Three countries. Four friends. One Mahindra Scorpio N. What started as a road trip turned into something far more lasting—a journey of rediscovery.
 

Sometimes, all it takes to change your life is a bit of banter among friends.

In our case, it was a WhatsApp group chat—cheekily titled Plan Sorted Hai. Behind the humour was a quiet desperation: three friends caught in the inertia of everyday life, yearning for an escape.

Snehal, a consultant with the soul of a wanderer, had long buried her wanderlust under spreadsheets and deadlines. Sumit, an automotive designer paradoxically stuck in a game design loop, needed a reminder of the real world. Ankit, the London-based money man, was flying down for a family wedding and seeking refuge from personal chaos. And then there was me—roped in when Snehal reached out for travel advice.

A few casual texts later, that chat became something more. I wasn’t just going to plan this trip—I was going to live it. With no fixed itinerary and a shared thirst for the unknown, the four of us found ourselves packed into a Mahindra Scorpio N, setting off from Delhi, chasing two international borders—and maybe something deeper.

KEBABS, CHAOS & THE CALL OF THE ROAD

Our journey began with high spirits and a craving.

As Ankit touched down, I asked the most important question of all:
“What food have you missed the most in London?”

His answer came instantly: “Kebabs. Tandoori. Anything charred.”

He probably expected a quick drive to Purani Dilli. But I had a better idea. The first pin on Google Maps? Tunday Kababi, Lucknow.

With Snehal’s suitcase spilling open, Ankit’s long legs folded into the backseat, and Sumit commanding the playlist with a questionable mix of 90s Bollywood and indie hits, the Scorpio N tore down the Yamuna Expressway.

A minor hiccup—a wrong turn onto a barren stretch of land (thanks to outdated maps)—barely slowed us down. We laughed it off, joking that “getting lost was part of the plan,” a theme that would repeat itself often on this trip.

Snehal frowned. “Chance hi nahi hai.”

“Only if everyone stays quiet like school kids,” I said, “we might make it.”

Silence fell. I floored it—well within limits—and pushed through.

We reached Tunday at 12:10 AM. Google said it shuts down at midnight. Turns out, Google lied again. Tunday stays open till 2:30 AM.

Over smoky, melt-in-your-mouth kebabs, we laughed, bonded, and made memories—some more pungent than others, thanks to Sumit and Ankit’s post-kebab “gas exploits.” The Scorpio’s windows stayed open the rest of the night.

We checked into Novotel Lucknow, Gomti Nagar—plush, peaceful, and perfect for tired travellers. Snehal’s detailed review follows in this issue, but here’s my takeaway: nothing feels better than sinking into crisp sheets after your stomach is full and your heart is lighter.

INTO NEPAL; CHASING HILLS AND HEARTBEATS

The next morning, as sunlight streamed into our room and the smell of parathas wafted up from the hotel kitchen, the inevitable question arose.

“Where next?”

“Pokhara,” I replied without hesitation. A hill town I’d always dreamed of but never visited.

“How?” they asked in unison.

“Plan Sorted Hai,” I grinned.

The Scorpio N handled the roads of Uttar Pradesh without complaint, its suspension making easy work of rough patches. But there was a catch—the Indo-Nepal border shuts at 5 PM. We made it just in time, adrenaline pumping as the clock ticked closer to the deadline.

Crossing over was smoother than expected. Bureaucratic, yes—but efficient. A few forms, a polite chat with the guards, and we were through.

Nepal felt oddly familiar yet subtly different. Cows still meandered on highways, buses still overtook from the wrong side, but the vibe was slower, calmer. And then came the scare—a cheetah darted across the dark road. My heart stopped. The Scorpio’s headlamps and poised stance saved us from disaster.

At 1:30 AM, we pulled into the Busy Bee Resort, Pokhara—a charming blend of rustic warmth and modern comfort. While Sumit and Ankit immediately plotted Instagram reels, I collapsed into bed, lulled to sleep by the faint rustle of leaves and distant crickets.

Morning brought its own challenges. No UPI. No working ATMs. Our wallets were nearly empty, and panic was setting in until one kind soul told us, “Indian rupees are fine.” It was a reminder that sometimes, even across borders, familiarity softens the unknown.

