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adventure. They had been on the road for a week, dreaming of seeing the world one day. They called my KTM a“ Monster Truck” and treated me like an explorer. I loved their spirit— and I loved the reminder that wonder doesn’ t require horsepower, only curiosity.
Crossing into India, the first thing that struck me was a pair of eyes. The border officer was a petite woman in a brown uniform, calm and professional. She returned my passport with a polite smile, and for a second I was disarmed. After weeks behind veils, that simple, direct look felt like sunlight after winter.
“ You are the first woman to look me in the eye in twenty days,” I told her. She smiled again— and later, in secret, slipped me a note.
“ This is my number,” she whispered.“ In India, I will protect you.” Welcome to India. In Amritsar, my KTM needed its 3,500-kilometre service. I found a workshop, a room, and, across the street, a sign that made me grin: Wine Shop. After twenty days dry, I couldn’ t resist. A small bottle of vodka in my pocket, cigarette in hand, I headed toward the Golden Temple— and was promptly turned away by security. Fair enough. I returned the next morning, this time guided by Ronniee Singh, a local rider with the same bike and a heart full of warmth.
With him, I entered not as a tourist but as a pilgrim. We bathed in the sacred pool, followed the prayers,
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