit. It was the stretch where your car curses you. It seemed like the road department started repairs, got bored halfway through, and just… walked away. We were suddenly navigating a minefield of loose stones, dust, and gravel. Our SUV handled it, but I definitely apologized to the suspension a few times.
Arrival: Hotel Sai Miracle.
Despite the "off-roading," we rolled into Shirdi and reached our hotel, Hotel Sai Miracle, by 12:00 PM. Once again, we were hilariously early. Our itinerary had estimated a 4:00 PM arrival, and I had booked our online VIP Darshan slots for 8:00 PM.
I walked up to the reception with a worried look. "Is there any way to reschedule the slot?" I asked. "Or do we have to wait 8 hours?" The receptionist smiled. "Sir, good news. With the online pass, you can go anytime on the booked day. The time slot is just a suggestion."
Music to my ears.
The Phone Detox & The "VIP" Reality.
We checked in, ordered a quick lunch at the hotel restaurant, and geared up for the temple.
Pro Tip: Phones are strictly prohibited inside the temple complex. You can deposit them at the counters, but since our hotel was right behind the temple, we simply left our digital lives in the room. It felt surprisingly freeing to walk out empty-handed.
We headed to the gate for our "VIP Entry." Now, a word of caution: In Shirdi, "VIP" doesn't mean you walk on a red carpet. You aren't the only one who booked a paid pass! It just means a shorter queue. We still had to wait, but compared to the general line, we were flying.
Entering the main complex is an experience in itself. The air is thick with devotion, echoing with the constant chant of "Om Sai Ram." This is the heart of the pilgrimage—the place where Sai Baba’s body is interred. We entered the spacious hall with its gold-plated spire. The management by the Sansthan Trust is incredible; despite the thousands of visitors, everything flows like a river.
The 5-Second Emotional Rollercoaster.
Then, we were in the main hall. And there He was. The famous white marble statue of Sai Baba, installed in 1954, sits atop the Samadhi. It’s treated as a living deity—bathed, fed, and robed daily. As soon as you see the idol, time stops. You feel a surge of emotion. You want to stand there, fold your hands, and just talk to Him. You want to freeze the moment.
Security: "Chalo, chalo! Aage badho!" (Keep moving!). The security guards brought me back to reality. With such heavy footfall, they can't let anyone linger. You are gently (but firmly) shuffled backward. You keep your eyes locked on the idol, praying and walking in reverse, until you are guided out of the sanctum. It was brief, but it was powerful.
By 2:30 PM, we were out of the temple. Naturally, the exit path leads you through a maze of shops. We indulged in a little post-darshan shopping, and by 3:30 PM, we were back in our hotel room. We had finished the entire Shirdi leg hours before we were even supposed to start it.
The "Bonus" Adventure: Sai Teerth Theme Park.
So, there we were at 3:30 PM, sitting in our hotel room, staring at each other. We had finished our Shirdi itinerary way ahead of schedule. Naturally, our Chief Logistics Officer (Vidya) stood up and made an executive decision.
"We are going to Sai Teerth Theme Park," she declared. Originally, this was on the docket for Day 4. But why wait?
What is Sai Teerth? For those who haven't been, Sai Teerth isn't your typical amusement park with roller coasters and cotton candy. It’s India's first devotional theme park. It blends spirituality with modern tech—think animatronics, 5D cinemas, and robotic shows—all inside a blissfully air-conditioned complex. It’s the perfect escape from the Shirdi heat.
The VIP Strategy (Worth Every Penny).
We checked online tickets, but—bad luck—bookings for the day were closed. Vidya, ever the optimist, insisted we go anyway. We drove the 10 minutes to the park, and thankfully, the offline counters were open. To skip the crowds, we bought the VIP Passes (about ₹200 extra per person).
Verdict: Totally worth it. You skip all the queues, get front-row seats for the shows (crucial for the 5D effects!), and get a dedicated staff member guiding you. Devansh loaded his gimbal, and we went into "Explorer Mode."
The Highlights:
Teerth Yatra: A 12-minute indoor ride that simulates a journey across India's biggest temples (Badrinath, Dwarka, Tirupati). It’s fantastic for those who can't travel to all these places in person.
Lanka Dahan (5D Show): Devansh loved this. It’s a 5D experience of Hanuman in Lanka. The seats move, water sprays on you, wind blows in your face—you feel like you are in the movie.
Dwarkamai (Animatronics): This was surreal. A lifelike robotic Sai Baba interacts with the audience. The movements were so realistic it actually felt emotional.
Kaliya Mardan (5D): Another hit with the kid—young Krishna fighting the snake Kaliya, complete with motion seats and water sprays.
