After 15 minutes of being on top of the world, it was time for us to come back to the ground (and reality) and the trainer accompanying me started pulling the strings in as we headed back to those who stood looking up at us in awe and envy. The glider flapped like an eagle’s wings before coming back to its nest and we landed just a few steps from the spot from where we had taken our flight.
Great though it was, this aerial adventure wasn’t enough of a farewell to my friend in good times, the Jazz. Soon we were headed to make our day as thrilling as it could possibly be. Mahabaleshwar, as everyone know, is famous for strawberries. So, we raided a farm to get a closer view of this juicy fruit. The owner graciously allowed us to pluck a few of them. A little ahead, 
we saw a miniature of the Sriperumbudur race track, where a crowd of enthusiastic tourists howled as they ran their kart cars into their friends’. ‘How about it?’ I said and the Jazz most happily acquiesced. So there I was with a broken yet mandatory helmet on my head and a cranky kart in my hands, flying dust away on that little but very curvy track. After some heart-filling 10 laps, I surrendered to the heat and dragged my feet towards the Jazz to get a bit of its air-conditioning before adding to the day’s carnival. 
As expected, we took the next stop very soon and this time for a rather bumpy ride – the ATVs. My itinerary for the day had already been exhausted with the paragliding session and all the unplanned activities that followed confirmed my belief in Forrest Gump’s statement: life is a box of chocolates; you never know what you get. Another five laps on that heavily dosed bumpy track and my body oscillated like a tuning fork. It was only after this merrymaking that I officially retired for the day and gave a nod to the proposal of going back to Pune.
From what I remember of our drive back, for me it began only before we crossed Harrison’s Folly and resumed as I saw a hand asking for toll money at Khed-Shivapur. Maybe, exhaustion had already taken its toll. I was brought back to reality just before the final countdown to the Jazz’s separation began. Rightly so, because when you have seen the sun set over the Jazz in Alibag, morning dew making a silvery pattern on its curves in the Tirthan Valley and splashes of the Ganga washing its feet in Rishikesh, watching it go away in the dark of the night does feel depressing.
As this trail of adventures with the Jazz ends, I wish everyone in the Honda Siel family a happy new year and wish for the good times to return soon. Good-bye, buddy!
