In the previous blog, I shared how an unexpected crash on the Agra-Lucknow expressway left me stranded and the surprising act of kindness that followed. Now, let's continue from that pivotal moment.
I was standing on the side of the road knowing, I had to exit the bridge it wasn’t safe to stay there any longer. Took my bike, hoping it would start and thankfully it did. The handlebar was bent, but I managed to get the bike going. Somehow, got off the bridge and stopped at the roadside, breathing a little easier.
Up until then, I had not felt any pain. It all happened so quickly and my body was still running on adrenaline. But now I was stranded in the middle of nowhere, with no one around to help. I needed to make some quick decisions. My first instinct was to call my dad. Even though he was thousands of kilometers away, I knew he would know what to do. He answered the phone with a calm voice, which, to my surprise calmed me as well. He didn not react how most people would in a situation like this; he didn’t panic. He just listened, understood and advised.
He could not do much to help me from where he was. He could arrange something in Delhi but not here, not where I was standing. He immediately suggested I rest in Agra, which was 30 kilometers away. But I was too shaken. I wanted to get home. I badly wanted to be out of this place. Sensing my determination, he said, “Stand there for a bit. Take a deep breath. Analyze the situation and do what feels right.”
With that bit of clarity, I knew I had to act. I assessed my bike, parts were bent and broken but it seemed runnable. As for myself, I had all my safety gear on; jacket, riding pants, boots, they had taken the brunt of the crash for me. But I wasn not wearing gloves that day, because they were wet from the rain. My left palm and fingers had scraped badly and were bleeding. The pain finally hit when I looked at the wound.
Just as I was trying to gather my strength, another car pulled over. This time, it was a group of friends returning to Delhi after a trip. They were laughing, full of energy and in their own world but they didn’t hesitate for a second to stop and check on me. One guy grabbed my hand, examining the wound like he had done this before. When I handed him my first aid kit, he noticed it didn’t have any cleaning solution.
With a small smile, he asked if I was okay with using alcohol from their stash to clean my wound. I just nodded. A few moments later, he opened a bottle of fresh Jack Daniels, using it to clean my hand. They patched me up offering more than just first aid, they lifted my spirit. They were cheerful, joking, even taking pictures with me after they treated my injuries.
Before they left, one of the guys noticed the look on my face. He must have seen my hesitation, my preconceptions. He looked straight at me and said, “Not all North Indians are bad, bro.” That one line hit me like a slap in the face. My biases, my narrow view, it all came crashing down. These guys were not just strangers, they were my unexpected saviors and they completely changed how I saw things. They warned me to be careful, telling me that this area was notorious for thefts and dangers. After a quick goodbye they left but their kindness stayed with me.
I stood there, trying to process everything but I knew I had to act fast. Called my brother for help and like my dad, he suggested heading to Delhi. By then, I knew I had to take control of the situation. Called my dad again and told him I was going to push through the 200+ kilometers to Delhi. His response was calm as ever “If you think you can do it, go for it". And I believed I could. I had to.
I got back on the bike, gripping the clutch with my injured hand. Every gear shift was torture, the pain shooting through my fingers, tearing the skin even more with each movement. Tears filled my eyes, but I kept riding. The road to Delhi stretched on but I pushed through, determined to get there.
By the time I reached Delhi around 7:30 or 8 pm, the pain was unbearable and the worst part was just beginning. Delhi’s traffic was unforgiving, requiring constant gear shifts, putting even more strain on my left hand. The pain had reached new levels, but I was not ready to give up. Eventually, I arrived at the hotel my brother had booked. The hotel staff helped with my luggage and guided me to my room. I took off my gear, feeling the weight of the day settle on me and stepped into the shower. Only when I lay on the bed did the real pain sink in. I realized how far adrenaline had pushed me and now that it was gone, all I could feel was the aching in every part of my body.
I passed out, waking up only the next day. The reality of what had happened hit me hard but my dad had made arrangements to ship my bike back and my brother booked a flight home. Somehow, I made it to the airport, boarded the plane and finally returned home.
It hit me then, had it not been for the riding gear, things could have ended much worse. My jacket, pants, and boots bore the brunt of the crash, protecting me from the worst of it. I could feel the difference between the parts of my body that were covered and those that were not. The safety gear had quite literally saved me. Without it, this story might have had a very different, much darker ending.
This journey was a test in every way, physically, mentally, and emotionally. It was filled with challenges but it also opened my eyes to the goodness of people I did not expect. Those two cars will stay in my memory forever. Strangers who stepped up when I was at my lowest and the support from my family reminded me that kindness exists in the unlikeliest places. Even in the face of adversity, compassion and strength shine through. And as painful as that day was it reminded me of the power of human connection.
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