BHPian GKR9900 recently shared this with other enthusiasts:Crossing States for Corners: My Journey from Kochi to the Buddh International Circuit5,200 kilometres. Two flights. One dream. That’s roughly what it took for a guy from Kochi, whose therapy comes with a steering wheel and a redline, to stand on the starting grid of the Buddh International Circuit, the same strip of asphalt that once echoed with the roars of Formula 1 engines. This wasn’t just a track day for me, this was a pilgrimage to the temple of speed! Interestingly, the entire chain of events began on an otherwise ordinary day – the same day I had just wrapped up a talk on ‘Artificial Intelligence in Medicine’ at a conference, on October 30th. I remember shutting my laptop, still running on post-talk adrenaline, when I opened Team-BHP just to unwind. And there it was – the new thread: “Skoda Octavia RS Track Day for Team-BHPians.” One glance was enough. Somewhere between “RS” and “Buddh International Circuit,” my brain quietly switched from artificial intelligence to automotive instincts. My pulse sped up and I straightaway looked at the date – 6th of November! The day before the event was my son’s birthday – so for a brief moment, I hesitated. But then I remembered what Dominic Toretto always says: “Nothing’s more important than family.” So, naturally, I decided to celebrate with my family first… and then honour the Fast & Furious tradition by heading straight to a racetrack! I sent a PM to Omkar to register my interest. Although I was excited, I tried to remain calm just in case I didn’t make the cut. But deep down, I already knew what was at stake – not horsepower or lap times, but the chance to live a bucket-list dream. I found myself refreshing my inbox a little too often. When the confirmation finally landed, I probably grinned wider than when I first drove my own car home years ago. The irony wasn’t lost on me: people celebrate promotions, vacations, or house warmings – I was celebrating a mail. One that said I’d be driving a Skoda Octavia RS on the Buddh International Circuit. For a lifelong car enthusiast, that wasn’t just a message. It was a flag drop! Clearing the Roadblocks Before the Track Once the confirmation came through, reality hit faster than a DSG downshift – I now had to make this happen. Between work commitments, family schedules, and a calendar that already looked like a tangled wiring harness, I knew this wasn’t going to be as simple as packing a bag and showing up. Some weekends are about rest. This one was about redlines. The first challenge? My son’s birthday – the very day before the event. You can’t skip that. Even Dominic Toretto would raise an eyebrow if I traded cake for cornering. So, I decided to do the sensible thing – celebrate with the family, cut the cake, and once the candles were out, quietly make my way to Buddh. Next came work. Meetings were rescheduled, deadlines reshuffled, and a few “urgent” emails politely pre-empted. By the time everything aligned – family sorted, work cleared, tickets booked – it finally hit me: I was really doing this.When IndiGo Joined the GridI had it all planned – or so I thought. The idea was simple: celebrate my son’s birthday, enjoy the evening with family, and then catch the late-night flight to Delhi. A perfect balance between family and fast corners. But the universe, and IndiGo had other plans. Just as the cake knife was about to slice through the icing, my phone buzzed. It wasn’t a birthday wish; it was IndiGo informing me that my flight was delayed by three hours. Before I could even groan, they offered an alternative – an earlier flight, which, by their cheerful tone, seemed like a great opportunity. Except this “opportunity” meant I had about 3 hours to pack up, say my goodbyes, and reach the airport. What followed could only be described as a ‘Fast & Furious: Family Edition’. I cut the cake in record time: single take, no retakes, blew out candles, handed over gifts, took a quick family photo, and started mentally planning my airport dash. Just as I grabbed my bag, my daughter clung to me and started crying, begging me not to leave. That moment – her little face, confused and tearful hit harder than any braking zone ever could. I knelt down, hugged her tight, and promised, “Appa will be back soon. This is just one night. I’ll call you from Delhi, okay?” It wasn’t the smooth send-off I’d envisioned – more like a pit stop with emotion, sugar, and chaos all mixed in. But that’s the thing about chasing dreams when you’re a parent: sometimes you accelerate with a lump in your throat. As I rushed into the cab, still smelling faintly of birthday cake and baby shampoo, I couldn’t help but smile. I was on my way to the Buddh International Circuit – but part of my heart was still back home.Touchdown Turbulence and the Midnight Drive to Buddh By the time the plane touched down in Delhi, it was midnight. The arrival area of the airport was unusually quiet. I grabbed my bag, took a deep breath, and reminded myself that every kilometre from here was taking me closer to a lifelong dream. Outside, the cool and dusty night air hit me. Decided to try my luck with the ‘Delhi Traffic Police pre-paid taxi’. Let’s just say this is not the best cab car I have been in. I should’ve booked a Uber. As we merged onto the Yamuna Expressway, the city lights