Today, I rode because I felt lost.

Lost somewhere deeper, where questions linger longer than answers and the noise of life refuses to quiet down. Some days, responsibilities blur purpose, and even faith feels distant. Today was one of those days.

So I did what I often do when words fail me—I turned the key, felt the engine come alive beneath me, and let the road lead.

There’s something sacred about riding alone. The steady rhythm of the bike, the wind pressing gently against you, the world moving past at just the right pace—it strips life down to essentials. No notifications. No expectations. Just breath, motion, and presence.

As the kilometers passed, my thoughts slowly loosened their grip. I wasn’t searching for answers anymore. I was simply listening—to the engine’s hum, to the silence between my thoughts, to something within that had been asking for attention for far too long.

I took a random turn to an unknown road with no destination in mind. On the way, found a board to a temple named Shri Thimmaraya Temple. Not expecting anything, I climbed the hill and entered an extremely peaceful place. Parked my bike and sat outside the premises quietly. The place is simply breathtaking. All I could hear there was wind and a few birds.

Then I paid my respects to the deity, roamed around quietly eating a plate full of prasad which the priest overloaded. That felt like the blessings from the deity in the form of an overloaded plate.

I sat again for another twenty minutes or so soaking the silence in, watching colorful birds jumping across the branches of a Gulmohar tree with Nandi Hills in the backdrop.

Having received the blessings, silence as the food for soul, I headed back home.

The ride didn’t solve my problems. Life didn’t suddenly make sense. But I returned calmer, lighter, more grounded. The road reminded me that it’s okay to not have everything figured out—that movement itself can be healing, and faith can exist even in uncertainty.

Today, the bike wasn’t just a machine. It was meditation in motion. The road wasn’t just asphalt—it was a teacher. And the ride, in its quiet way, became a prayer.

Sometimes, all we need is to keep moving forward, trusting that clarity will meet us somewhere along the way.