The Salted Days - Day 3

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The Salted Days – Day Three

Nadiad to Anand | 5 January 2026

The day announced itself at 5:30. My roommate played patriotic songs on a Bluetooth speaker, which was overlapping with a morning bhajan drifting through the Mandir. Nobody seemed bothered by the mix—perhaps that itself said something about India.

There was lazy waking, followed by the usual rush: packing, bathing, checking feet, checking backpacks. Before breakfast, we met the Mahant of the Santram Mandir, who spoke briefly about Bharat Milap—Bharat walking to meet Ram. As we prepared to walk onward toward Dandi, the symbolism felt almost too neat to ignore.

Breakfast was anything but modest: khakra, khichdi, three varieties of farsan, malpua, chai, biscuits, and chikki, served with genuine affection. Everything ran like clockwork under Girishbhai, a 72-year-old who looked barely sixty, smiling throughout. Having settled in the US, he returns every year to Nadiad for three months just to do seva. Faith, once again, revealing itself as an extraordinary driver of human energy.

Not all news was uplifting. One of our fellow walkers had to return home. He had pushed himself for two days despite fever and cough, but wisdom prevailed over willpower. His quiet departure reminded us that walking long also means knowing when to stop.

We stepped out at 7:05 am. NCC cadets had lined up for a send off. There was a slight nip in the air, and before traffic thickened, we had found our rhythm. College Road passed by in a blur of institutions and hospitals, including the ND Patel Hospital, known for its free services. 

Soon after, we could see a tall colourful dovecote or Kabutar Khana from far and as we reached closer ex-servicemen welcomed us at the Senior Citizens Park in Uttarsanda with tea and piping hot kachoris. We laughed at ourselves. We seemed to be eating far more than usual. Weight loss was clearly not on the agenda.

The weather stayed brilliant, traffic thinned, and fields opened out on either side. That’s when my ignorance made itself known. What I had confidently assumed were cauliflower plants turned out to be tobacco—one variety for gutka, another with larger leaves for bidis. Walking, I realised, is also a slow education.

We joined the National Highway exactly two hours and fifteen minutes after leaving. A short break followed at a small garden restaurant—Dosi Maani Deli—just before the Anand turn, though the remaining stretch seemed longer than expected.

As we reached the outskirts of Anand, near Boriavi, NCC cadets welcomed us with bands and garlands. Every kilometre or so, villagers stood by the roadside with flowers. What had begun as a walk was now turning into something unexpectedly ceremonial.

For two days I had been puzzled by strange bent metal frames sold along the roadside and fixed onto scooters. The mystery was finally solved by a police inspector walking with us. With Makar Sankranti approaching, kite strings—often glass-coated—can hang dangerously across roads. These frames, called safety guards, prevent riders from suffering horrific throat or eye injuries. One more reminder that local wisdom often hides in plain sight.

Hospitality peaked yet again. At one stop, two charpoys with soft blankets were laid out without hesitation, inside a villager’s home.  The ease with which doors, homes, and hearts opened continued to astonish. We took a short break to eat two boiled eggs and a hot glass of milk.

Not all moments were gentle. Gir cows and bulls had been wary of our large group from the beginning. That wariness turned dangerous when a bull suddenly charged and knocked down one of the walkers on the road. For a tense few seconds, everything froze—until walkers rushed in, shooed the animal away, and helped him up. He escaped without serious injury, but the reminder was sharp: nature does not negotiate.

Deep inside Anand, we were invited by the NCC Group Headquarters. The auditorium was full—cadets, staff, senior officers, and local dignitaries. Speeches followed, mementoes exchanged, conversations shared. 

The Group Commander spoke about Jazbah—passion and emotional commitment. Our lead speaker added two more words for young lives to grow by: Zubaan (communication) and Jugaad (innovation). Simple words, but weighty advice.

The final few kilometres brought us to the Circuit House. Finishing early felt like an unexpected gift. Domestication returned quickly—clothes were washed and dried on the terrace in shifts, hot water baths were taken with exaggerated gratitude, and a simple lunch of dal-khichdi, curd, and pickle felt restorative after the rich food consumed earlier.

As the day slowed toward dinner, tiredness settled in.

Lesson of the day:

If you want to walk fast, walk alone.

If you want to walk long, walk together.

This walk is teaching us that endurance is not about speed—it is about companionship.

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