The Call of the Sangam, Mahakumbh 2025 - A journey that was destined! Chapter 2: The Prelude

Short Stay in Jaipur, Makar Sankranti - The Prelude to Kumbh Mela

My flight touched down in New Delhi around 2 PM on January 11th. A pre-booked taxi awaited me for the five-hour journey to Jaipur. What should have been a straightforward drive turned into a test of patience and nerves as we navigated through thick, unrelenting fog. The driver was seasoned and guided us safely although the visibility as low as 50 meters in some stretches. We finally pulled into my home around 9 PM, where Mumma and Papa greeted me with warm embraces and a light dinner that felt like comfort itself.

There was something quietly symbolic about this trip. For the first time in twelve years of owning my trusty rucksack, I was traveling internationally with just that—no suitcase, no excess baggage. This was backpacking in its truest form, and I found myself appreciating the ruggedness and freedom it offered. It felt fitting for a journey that would soon take me to the sacred confluence of the Sangam.

The next day (12th Jan) unfolded and surprisingly there was no jet-lag. Honestly, I had no time to waste.  Errands at the bank, conversations with family, familiar greetings from neighbors completed the first half of the day. Lunch was a special treat—Undhiya, a traditional Gujarati delicacy lovingly prepared by Mumma. In the afternoon, I made the mandatory visit to my in-laws in Bapu Nagar, for their their blessings and warmth before heading back.

On the morning of the 13th, Papa and I ventured to Chaura Rasta, one of Jaipur's bustling markets, to purchase a Jaipuri Razai (quilt) to be sent to my sister. 

That evening was Lohri, the North Indian festival celebrating the winter harvest. Our dear neighbor, Babban Bhaiya, joined us to light a bonfire in our courtyard. It wasn't a grand affair, but it was deeply heartfelt. The crackling flames, the warmth against the January chill, and the spirit of togetherness made it memorable. The evening culminated in a sumptuous feast of Makki ki Roti and Sarson ka Saag with Meethe Chawal—rustic, earthy, and deeply satisfying. Earlier in the day, another thoughtful neighbor (Veenu Bhabhi) had sent over snacks, including my absolute favorite: chane aur gurr ki patti (roasted gram and jaggery brittle). She never forgets.

As the night deepened, Papa and I sat together preparing our kites for the next morning. The anticipation was palpable. Makar Sankranti—the festival of kites, the festival that marks the sun's journey northward—was upon us.

                    

Makar Sankranti: Flying High with Papa

The morning of January 14th dawned clear and crisp. I woke with the kind of excitement I hadn't felt in years. Kite flying in Jaipur is no casual pastime; it's a competitive, passionate affair. The skies become a battlefield, strings slicing through the air, kites tumbling in defeat, and victors soaring higher.

I hadn't flown kites since 2017, but muscle memory kicked in instantly. By my fourth kite, I had already claimed 12 kills—a strong start that filled me with quiet pride. The kill score of theday plateaued slightly after that, with each subsequent kite averaging around three to four kills. But the thrill never dimmed.

Around 11 AM, Papa joined me on the terrace, arriving with a platter piled high with Daal ki Pakodi (lentil fritters)—crispy, piping hot, and utterly irresistible. His start was a bit shaky, but he soon found his rhythm. Still, it was mostly me handling the kites while he cheered, strategized, and occasionally took over.

Post-lunch, my uncle 'Daddu Mama' arrived, adding to the lively atmosphere. But the highlight came just as dusk began to settle. I was flying the penultimate kite of the day, and it was unstoppable—27 kills. The terrace erupted in cheers. As darkness fell and customary fireworks began to light up the Jaipur sky, we called it a day. The spectacle was breathtaking—bursts of color against the violet twilight, echoing the joy and energy of the festival.

                  

Amidst the revelry, I couldn't help but notice something deeply moving. Scattered across the city were numerous bird rescue centers, entirely volunteer-run. During Sankranti, kite strings often injure birds in flight, and these compassionate souls dedicate themselves to rescuing and treating them. A local newspaper reported an estimated 4,000 such centers operating around Jaipur that day. It was a beautiful reminder of humanity's capacity for care, even in the midst of celebration.

The Final Day: Blessings and Farewells

The morning of January 15th—our wedding anniversary—began with an attempt to visit the Govind Devji Temple, a sacred site deeply revered in Jaipur. Unfortunately, we missed the darshan window by just a couple of minutes. Disappointed but undeterred, I spent the afternoon back at my in-laws' home, seeking their blessings and bidding them a heartfelt adieu.

The evening was quiet and reflective. I sat with my parents, chatting about everything and nothing, savoring these last precious hours. As I packed trusty my rucksack for Prayagraj the next morning, I felt the pull of two worlds: the warmth of home and the call of the Sangam. The prelude was complete. The pilgrimage was about to begin.

Train to Prayagraj: Meeting Baba and the Army Mess

On the afternoon of January 16th, I hailed an auto-rickshaw to Gandhi Nagar station to board my train to Subedarganj in Prayagraj. As I settled into my seat, a delightful realization dawned on me—this would be my very first First Class AC experience on Indian Railways. After years of traveling by train across India, somehow this luxury had always eluded me. The universe, it seemed, was aligning everything perfectly for this pilgrimage.

Better still, I had the coupe entirely to myself until Aligarh. The solitude was welcome. I watched the landscape shift outside my window—the familiar plains of Rajasthan giving way to the heartland of Uttar Pradesh—and felt the journey deepen with every passing kilometer. This wasn't just a train ride; it was a transition from the warmth of home to the sacred unknown.

The train ran slightly behind schedule, but there was no anxiety. Baba had already reached Prayagraj on time and was comfortably settled at the Officer's Mess, well ahead of my arrival. By 8 AM on the 17th, I stepped off the platform and made my way to Trishakti Cove Officer's Mess in Prayagraj Cantonment.

The reunion with Baba was effortless. We had both managed to catch up on sleep during our respective journeys, and the energy was high. After a quick shower and change of clothes, we headed to the dining hall for breakfast.

What greeted us was the quintessential military hospitality. The duty JCO (Junior Commissioned Officer) served us with precision and pride—piping hot Aloo Paranthas, perfectly crisped on the edges, accompanied by steaming chai. And, of course, a crisp salute. It was a small gesture, but it carried the weight of respect, discipline, and camaraderie that defines the armed forces.

We ate heartily, fueled by anticipation. Day 1 of the Kumbh Mela awaited us—and little did I know, it would be the day my fitness band would go absolutely bonkers counting the steps walked....