Truckseat MBA - I

Not all classrooms have four walls. Mine had eighteen wheels..Every journey begins long before the first kilometre—with a quiet inner resolve: I should go. Mine began during a conversation with Swami Mitranandaji, Mentor, Chinmaya Mission Chennai, when he mentioned that I need to go to Tripura in the truck carrying the murti of Devi Tripurari Sundari and the pillars for the Maa Tripura Soundarya Chinmayi temple in Tripura.I had heard stories about the North East—its lush landscapes, its distinct culture, its roads that wind through mountains and valleys like living things. But I had never been there. Like most distant dreams, I held this wish lightly, unsure if it would ever happen. Then came the practical obstacle that every working professional knows too well: getting time off. With work commitments, a journey in a truck spanning multiple states over nearly two weeks felt impossible to work out. When the wish to serve Her is strong, She makes it happen. And just like that, the journey began—not on the highway, but in my heart, a 3,500-kilometre journey from Chennai to Mohapur, Tripura, across four trucks, fifteen days, and a lifetime’s worth of lessons..Day 1The journey officially began at Mahabalipuram. Before a single truck moved, there was work to be done—understanding what items were loaded in which vehicle, ensuring everything was safely cushioned with grass and rice husk to withstand thousands of kilometres. Nothing could be left to chance. In the afternoon, a pooja was performed. The wheels were handed over to the divine, and the convoy of four trucks slowly began to move.We had no idea where we would halt that night. The destination was Tripura. Everything in between was the journey. Immediately, destiny tested us. One truck drifted off route and headed in the wrong direction. A quick decision was made—rather than stopping and waiting, we directed the other trucks to a pre-agreed meeting point and kept moving. Not long after, another truck suffered a tyre burst on the expressway. We looked for a puncture repair shop, but none were in sight. What happened next has stayed with me: the driver, with quiet courage and no fanfare, changed the tyre himself and rejoined us. Day one taught a simple lesson: prepare well. Uncertainties do not wait. You cannot foresee events; you simply respond. The driver did not panic. Preparation made the difference..Day 2All four trucks moved together from Gummidipoondi, on the outskirts of Chennai, holding their formation, covering 200 kilometres before halting near Guntur, in Andhra, for the night. There is a certain steadiness in convoy travel that mirrors teamwork. Each truck maintained a gap of 500 to 1,000 metres from the others—close enough to remain connected, far enough to give each driver room to respond to the road. Close enough to support, far enough to function independently—that is how teams work best. The day was uneventful in the best possible way. Just wheels on asphalt, kilometre after kilometre, the land of Andhra Pradesh rolling by in shades of green and gold. Even uneventful days teach: start slowly, build your pace, and remember you have a long way to go..Day 3The next day, reaching Vijayawada, the convoy was pulled over by the Mining Department of Andhra Pradesh, who wanted to examine the cargo. The convoy had permits. The cargo was legitimate. There were hundreds of kilometres still to cover. We had a response that worked— calm, courteous, and thorough: documents were presented, questions were answered, and the officials let the trucks pass.Another 300 kilometres, another state crossed. The convoy moved from the coastline of Andhra Pradesh into Odisha, halting beyond Cuttack as night fell. This was a journey measured in weeks, not hours, and knowing this made each day purposeful rather than exhausting. Day 4We covered 250 kilometres, crossed the state border and entered West Bengal, where we hit our first significant delay. At the border checkpost, the convoy scattered—the trucks were held at different points, and the formation broke up. I asked the drivers to find a safe spot and halt for the night. Day 5As we entered West Bengal, the trucks separated due to border checking. Then came the hardest test: One of the drivers received news that his father had been hospitalised in Kolkata. He left his truck on the highway and headed home, promising to return the next day. And so, we waited. On the highway at different places. For hours. This enforced pause created space for introspection. It forced questions: Was I prepared? Did I have backup plans? Could I stay steady under uncertainty?.Never rely on just one person or one plan. The driver was not wrong to leave. Second: being left alone in the journey is not the same as being lost. Sometimes a detour, a delay, or an unexpected pause forces us inward. And what we find there—patience, resourcefulness, resolve—is worth far more than the time you spend waiting. In the evening, I decided that the trucks must be together. I instructed my travel partner, Kunal, to go ahead with another truck to Kolkata for the regular repairs and checks, as we had completed half of the journey, covering 1800 kilometres. I would join them in Kolkata the next night. To be continued...

Truckseat MBA - I

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