Truckseat MBA - II

Not all classrooms have four walls. Mine had eighteen wheels.Day 6The driver who had gone to see his family returned in the afternoon, and we left for Kolkata. We travelled 150 kilometres and halted at Chakdha after Kolkata. At night, the remaining two trucks joined us. We were delighted to be together again.Day 7When we started the next day, another test came by: one of the trucks developed a mechanical problem. Fortunately, we found a mechanic and the convoy was soon on its way. We also took along a local driver who knew the roads and, crucially, the language.This was a lesson on the limits of self-sufficiency. Knowing what you don’t know, and having the humility to seek help from those who do, is not weakness. We halted beyond Malda that night, close to the border of West Bengal, the North East now within reach. Day 8We now entered sensitive stretches prone to theft and diesel pilferage. It was wise to travel together. We covered 300 kilometres, crossing multiple checkpoints and states like Bihar and Sikkim. We halted at Jalpaiguri. Day 9We travelled 120 kilometres and entered Assam at Pakirguri. The drivers rested for half a day, and in the evening, we started again, halting at Barapeta road. Day 10We spent the entire day at Barapeta road because we were not permitted entry into Guwahati. We started in the evening and reached Guwahati, where my batchmate Neha was waiting with a hot, home-cooked meal for us. We travelled another 70 kilometres and halted for the night.Day 11Charged with strong Assam tea, we headed for Lump Ding. There we shopped for essentials because the next 250 kilometres were a forest and a ghat road where we wouldn’t find any places to eat. For the night, we halted in a forest where we were the only people around. A blissful moment of solitude to introspect and learn from our previous experiences. .Day 12Now we were on one of the most challenging stretches in Northeast India—a series of steep, winding mountain passes where the asphalt gave way to something more honest and more demanding. The ghat section of 30 kilometres took eight hours, along with one accident involving the truck I was in. Eight hours of slow, careful movement, navigating hairpin bends, with the drivers communicating constantly, our patience had stretched to its furthest point. With a load of 22 tonnes, it was difficult for the truck to reverse. I asked some oncoming trucks for help, to which the drivers obliged. It took an hour for us to get back on the road to Silchar.Day 13We again drove towards Assam. The highway was under construction. Manoeuvring across the bad roads, we reached the Assam-Tripura border. After negotiating with officials for an hour, we were allowed passage.Day 14We started for Tripura. We were stopped at multiple checkpoints every 25 kilometres. At every checkpoint, I had to get down and speak with the officials. In the meantime, it started raining. Patience, coordination and steadiness were everything on this stretch. Every decision had to be communicated clearly, every movement made with care. The convoy that had started was now climbing mountains in rain-soaked North East India. We halted at Kumarghat for the night.Day 15Mohanpur was now 60 kilometres away. Nature was welcoming, and we covered the stretch without any problems.After 3,500 kilometres, fifteen days, a burst tyre, a stranded truck, continuous coordination, managing the drivers, crossing mountain passes, and government inspections, the convoy had arrived—intact, together, and on time. There are moments in life when completion itself is the reward. No fanfare is required. The work had been done. That was enough. A journey that was always about more than trucks and kilometres. In the weeks since returning, I have often thought about why this journey felt different from the others that I have undertaken in the past. Because the road strips away abstraction. We stayed in trucks, used petrol pumps and dhabhas to freshen up, bathe and eat, and then slept by the roadside. You either have the documents or you don’t. The tyre is either fixed or it isn’t. The convoy either moves or it stops. In that clarity, we discover what we are made of. These fifteen days gave the journey its meaning. The lessons came not from the destination—though Mohapur, when we finally arrived, was everything it needed to be—but from every hour of navigation, every unexpected halt, every moment of choosing patience over panic and steadiness over speed. .3,500 kilometres later, I realised the real distance covered was within.

Truckseat MBA - II

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