On finding directions

The battery of my phone was nearly over – 1% of the charge would definitely not be enough for the last 10% of my journey given it was a new route I was exploring. I stopped cycling immediately and tried to take in the directions displayed on my phone so that I would have some indication of where to turn next. But it was too much to take in, with too many turns, twists and traffic lights. I tried hard to memorise, but the phone conked off and I was left stranded. Two thoughts immediately came to minds: the second one - let me narrate that first – was that we have become too dependant on technology; instead of trying to look for naturally-existing signs and honing the directional knowledge in the compass of our minds, we have too easily surrendered to Google Maps. In a different way, even without Judgement Day, the machines seem to have taken over.

Let me now build a bit more on the first thought that came to mind: even after 11 years now, I told myself, with a sigh: woh saala Nishant hota to itna sochta na parta…

Nishant, or ‘Map-boy’ as we would call him, was the Google maps of our time. The time being a decade earlier, when the app was yet to turn popular and we were traipsing all around Europe, old school style, with paper maps, people’s inputs but largely relying on the expertise of Map-boy. Almost every city we would land at, the first task for the group was to get hands on a copy of the city’s maps. That was all, for we would then shamelessly hand them over to Map-boy and equip ourselves with cameras, cones and cakes. The must-do list of places to visit would already be agreed upon, and Nishant would take care of the rest. (I must acknowledge here that another person in the group would also religiously collect the maps but only as keepsakes and souvenirs of the memorable trips, even for cities not visited. I would often wonder if those would be revered in a bound volume or be framed as specks of European memories in a large hall of fame – I can imagine an acerbic reply to my blog post perhaps giving me the answer today)

We would have visited over 50 cities in those three months – this would include small, sleepy towns such as Hendaye or Etretat, and then there would be Europe’s largest ~ legacies of the grand monarchies preserved today in the thoroughfares of the Berlins, Romes, Pragues and Viennas of the historically rich continent. And Map-boy would navigate them all with equal ease and panache – which train / bus to take, which stop to get down , which roundabout to turn around, which grid to cross and voila, you would be staring at the golden Chain Bridge shimmering over the Danube on a cold December night, or a Cleopatra’s needle in the heart of Paris. Perhaps his directional quotient was really strong, or he was very keen to navigate newness – whatever the reason, it ensured Euro-tripping was made far simpler for the rest of us.

Nonetheless, he just made it look easy – and this relative ease was confounded in those few instances when either a map would be missing or the onus would lie on someone else. I still remember how we had struggled for directions in Prague – the map was not covering the section of the town we had to get to, and we had to get directions from the locals who surprise, surprise could not speak English. A group of five people, we were struggling to get instructions over an hour (Then we had stalwarts like Daddu, who would saunter to a group of people in his inimitable style and then instead of asking directions to the hostel, would smartly ask – Where is the Dancing House? Where can I see the John Lennon wall? Did they have any knowledge about Prague’s association with the Holy Roman Empire? That he would come back unscathed always surprised and often annoyed me). Finally, it was one small translatable piece of information from a local, and Map-boy did some calculations in that Pentium X chipped head of his mind, that led us to our destination in time.

Then there was the night in Brussels when I departed from the group to check the Tintin Museum, agreeing to meet them in the hostel at night. It was a memorable day exploring Louvain-la-Neuve and Brussels all on my own, until I realised I had to get to our hostel at night time. What else, I suffered from absolute directional dyslexia and had no idea which way to get to. I called Daddu and his directions were peppered with elderly knowledge and admonitions as to why one should not stray from the flock and act smart in a new city, a new country, a new language….the list would continue had not Map-boy snatched and phone and provide actual directions that would matter. That night, on my way back, I really started appreciating the ease and simplicity that Map-boy brought to our trips in these unknown lands.

Our three-month stay in Europe was very memorable for more good reasons than bad. And all of us, in a way, exemplified Adam Smith’s Division of Labour and ensured we were contributing to the Group in our own way. While I and Beaucoup would ensure that dinners were ready, Daddu and his bosom-buddy would ensure the fridge was stocked while Map-Boy would take care of our travel logistics up to the last mile reach. Whatever our shortcomings, we would agree to stick together once a plan was chalked – if we were to head to Oostende for no rhyme or reason, we would stick together. If I had cooked Chana daal, everyone would consume it and appreciate the effort no matter how salty or spicy it would be. And in the midst of this all, if Madam Mahajan would want to break away in the middle of our sojourn to head back home and study Corporate Valuation, the group would accommodate even for that. This patience and tolerance for our differences, which in a way defined us, (despite the choicest words that would often be flung around) was perhaps the reason we stuck together for all our three months unlike any of the other 20 odd groups that had disputed, differed and disintegrated in no time on landing at Europe. In a way we complemented each other, making the Group greater than the sum of its parts and helping us all have an unforgettable experience with memories for a lifetime.

I can, should and will write about the contributions of the others as well (Daddu, watch out for all those caustic comments you had thrown at me on our last day in Paris!!!!) For now, though, I will stop at Map-boy and admit that a lot of the Europe we had explored, photographed and discovered would have been impossible without his abilities to navigate so much, in so little time. Lausanne or Lille, Patras or Paris, Bari or Bruges, our conquests in the cities were all a function of the plans of Map-boy. We perhaps wouldn’t have been half the Columbus we were without his skillsets.

I realised that even yesterday when my phone conked off and I was clueless in the city. Well, back to the wall, with no people around, I wondered how Map-boy would have tackled the situation. I looked around, saw a bridge faraway and realised there was a creek underneath – I recollected a creek flowing close to my destination, and putting together the creek, the downstream direction, the construction cranes that hovered and many other bits and pieces of clues, I reached where I had to get to. Yes, it was no Seine or Vltva but I guess I replicated a part of the algorithm that Map-boy would have utilised.

Was it outright easy? No. But some people make it look easy. And even if it is not, they will willingly take on the challenge for the benefit of the greater good. Such that, even after a decade, in a far-off land, their memories arise, and we give a faint smile, recollect a few golden moments, feel inspired and give it a bit more, just for the old times sake, murmuring softly, this one is for the five blokes who traversed an entire continent, this one is for Map-boy…

19th March’2022

(Photos, excluding cover image - Author's archives)