The Night God Sent Me a Truck Driver (Because Even He Knew I Was F****d)
There are bad ideas.
Then there are ideas so monumentally stupid that even your past self whispers, “Really?”. This is one of them.
That’s how I found myself, one luminous midnight when I had decided I will ride my 250 cc Bajaj Avenger to Delhi from Mumbai for a friends wedding at the peak of a Feb Winter , bouncing my spine into oblivion on the Ahmadabad-Baroda bypass road. ( Bikes aren’t allowed on the expressway)
Calling it a “road” would be delusional. This was less road, more a memorial to every bad civil engineering decision ever made.
Picture this:
It’s pitch dark. The kind of dark that makes you wonder if your eyes are even open. There’s no civilisation in sight , no chai tapris or dhabas, no suspiciously curious dogs (I am actually grateful for this), not even the little girl ghost that we usually expect when traversing the dark path at night.
Just my bike with a loose chain sprocket, an overworked headlamp the size of a candle flame, and me,full of confidence and precisely zero backup plans.
No Network (Thanks Vodafone) and 3 layers of clothing without any proper riding gear in 8 degree weather.
The bypass itself? Kya Kehna ( What can I say )
A surface lovingly crafted using hopes, regrets, loose gravel and loads and loads of taxpayer money. Potholes so big you could host weddings in them. Craters so deep, I swear a little deeper and I would strike oil.
And then, just as I began to shiver (not sure from the cold or from fear), I noticed something in my rear view mirror.
A glow.
A big one.
Now normally, when a truck shows up behind you at midnight on a deserted road, your first instinct is to prepare your life to flash before your eyes.
Mine didn’t. Because frankly, I was too busy concentrating on not dying from terrain-induced impact.
But here’s the thing.
This truck, this glorious diesel-chugging beast, wasn’t being its usual Indian self.
No aggressive honking. No attempts to overtake me with the urgency of a man late to a wedding he’s not even invited to.
Instead, it kept a steady pace. Behind me. Quietly. With its headlights set to what I can only describe as divine intervention mode.
Suddenly, my candle-flame headlamp was joined by the blazing luminescence of a thousand splendid suns.
Every pothole ahead was now visible. Every sneaky turn exposed. It was as if Mahadev himself had decided I was worth saving tonight.
For 30 glorious minutes, that truck followed me like a loyal bodyguard in a Bollywood film. I half-expected background music. He didn’t honk, didn’t flash. Just stayed behind me like a giant, rumbling guardian angel in a Tata chassis.
And then, just as we hit the highway and civilisation slowly reappeared in the form of streetlights, he changed lanes and disappeared. Just gone.
Honestly, if I hadn’t nearly herniated a disc avoiding a crater the size of Mumbai, I might’ve cried a little.
Three (Almost) Philosophical Lessons the Universe Slapped Me With That Night:
Help Doesn’t Always Arrive in a Tuxedo. Sometimes It’s Driving a Truck with 10 Wheels and Questionable Emissions
We imagine help as glamorous ,a cavalry, maybe an inspiring monologue. But sometimes help shows up unshaven, unpaid, and unbothered. And that’s perfect.
The Universe Has a Twisted Sense of Humour, But It’s Not Entirely Cruel
It’ll throw you on the worst road in Gujarat, test your suspension (both mental and mechanical), and then say, “Okay, okay, here’s a truck. Don’t die.”
There Are More Silent Saints in This World Than We Realise
Not everyone wants a thanks or Instagram reel. Some just see a dumb ass on a bike in the middle of nowhere and decide, “I’ll light the way.” No fuss. No drama. Just humanity, quiet and diesel-powered.
So yes, if you’re ever stuck, alone, afraid, and bouncing across a dark road… keep riding.
Sometimes, help follows quietly behind, on full beam, steering you home.
And if it doesn’t? Well, at least you’ll have a great story and possibly a broken back and a few missing teeth.
