College Picnic - Totladoh Nagpur (Pench river)

     The morning buzzed with energy in the hostel kitchen. Large steel plates stacked with freshly rolled puris waited for their turn in the sizzling oil, while the aroma of spiced aaloo sabji filled the air. Laughter and chatter mingled with the sounds of bubbling oil and clanking ladles, everyone pitched in, eager to kick-start the long-awaited trip to Totladoh.

    With packed tiffins and bags slung over shoulders, the group made their way to Baidyanath Square, where the state transport bus would take them on their adventure. The excitement was palpable as the bus pulled up, its faded red body covered in dust from endless journeys. Seats were quickly claimed, snacks were passed around, and as the engine roared to life, the picnic had truly begun.

    Just a few minutes into the ride, Anil leaned forward, tapping the bus conductor’s shoulder. “Sir, please stop at Kadbi Chowk, we need to pick up Lata.” The conductor barely glanced at him, shaking his head. “Not possible. We don’t stop there.”

    For a moment, silence hung in the air. Then, as if rehearsed, all the college boys stood up together. A wave of determination spread through the group, their collective voice making it clear, they wouldn’t continue without their friend. The conductor sighed, muttered something about “troublemakers,” but as the bus approached Kadbi Chowk, it slowed and stopped. Lata hurriedly boarded, greeted by cheers, claps, and a victorious grin from Anil.

     With everyone onboard, the bus sped toward Totladoh, winding through lush green stretches and dusty roads. Songs soon erupted from the back rows, old melodies, energetic folk tunes, and playful banter that kept the journey lively. But there was an unspoken rule among them: no disturbing the other passengers. They sang, joked, and shared stories, yet kept their volume in check, ensuring the picnic spirit thrived without bothering anyone.

    As the bus neared their destination, the excitement peaked. The lake, the rolling hills, and the promise of a carefree day awaited them. The memory of puris crisping in hostel kitchens, the small rebellion at Kadbi Chowk, and the harmonious chaos of friends traveling together would soon become one of their most cherished college adventures.

    The excitement was palpable as we finally arrived at Totladoh, greeted by the refreshing sight of the rivulet flowing gently from the Pench River. The sun shimmered over the water, inviting some of us to dive right in. A few stripped to their shorts, splashing and playing, their laughter echoing through the air. Others, drawn by the rugged terrain, started their climb toward the nearby hilltops, eager to explore the view from above.

    Only a few had cameras to capture the fun, making every click all the more precious. Gautam, with his trusty 110mm Hot Shot point-and-shoot, wasted no time documenting the moments. Some of us struck exaggerated poses atop the rocks, hands thrown wide in dramatic gestures, while others stood by the rivulet, its sparkling waters providing the perfect backdrop. The spontaneity and joy in each frame were undeniable, memories frozen in time.

    Before we knew it, the morning had slipped away, and hunger began making itself known. We gathered around, unwrapping our packed meals of puris and aaloo sabji. The first bite was pure bliss. Each crispy puri dipped in flavorful sabji reminded us of the effort that had gone into cooking earlier that morning. With heartfelt gratitude, we praised the hostel cook, this meal was one of the best we had eaten in a long time.

    After some more time spent goofing around, climbing rocks, and soaking in the beauty of the place, the inevitable moment arrived, it was time to head back. We packed our belongings and made our way to the bus stop, where exhaustion started settling in. What we needed was chai. Spotting a roadside stall, we rushed over, the vendor instantly understanding our need. As the steaming cups were handed out, the first sip was like magic, warm, soothing, and exactly what we needed to revive ourselves.

    The return journey was quieter. We boarded the ST bus, laughter still lingering but softer now, woven with the kind of contentment that follows a perfect day. As the bus pulled into Nagpur, hostelers hopped onto autorickshaws, while the day scholars revved up their mopeds, heading home with full hearts.

    Now, years later, as we reminisce about that carefree day, our eyes brim with nostalgia. Sharing these moments with friends, now proud alumni of an esteemed university, we chuckle at our youthful mischief, marveling at how simple and beautiful those days were. The memories remain, untouched by time, a testament to friendship, adventure, and the joy of being young.