A Journey’s Offer Beyond Miles: Beautiful Places And People

By Kulmohan Kaur | September 2025 Edition | Travel & Leisure

More Than Miles: A Journey of People and Places

Some journeys are not just about places on a map; they are about the roads that test you, the people who host you, and the memories that quietly take root. My recent 21-day road trip was exactly that – a long thread of highways, temples, seas, family functions, and unexpected lessons in patience.

We began from Karwar, my coastal home where the mornings are scented with salt and the evenings echo with the rhythm of waves. The car was ready – bags packed, snacks stocked, and an undercurrent of excitement humming between me and my friend.

Our route was ambitious: Karwar → Coimbatore → Madurai → Kanyakumari → back to Coimbatore (for Adiyogi) → Delhi (for a family ceremony) → and finally back to Karwar.

Somewhere between Karwar and Coimbatore, we also made a detour to visit one of my colleagues in Kerala. It was brief but refreshing. Sitting down with a familiar face, sharing tea, and catching up in the middle of a long journey reminded me how travel is not just about new places, but also about the old bonds you carry along the way.

Our first big halt was Coimbatore, where my friend’s family welcomed us. His mother and nephew live there, and staying in their home added a warmth no hotel could ever match. Simple home-cooked food, familiar chatter, and the comfort of being treated like family after long hours on the road made Coimbatore feel like more than just a stopover.

From there, the four of us – my friend, his mother, his nephew, and I – set off for Madurai and Kanyakumari together. It was no longer just two friends on a road trip; it became a small family journey.

Madurai greeted us with its timelessness. The Meenakshi Amman Temple felt less like stone and more like soul. Walking through its intricately carved halls, I couldn’t help but feel humbled. The lamps flickered against walls that had seen centuries pass, and in that moment I was reminded of how small and fleeting one lifetime is.

Outside, Madurai was buzzing as always – jasmine sellers, jangiri frying in hot oil, and the usual traffic symphony. Inside, the temple bells silenced everything else. That contrast, I think, is what makes Madurai unforgettable.

Driving further south, we reached the land’s end – Kanyakumari. Standing at the confluence of three seas is not something words can fully capture. The waves seemed to converse with each other, the wind carried their secret, and I felt both restless and calm at once.

The sunset there wasn’t just about colours. It felt like the day was bowing out with grace. Cameras clicked all around, but I found myself simply standing still, soaking in the enormity of nature.

Back in Coimbatore, I decided to step out alone while my friend stayed home. I drove to the Adiyogi statue, curious but unprepared for what I would feel. The massive 112-foot face of Shiva stood against the hills, and suddenly, silence became loud.

I’m not someone who meditates easily, but here I didn’t need to close my eyes. Just standing in front of that giant face was enough to stir something inside me. For that one day, I roamed like a solo traveller, and in the quiet company of Adiyogi, I felt held.

Of course, no long road trip is without its share of hiccups. Our car decided to test our patience more than once. First, the tyre gave up. Then both rear doors refused to open. On another day, the gear got stuck in fifth while we were on the highway. Later, the suspension broke.

At first it felt like one thing after another, but strangely, everything resolved itself with almost divine timing. Mechanics appeared exactly when we needed them, often right along the route. Not once did we face an accident. It was as though the universe was saying, “I’ll trouble you a little, but don’t worry, I’ve got you.” In hindsight, those breakdowns became part of the story we laughed about, proof that patience and faith go a long way on the road.

After dropping my friend in Delhi, I found myself driving alone for nearly two hours to get home to Ghaziabad. It was past midnight, and those who know me know I hardly ever drive solo. But that night, something in me said, “You can do this.” And I did. No drama, no panic – just steady driving through the Delhi roads. It may seem small to many, but for me, it was a personal milestone.

If the south was spiritual and serene, Delhi was the opposite – loud and fast, but equally alive. I wasn’t here as a tourist, though. I came for something far more personal: the roka ceremony of my husband’s niece.

Family gatherings have their own kind of magic. Laughter, teasing, old stories resurfacing, women in bright saris comparing notes on jewellery, and that sweet undercurrent of love that keeps everyone stitched together. Watching the young couple take their first steps into a new phase of life, I felt a quiet joy. After days of temples and seas, this was a different kind of grounding – the grounding of belonging.

The drive back to Karwar was long and quieter. We were no longer chasing new destinations; we were retracing our path, letting the experiences sink in. Highways have a way of slowing you down internally. You sip tea at dhabas, you share stretches of silence, and you realise travel is as much about stillness as it is about movement.

Looking back, this 21-day road trip wasn’t just about kilometres or landmarks. It was about the chai breaks, the breakdowns that tested our patience, the warmth of staying with family, the silence of Adiyogi, and the laughter of a roka ceremony.

Travel, I realised, is not about checking places off a list. It’s about how the journey shapes you in small ways. Mine gave me temples, seas, ceremonies, and a hundred little challenges, but more than that, it gave me gratitude – for the road, for the people who shared it with me, and for the strange, protective hand of the universe that seemed to guide us along.

And when I finally rolled back into Karwar, with the sea once again in sight, I knew I had carried home more than memories. I had carried home pieces of myself I didn’t know were waiting to be found.

© The WFY Magazine | Kulmohan Kaur |