Pokhara itself was magic. Lakes shimmering like glass, giant suspension bridges swaying over rivers, and the buzz of an India vs Nepal cricket match along the waterfront. It was the kind of place that makes you slow down, take a deep breath, and remember why you travel.

At 4:30 AM the next day, we packed into the Scorpio again for a sunrise trek. “Can we drive up?” I asked a local. “Of course,” he said casually, leaving out one detail—a 400-step climb after the road ended. By the time we reached the top, our legs were jelly, but our spirits soared.

The Himalayas stretched before us, bathed in molten gold. Silence hung heavy, broken only by the occasional murmur of prayer flags in the wind. In that moment, words failed. We didn’t need them.

THE 17-HOUR… 37-HOUR SCRAMBLE BACK TO INDIA

Travel has a way of humbling you. Google Maps promised us a 17-hour drive to Siliguri. Reality had other plans.

A 653-km stretch turned into a 37-hour ordeal—roadworks, landslides, and traffic that tested our patience and our bladders. Snehal suggested a detour to Kolkata, but I mischievously rerouted us to Siliguri instead.

At one point, a 150-km stretch took over seven hours. The Scorpio N soldiered on, its mHawk diesel engine unbothered, but we were fraying at the edges.

And then came the panic. Midnight. Low fuel. No digital payments. Ghost towns flashing past. Just as we began to despair, we stumbled upon an ATM 50 kilometres later. Cash in hand, fuel tank refilled, spirits soared.

Re-entry into India was easier than we had feared. No visa drama, no endless queues. A polite conversation, ₹2000, and we were back. It almost felt too simple after everything we’d endured.

By 9 AM, we collapsed into the Cinderella Hotel, Siliguri—where AC, clean linen, and a working geyser felt like five-star luxuries.

GANGTOK CALLS

Siliguri’s humidity was unbearable, and the sight of mountains on the horizon was enough to make us restless again. “Memories, bro!” Sumit cried, pointing to the hills.

The Scorpio N surged up the winding roads, never faltering even on the sharpest hairpins. Not once did it need 4H or 4L. This was its element—mountains, turns, climbs, descents.

Gangtok was our reset button. Blue skies, crisp air, and the comfort of Ramada by Wyndham. We slowed down. We talked more. We even had moments of quiet reflection—something none of us had expected at the start.

Two days in, the trip began to shift again. Ankit’s return flight got delayed. Snehal and Sumit extended their leaves. And I, never one to resist temptation, had one last idea.

BHUTAN BECKONS — THE FINAL FRONTIER

“We’ve got everything we need. Let’s do one more country.”

“Where?”

“Thimphu, Bhutan.”

It wasn’t planned. But maybe that was the point.

We reached Phuentsholing just as the vehicle permit office closed. We were allowed to enter—but not with the Scorpio. So we wandered on foot, soaking in the quiet town. The next morning, we got our permits sorted, paid ₹4500 for the Sustainable Development Fee, and hired a local guide. Finally, the Scorpio N rolled into Bhutan.

Among Land Cruisers and Prados, our Indian SUV held its own, earning nods of approval.

Bhutan is a lesson in patience. No honking. No speeding. Discipline everywhere. It was unnerving at first, then calming. Life slowed down in ways that made you think.

Five hours later, we reached Thimphu. The Buddha Dordenma towered over the valley, serene and unshakable. That day, Bhutan celebrated the birth of a royal princess. Bells chimed, prayers echoed, and strangers smiled at us like old friends.

We stayed one night. It was enough. Enough to feel changed.

THE ROAD BACK

Work called. Life resumed.

As the Scorpio N rolled down winding roads back toward Delhi, the laughter was softer, the silences longer. Something had shifted.

Snehal rediscovered her love for open highways.
Ankit flew back to London, lighter, his chaos quieter.
Sumit paused his restless loop, choosing to reset instead of escape.
And me? I realised that Plan Sorted Hai was more than a group name. It was a philosophy. A reminder that sometimes the best journeys aren’t the ones you meticulously plan. They’re the ones that surprise you, test you, and change you.

When we turned off the Scorpio’s ignition at Delhi Airport, it didn’t feel like the end. It felt like a trailer.

Because the best journeys don’t just change your location, they change your life.

Live Young. Live Free. Drive Far.

Shot by: Anand George for DAG India