It was their first trip together as a married couple. Ankita and Rohan Mehra, barely two weeks into their new life, had decided to soak in the chilly romance of Himachal Pradesh. Manali had already given them snowflakes, maggi by the river, and cuddles under thick quilts. Now, it was time for Shimla.
The distance was just 235 kilometers. “Five hours max,” Rohan declared confidently, holding Google Maps like it was a court order. “We’ll start by noon, reach by 5 or 6, enjoy a candlelight dinner.”
But Google doesn’t warn about Himalayan hairpins, suspicious silence in forest patches, or tyre punctures at the edge of nowhere.
Despite their travel agent’s persistent advice to take the Himachal Roadways A/C bus at 8 a.m., they brushed it off. “Why sit with strangers when we can have our own car?” Ankita had giggled. They booked a private taxi instead, believing it would be romantic. They slept in late, had parathas and chai, posed with locals for selfies, and finally, started their journey at 12:15 p.m.
Their driver, a thin, polite man named Joginder, greeted them with folded hands and a toothy smile. “Shimla, sir? Let’s go slow. Road is narrow.”
“Slow?” Rohan chuckled. “We’ll still reach by 6, right?”
Joginder smiled. “We’ll see.”
Trouble Starts Early
By 1:15 p.m., they were barely out of Manali. Ankita, dressed in a bright yellow jacket, leaned forward and asked, “Why are we still near the market?”
“Ma’am, hilly roads. We go slowly. Too many bends,” Joginder replied calmly.
Just then—thud!
The car wobbled like a drunk goat. Flat tyre.
Joginder pulled over near a forest patch with not a soul in sight. “Puncture,” he said, scratching his head.
It took him nearly an hour to replace the tyre, partly because the jack slipped twice on uneven ground, and partly because Rohan hovered nervously, offering unsolicited suggestions.
Ankita whispered, “Let’s not delay more, please.”
By the time they resumed the journey, it was past 2:30 p.m., and their stomachs had begun protesting. Joginder glanced at them through the rearview mirror and said, “Lunch, sir? There’s a good dhaba ahead.”
Rohan hesitated. “We’ll eat later.”
But after 10 kilometers, Joginder repeated his request, more insistently this time. “Sir, please. I’ve sugar problem. Need to eat.”
Not wanting a hypoglycemic driver, they agreed to stop.
The Suspicion Builds
The dhaba was a small roadside eatery with wooden benches, steel plates, and a sleepy cat on the counter. As Rohan and Ankita settled in the dining area, they noticed something strange—Joginder didn’t sit with them. Instead, he went inside the kitchen.
“He knows the owner?” Ankita asked quietly.
Rohan frowned. “Why inside the kitchen? Is he… planning something?”
Ankita’s expression changed from curiosity to concern. “Rohan, what if he’s calling someone? You know, to rob us? There’s nobody around for miles.”
Rohan dismissed it at first but the logic was chilling. A private cab, two visibly touristy people, remote roads, and no mobile tower.
They decided not to take chances. Ankita immediately shared the driver’s name, photo of the number plate, and their live location with both their families in Mumbai.
Rohan downloaded a GPS tracker app to log every turn.
They returned to the car with stiff smiles, pretending all was fine. But the moment the wheels turned, every bend felt like a setup. Each time Joginder picked up his phone, they held their breath. What if this was it?
Dusk and Dread
By 6 p.m., the sun began to sink behind pine-covered mountains. Their hotel in Shimla was still over 100 kilometers away.
“I told you we should’ve left early,” Ankita muttered.
“I didn’t expect this kind of terrain!” Rohan replied, gripping the seat.
Ankita’s phone buzzed. It was her brother: “Keep the location on. We’re tracking.”
Every time a motorcycle passed from the opposite direction, Ankita wondered—was that an accomplice? Every silent stretch of road looked like a scene from a crime series.
Joginder, on the other hand, hummed old Hindi songs as he drove.
“Where are you from?” Rohan asked, trying to break the tension.
“Shimla, sir. My home is near Lakkar Bazar.”
That made things worse.
Now they imagined a hundred scenarios: the driver calling someone from his hometown, someone waiting to stop the cab just before city limits, someone pulling them out…
The Final Stretch
By 8:00 p.m., the road had darkened. Ankita’s voice was barely a whisper, “Don’t fall asleep. Stay alert.”
Rohan nodded, eyes darting between the road and the GPS.
But Joginder’s behavior remained normal. He stopped once to stretch, asked if they needed water, and kept driving.
At 9:30 p.m., they finally saw boards that said “Shimla – 20 km.” It brought relief, but not peace.
Their hotel was nestled in a steep by-lane. At exactly 10:30 p.m., Joginder pulled up, got out, and opened the door for them.
“Welcome to Shimla, sir. Hope journey was comfortable?”
Rohan and Ankita froze. For a moment, all the fear, suspicion, and tension dissolved into embarrassment.
“Y-yes, thank you,” Ankita stammered.
Joginder smiled and handed them his card. “If you need sightseeing tomorrow, you can call me.”
He left.
No kidnapping, no robbery, not even a rude remark.
Reflection in the Room
As soon as they entered their hotel room, Rohan locked the door thrice. Ankita sank on the bed and laughed nervously.
“We watched too many crime shows,” she said.
“Still, better safe than sorry,” Rohan replied, though his pride was clearly hurt.
They called their families to inform they had reached safely.
And then, over soup and butter naan from room service, they reflected on the day.
The Lessons They Learned
- Himachali People Value Tourism: Despite their doubts, Joginder turned out to be not just a decent driver, but a professional one. Himachal survives on tourism, and most locals value safety and hospitality.
- Start Early on Hills: Mountain roads aren’t like expressways. Travel in daylight whenever possible. Always.
- Public Transport is Safer in Unknown Terrain: Himachal Pradesh State Transport buses are slow but reliable. And with more people around, panic doesn’t get to run wild.
- Trust—but with Caution: It’s good to stay alert, but too much suspicion can ruin beautiful moments.
Moral of the Story:
Not every twist on the road is a threat. Sometimes, it’s just the mountains asking you to slow down and trust a little more.
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