The Wedding Adventure That Wasn’t Exactly What I Signed Up For

Before the trip, I’d casually posted in one of my friends’ groups:
“Heading to Hyderabad to team up with friends for a wedding adventure in Nellore!”
Little did I realize that the “adventure” part would play out more literally than I’d bargained for.

We were four of us,  friends reunited after a while, hitting the road from Hyderabad to Nellore. And like most Indian road trips involving men, all senior citizens, ours naturally revolved around temples, early morning rituals, and those icy dips in temple ponds that are apparently the key to inner peace (and pneumonia).

Our first halt was Mahanandi. The “best” hotel we’d booked online turned out to be a charming combination of optimism and broken bathroom vents. My sore throat, a souvenir either from my morning walk group or the cyclonic Bay of Bengal,  had already made its presence felt. When I asked for a medical store, the ever-resourceful hotelier handed me a few cloves, swearing they’d do the trick. Surprisingly, they did.

That night, I coughed my way through, while my roommate snored blissfully, a duet that would’ve qualified for background music in a dark comedy.

By dawn, my friends were splashing in the temple pond with the enthusiasm of schoolboys. I stayed loyal to the hotel geyser, preferring warmth over salvation. At the temple, the three separate queues for darshan eventually merged into one, as they always do,  and we were all swept forward in what can only be described as a divine stampede. The locals took it in stride, while I struggled between coughing fits and crowd control.

After breakfast, we moved on to Yaganti. I skipped the climb, opting instead to wheeze artistically in the car. My friends returned concerned and decided it was time I saw a doctor. A kind traffic policeman personally guided us to a nearby hospital, an unexpected act of compassion that I won’t forget.

The hospital itself was impressively efficient. Registration took two minutes, the doctor spoke broken Kannada, and his prescription took up both sides of a fullscap sheet. In quick succession, I was nebulized, put on IVs, and given an injection that made sure I remembered him for days. Within an hour, I felt marginally better,  maybe the medicine, maybe the placebo, or maybe just the kindness.

We continued our temple trail, Ahobhilam and then Vontimitta, where my condition fluctuated between recovery and relapse. By now, my cough had become an unofficial fifth member of the group. Nights were long and sleepless, but roadside tea and laughter kept things going.

When we finally reached Nellore, my breath was short, but my friends’ patience wasn’t. One of them suggested I switch to an inhaler instead of chasing another hospital, sound advice that worked instantly. By evening, we were at the wedding venue, welcomed with a lavish spread and genuine warmth.

I rested while the others went for a seaside stroll, saving my energy for the wedding. The celebrations were beautiful, full of colour, tradition, and joy. I managed to stay till past midnight before my friends dropped me off for my 1 a.m. bus to Bangalore, treating me with the care of ICU attendants escorting their favourite patient.

Back home, my doctor looked at my long prescription, shook his head, and said, “You’ve been given steroids,  completely unnecessary.” He reset my treatment plan with a smile that was part amusement, part sympathy.

Now, as I recover, I can’t help but look back on the trip with mixed feelings, a blend of laughter, discomfort, and gratitude.  It was a reminder that sometimes, adventures don’t go as planned, temples test your patience as much as your faith, and the true blessing lies not in the darshan you manage, but in the friendships that carry you through.



Stories, not instructions. Experiences, not advice—medical or otherwise. Data, only what the internet quietly gathers anyway. Proceed with equal parts curiosity and common sense.

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