A Ride Down Memory Lane: Summers, Hills, and Gopi – The Gentle Soul

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There are moments when I sit alone or drive with the wind brushing past my face, and my mind quietly drifts into a rewind mode. It’s almost like nature nudges me to pause, breathe, and relive those beautiful chapters of life that shaped who I am today. Sometimes, that’s exactly what we need—to refresh our souls with memories that remind us of simpler times, deeper bonds, and pure joy.

For me, those memories always lead to one place—my grandmother’s home. It wasn’t just a destination; it was an emotion, a sanctuary nestled amidst hills, forests, and endless skies. Every summer, I would eagerly count down the days to escape the city chaos and immerse myself in nature’s embrace.

And now, dear reader, since you’re here with me—hop on. Imagine you're sitting pillion on my bike, as I take you on a journey through time. Let’s ride together into the heart of my childhood.

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The Last Bell and the First Step Towards Freedom

Bell Rang!!!

It was the last exam of the year. While my classmates celebrated finishing their papers, my excitement was of a different kind—I wasn’t just done with school; I was about to embark on my annual adventure to my grandmother’s home.

My school was just 10 minutes from home, and I remember bursting through the door, announcing to my mother, “Tomorrow, we’re going to Ajji mane (Grandmother’s house)!” My younger brother, as usual, maintained his calm demeanor—never too expressive, but I knew he shared my excitement deep down.

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The Bus Ride: Chaos, Curves, and Cinematic Views

By 12:30 PM the next day, we were at the bus stand. Those days, traveling wasn’t about convenience; it was about patience, resilience, and a bit of adventure. Only one bus ran the route from Bangalore towards Kukke Subramanya, passing through Hassan, Sakaleshpur, and the scenic Shiradi Ghat.

Reservations? Well, let’s just say it was more of a ‘first-come, first-grab’ system. Bags through windows, kerchiefs marking seats, and a whole lot of negotiating with fellow passengers. My mother, a pillar of strength and determination, always ensured we made it—no matter how crowded, no matter how uncertain the bus schedules were.

A quick lunch stop at Sakaleshpur Old Bus Stand, and then began my favorite part—the winding roads through misty hills, dense forests, and streams that danced alongside the road. While others admired the view, I would sit by the window, lost in dreams—already imagining myself running through the fields, climbing trees, and most importantly, meeting Gopi.

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Gopi – The Heartbeat of My Grandmother’s Home

Ah, Gopi. Just saying her name brings a smile to my face and a lump to my throat.

Gopi wasn’t just any cow—she was a part of our family. A proud member of the Malnad Gidda breed, native to the lush Western Ghats of Karnataka. For those unfamiliar, Malnad Gidda cows are small in size but mighty in value. Known for their resilience, gentle nature, and the highly nutritious A2 milk they produce, these cows are treasured in the region. Their milk isn’t just food—it’s considered medicinal, rich in nutrients that modern dairy often lacks.

Gopi embodied everything special about this breed—graceful, calm, and intelligent. Her snow-white coat, delicate frame, and expressive eyes reminded me of the divine bond between Lord Krishna and his cows. In fact, my father once crafted a beautiful chain for her neck, enhancing her elegance. Among the five cows my grandmother owned, Gopi was the undisputed favorite—not just for her looks, but for the warmth she exuded.

Every summer, one of my greatest joys was accompanying my uncle to graze Gopi in the nearby fields. We would wander through the farms, with Gopi gently nibbling at the grass, while I imagined myself as a little cowherd in a storybook world. There was an unspoken bond—no fear, no force—just mutual trust.

Malnad Gidda cows, like Gopi, aren’t just livestock; they represent a way of life that respects harmony with nature. They thrive without demanding much, adapt to hilly terrains, and live long, healthy lives—often considered sacred companions in many households.

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The Final Stretch: From Kukke to Home

By the time the bus reached Kukke Subramanya, my heart would race with excitement. But there was still 13 km to cover—twisting roads that felt endless. What should have been a short ride felt like an expedition when anticipation ran high.

We finally arrived around 5:15 PM. But the journey wasn’t over yet. From the bus stop, it was another 2 km trek—yes, a proper trek—up and down the hilly paths leading to my grandmother’s house perched atop a peak. Today, people pay to experience such treks. Back then, it was simply "going home."

By 6 PM, after breathing in the crisp mountain air and greeting familiar trees and trails, we reached.

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The News That Silenced My Smile

As tradition, after a hot cup of filter coffee, I rushed out to reconnect with my childhood friends and then made a beeline to the cowshed. But something felt... different.

Gopi wasn’t there.

I looked around, hoping she was out grazing. Confused, I ran back to my grandmother and asked, “Ajji, where’s Gopi?”

She placed her hand gently on my head and said softly, “Gopi is no more, Maga… She passed away a few months ago. She was 13—old age caught up.”

Her words echoed in my ears. I stood there, numb. A friend, a companion, a piece of my childhood was gone.

That night, as I lay on the floor under the tiled roof, staring at the dim lantern light, my eyes welled up. Memories of Gopi—her gentle mooing, the warmth of her presence, the playful nudges—flooded my mind.

It was my first true lesson in loss.

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When Bonds Go Beyond Words

It’s strange how animals, without uttering a single word, carve a place so deep in our hearts. Gopi wasn’t just a cow; she was a friend who listened without judgment, who was part of my happiest days.

When someone or something you love deeply is gone, the silence they leave behind is deafening. It teaches you that the true value of presence is only felt in absence.

Whether it’s a person or an animal, their worth isn’t measured by grand gestures but by the little moments—the comfort, the companionship, the quiet joy they bring.

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Life Moves On, But Memories Stay

The next day, my mother returned to Hassan, leaving me and my brother to enjoy the summer with our grandparents. It was a world without mobile phones—just a landline connecting us to the outside world. But honestly, those days, we were more connected to nature, to people around us, and to ourselves.

The grief of losing Gopi slowly made way for gratitude. Gratitude that I had those years with her, that I learned compassion, care, and the bittersweet reality of life.

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A Thought to Leave You With

As I pen down these memories today, I realize how important it is to cherish the bonds we form—with people, with animals, with nature. In a world racing ahead, sometimes it's these simple, heartfelt connections that ground us.

So, next time you pass by a quiet moment, let your mind rewind. Embrace those memories—they're the treasures that no one can take away.

And if you ever hear about the Malnad Gidda cow, remember Gopi—the gentle soul who taught a young boy the meaning of love, loss, and life.

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"When those we love leave us, they don’t vanish; they live on in our stories, in our hearts, and in every breeze that whispers their name."

Have you ever had a bond like this—with a pet, a place, or a person?
I’d love to hear your story. Share it in the comments, and let’s celebrate these timeless connections together.