Mushak Maharaj: A fun film about Ganesha's mouse companion. It was a lighthearted break from the heavier stories.
We wrapped up around 8:30 PM and decided to eat dinner right there at the theme park restaurant. Usually, park food is overpriced and average, but this was genuinely tasty!
The Soul of Shirdi: Dwarkamai.
We were exhausted, but Devansh had one question nagging him. The theme park had shown Dwarkamai—the mosque where Sai Baba lived—multiple times. "Where is the real one?" he kept asking.
We had skipped it earlier because of the crowd. So, we drove back, parked at the hotel, and walked over. While the Samadhi Mandir is the grand marble tomb, Dwarkamai is the soul of Shirdi. It’s the dilapidated mosque where Baba actually lived, ate, and slept for nearly 60 years. He called it "Masjid Mai" (Mother Mosque).
Even late at night, the crowd was intense. Devansh took one look at the sea of people and decided he was happy seeing it from the outside. I explained the significance to him as we stood there:
The Dhuni: The sacred fire Baba lit over 100 years ago that is still burning 24/7. This is where the miraculous Udi (ash) comes from.
The Shila: The stone Baba used to sit on.
The Grinding Stone (Chakki): Where he ground wheat (and symbolically, the sins and ego of the village).
Sabka Malik Ek: The wall has a Nimbar (facing Mecca) and a Tulsi plant in the courtyard—a beautiful symbol of unity.
It was a quiet moment of learning amidst the chaos.
The Final Twist: Bhimashankar Cancelled.
We got back to the hotel ready to pack for our final destination: Bhimashankar Jyotirlinga. But the Travel Gods had other plans.
We got news that the Bhimashankar temple authorities were preparing for a major renovation starting January 1st, 2026. Because it was the last window to visit, pilgrims were flooding the place.
The Situation: A 10 km traffic jam and a 6-8 hour waiting time for Darshan.
We looked at each other. We looked at the comfortable hotel bed. "Nope," I said. "We’ll come back when it reopens."
So, the plan changed. Day 4 would no longer be a frantic rush to a crowded temple. It would be a relaxed drive back home. We left our bags unpacked, set no alarms, and hopped into bed with the best feeling in the world: Zero Morning Pressure.
Day 3 done. Next Stop: Home Sweet Home.
Day 4: The 14-Degree Arctic Expedition & The Dhaba Feast.
Route: Shirdi -> Mumbai.
The "Lazy" Morning That Wasn't.
The plan for Day 4 was simple: Do nothing. No alarms. No rush. Just sleep in until noon. But my body clock, currently stuck in "military vacation mode," had other ideas. At 5:00 AM sharp, my eyes popped open. I lay there staring at the ceiling, waiting for sleep to return. It didn't.
So, I decided to be productive and go for a morning walk. I had packed my workout gear for exactly this moment (and to make myself feel better about all the buttery naans I’d eaten). I checked my phone for the weather: 13°C.
Nope. I immediately pulled the blanket back up. I’m from Mumbai; 13 degrees is basically the Arctic Circle for us. I lay there for another hour, shivering in spirit, hoping the sun would do its job. Finally, at 6:15 AM, with the temperature soaring to a tropical 14°C, I summoned the courage. I threw a jacket over my walking shorts and t-shirt and stepped out into the frozen wasteland.
The Pimpalwadi Road Stroll.
I chose Pimpalwadi Road, right next to the hotel. It turned out to be a surprisingly scenic route, showing the three faces of Shirdi:
Km 1: Bustling with hotels and early risers.
Km 2: Quiet bungalows and small farms.
Km 3: Pure, open farmland.
I walked 3 km out and 3 km back. By the time I returned to the hotel at 8:00 AM, I was frozen but refreshed.
Breakfast & The Car Spa.
I called Vidya, and we headed down for our final vacation breakfast: Uttapam, Puri Bhaji, Masala Dosa, and Chai. The classics.
We packed up, checked out, and by 10:15 AM, we were ready to roll. But looking at the car, I felt guilty. It had endured dust, gravel, and "off-road" detours for three days. It needed a spa day. We pulled into a quick car wash, and 10 minutes later, our ride was sparkling clean and ready for the highway.
The Drive: Smooth... Until It Wasn't.
The first 7.8 km out of Shirdi were patchy, but then we merged onto the glorious Samruddhi Mahamarg. For two hours, it was bliss. Top gear on, music up, stress down. Then, we exited onto the Agra-Mumbai Highway, and my stomach signaled that it was lunch time.
Lunch at Sidhu Da Dhaba.
