After three days at Mahakumbh, my sister and I had perfected our early morning routine—taking a peaceful dip in Maa Ganga at sunrise, about a kilometer from Netrakumbh (where my eye camp was). But the real deal, the holy grail of dips, was at the Sangam, about 4 km away.

Every day, we made elaborate plans to go—morning, noon, evening, midnight—depending on crowd updates and my duty schedule. And every day, we backed out for one reason or another. But on the last day, fate (or Google Maps) decided it was time.

My ever-resourceful sister, our self-appointed navigator, convinced me that the “less crowded route” was the way to go. The plan? Walk from Sector 6 to Parmarth Niketan to meet Guruji and a dear friend then to Arail Ghat and take a boat for holy dip bypassing the crowded walk ! Armed with this genius itinerary, we dressed for the occasion. Since we planned a visit to Parmarth Niketan , We draped ourselves in brightest sarees , I completed the look with an artificial hair bun as well ,looking like a festival in motion. With backpacks in tow, we set off, blissfully unaware of the disaster ahead.

We walked. And walked. And walked. Crossed the Pippa bridge. Kept walking. By now, we had entered the deserted part of Mahakumbh, where most Akharas had already packed up and left. It was eerily quiet. That’s when two policemen appeared, looked at us—two overdressed women in a no-man’s land—and asked, “Madam, where exactly are you going?”

“Parmarth Niketan and Arail Ghat,” we chirped confidently.

They smirked. “Do you even know how far it is?”

“Google says few kilometres “.

At this, they actually started laughing. Proper, full-blown laughter.

Realizing we were hopeless, they flagged down two bikers, negotiated a ride for us, and next thing we knew, we were clutching onto our sarees for dear life as we zoomed down wet, slippery roads on bikes that clearly weren’t meant for Kumbh’s temporary setup. My saree had a mind of its own, my bun was barely holding on, and for 30 minutes, we were on a bone-rattling adventure ride, with even the bikers second-guessing the directions.

Finally, they dropped us at a place teeming with people.

“Where are we?” we asked, dazed.

“Somewhere safe,” they assured us cryptically.

Still confused, we turned to a policeman. “Sir, where exactly are we?”

He smiled. “Where you should be.”

Now officially lost, we followed his gaze and saw it—the Sangam.

So much for avoiding the crowd. In our desperate attempt to take a “shortcut,” we had basically circumnavigated the entire Kumbh Nagari, only to end up at the one place we were trying to bypass..the crowd ..Clearly, God had other plans.

Accepting our divine fate, we waded into the water, with sheer joy of finally taking dip at Sangam . And just as I bent for my dip, my artificial bun—held together by sheer willpower—decided it was done and made a dramatic exit, floating away like a tiny offering to the river. If that wasn’t embarrassing enough, my saree did a little celebratory whirl around me, turning me into a human sunflower. My sister? Laughing uncontrollably. Me? Accepting my destiny.

With that holy dip , I realized—sometimes, life just takes over. You can either fight it or laugh along.

Post-dip, the adventure wasn’t over. In the changing room, two elderly ladies barged in. “What are you shy about? We all have the same stuff!” they declared, efficiently shutting down any privacy concerns. And just like that, the three of us changed with our backs to each other, because apparently, personal space is a myth for some ☺️

As we rode back on yet another bike, windswept and wiser, my sister and I exchanged a knowing look.

“We mortals make plans,” I said.

“And God laughs,” she finished.

And sometimes, He throws in a flying bun for extra effect.

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