As if by magic, the moment we hit the highway, a familiar name appeared: Sidhu Da Dhaba. It’s a simple, no-nonsense Punjabi dhaba. No fancy AC, no ambient lighting—just plastic chairs, charpais, and incredible food. I had been here with my office colleagues. Vidya and Devansh were game for a rustic meal, so we pulled in.
The Menu (and The Portion Size Shock) We ordered what we thought was a "light" lunch:
Starter: Half Plate Chicken Tandoori Kebab.
Mains: Half Plate Chicken Lapeta with Garlic Naan, and Half Plate Chicken Fried Rice.
Reality Check: The "Half Plate" arrived with 8-10 massive pieces of chicken. In Mumbai, you don't get that quantity in a Full Plate! The food was outstanding. Spicy, rich, and authentic. But the quantity defeated us. Even after overeating, there was food staring back at us.
The Verdict: Our taste buds refused to let it go to waste. We packed the leftovers for dinner. In fact, Vidya loved it so much she ordered extra take-away for dinner that night.
The Final Stretch: Traffic Reality.
We left the dhaba with full bellies, feeling good. And then... Disaster Struck.
The road from the dhaba to Thane is currently under heavy construction. It was a nightmare of dust, diversions, and an army of trucks. What should have taken 30 minutes took us over an hour just to enter Thane. It was the universe’s way of welcoming us back to city life.
But once we crossed the city limits, things normalized. An hour later, we pulled into our parking spot in our Mumbai residence. The engine turned off, and silence filled the car. We were tired, our laundry bag was full, and our diets were ruined. But looking at the smiles on Vidya and Devansh’s faces, I knew one thing for sure: The Winter Pivot was a massive success.
The Final Verdict: Why "Plan B" Was Actually "Plan A+".
And just like that, the Great Winter Road Trip of 2025 came to an end.
Looking back, it’s funny to think that this entire trip was born out of a cancellation. We started with disappointment over a missed birthday trip in November and ended up with a spiritual, historical, and gastronomical marathon in December. It wasn't the vacation we planned, but it was exactly the adventure the "Three Musketeers" needed.
We clocked over 800 kilometers. We woke up at ungodly hours (3:00 AM is still haunting me). We walked until our feet throbbed at Ellora, and we ate until we couldn't breathe at the Dhaba.
The Report Card.
If I had to grade this trip based on the Wanderlust Foodies metrics, here is how we scored:
Spirituality: 10/10. From the discipline of the Jyotirlingas to the doorless faith of Shani Shingnapur, we came back with our "spiritual batteries" fully charged.
Adventure: 9/10. Exploring the "Indiana Jones" caves of Ellora and driving on the runway-like Samruddhi Mahamarg satisfied the explorer in Devansh (and the driving enthusiast in me).
Food: 12/10. (Off the charts). We went from the humble Poha on a chilly highway to the fiery explosion of Naan Khaliya in Aurangabad, ending with the "Half-Plate-That-Was-Actually-A-Full-Plate" feast at Sidhu Da Dhaba.
Lessons from the Road.
Every road trip teaches you something. Here is what this one taught us:
The "Pivot" is Powerful: Sometimes, work gets in the way. Plans break. But if you just adjust your sails (and use your leave days wisely), the alternative might be better than the original plan.
Trust the Chief Logistics Officer: Vidya’s last-minute addition of Shani Shingnapur and her "Department of Hunger Management" saved the trip. Always listen to the wife.
Temple Queues are a Mindset: You can either complain about the crowd, or you can wake up at 3:00 AM and beat them. We chose the latter, and the peace of a sunrise Darshan is worth every lost minute of sleep.
"Half Plate" is a Myth: In a Punjabi Dhaba, "Half Plate" is just code for "Enough food to feed a small army." Proceed with caution.
Final Thoughts.
As we unpacked the bags (a process that took 3 days, let’s be honest), I realized that these road trips aren't just about the destinations. They are about the chaos in between.
They are about Devansh asking a million questions about history, Vidya managing the route like a military general, and me just trying to keep the car on the road while hunting for the next chai tapri. It’s about the silence in the car when everyone is tired, and the laughter when we discover a new favorite dish.
To everyone reading this on Wanderlust Foodies: If you are sitting on a pile of leave days, waiting for the "perfect" time to travel—stop waiting. Book the hotel. Pack the car (throw-and-go style, if you must). And just drive.
The caves, the temples, and the spicy Naan Khaliya are waiting for you.
Until the next adventure... The Three Musketeers (Signing off to go eat the leftover Dhaba chicken).
Ganpati Bappa Morya!
Great blog👍