faded, and the darkness opened up like a runway. I slouched into the seat, grinning at the thought of where I was headed. And then it happened – that glorious board that simply read: Buddh International Circuit. For a split second, I forgot the fatigue and the chaos. I had seen that name a hundred times on TV – usually followed by roaring engines and flashing helmets. But seeing it in real life, on an actual signboard, in the dead of the night – that was special. It felt like a quiet nod from the universe: You’ve made it this far. Of course, reality soon shifted gears. The cabbie, who had been uncharacteristically chatty, decided to play their classic game. In spite of being prepaid, he requested me to pay for the toll and repeatedly mentioned that he is taking a big risk driving this far at that time of night. I knew exactly what was happening. But honestly, I didn’t care. I was too happy to bargain. So I smiled, handed him the inflated amount, and wished him a safe night. He probably thought he’d found the most gullible passenger of the week. I thought I’d just paid the emotional toll to happiness. The hotel, when I finally reached, was… let’s say, functionally adequate. A few flickering lights, a suspiciously noisy air conditioner, and sheets that had definitely seen better laps. But none of it mattered. I knew the track was just a few kilometres away. That night, as I lay down, the hum of distant highway traffic mixed with my thoughts. Tomorrow, I’d drive on an F1 circuit. Sleep didn’t stand a chance.Dawn at Buddh – Calm Before the CornersSleep was a distant dream. I must’ve woken up half a dozen times, each time checking the clock like a kid on Christmas morning. Finally, around sunrise, I gave up on pretending to rest and climbed up to the terrace of the hotel. From up there, beyond a few patchy rooftops and dusty fields, I could see it – the iconic main building of the Buddh International Circuit. Even from a distance, it stood proud and geometric, a structure that somehow looked fast even while standing still. For a few moments, I just stood there, watching it. I’d seen that same building on TV, in YouTube videos, in countless photos, but seeing it in person, knowing I’d soon be inside it, wearing a helmet and holding a steering wheel… that feeling’s hard to put into words. A few moments later, I received a call from another Team-BHPian 2000rpm (Swapnil), who turned out to be staying at the same hotel. We agreed that it would be better to go to the track than sit around at the hotel till noon. There’s something magical about meeting a fellow enthusiast for the first time – you skip straight past small talk and dive headfirst into torque, tyres, and track lines. A quick handshake, a few excited smiles, and we headed out to the circuit early. We hopped into a cab, and as the Buddh tower loomed closer with every turn, my heart beat rose. This was an unforgettable morning that started with anticipation, tyre talk, and the distant promise of 16 corners that were about to make history – at least, ours.Rolling Into the Paddock – First Glimpse of the Dream The cab turned past the final curve, and there it was – the main gate of Buddh International Circuit, framed like the entrance to a different world. Even though I’d seen the building from the hotel terrace earlier, watching it grow larger through the windshield was something else entirely. The Skoda crew was already there, neatly setting up banners and arranging refreshments. We walked around slowly, taking it all in – the pit wall, the garages, the empty main straight stretching out into the first corner. The Octavia RS from various generations stood parked majestically. Even in stillness, those cars looked ready to pounce. Swapnil and I circled the paddock area a few times, admiring the view, peeking inside cabins, and whispering the kind of small talk only car people understand. We went into the paddock zone, got ourselves registered and were given these badges. We also tried our luck with the sim racing setup inside. The morning session was reserved for Octavia RS owners and prospective owners, and we watched them from the paddocks – a perfect vantage point to take in the sound, the speed, and the sheer grace of those cars in motion. Soon, the paddock began to buzz with energy: cameras clicking, organisers checking lists, participants sharing stories of their journeys. For me, the feeling was surreal. From reading about track days on Team-BHP to actually standing inside one – the same space where world-class racers once fought for milliseconds – it felt like the walls themselves had a pulse. As the clock crept closer to event time, more faces started appearing – fellow BHPians walking in with that unmistakable mix of composure and barely contained excitement. Handshakes, smiles, introductions – within minutes, it felt like an extended family reunion. Before long, familiar names began turning into faces. I finally met Aditya, our friendly Team-BHP moderator – soft-spoken, grounded, and instantly likeable. He had that calm presence of someone who’s seen countless machines, yet still appreciates the joy they bring to others. We spoke about the circuit, the event, and the surreal experience of standing in a space where F1 legends once fought for glory. And then, another familiar name – Omkar. It felt strangely full-circle: I’d messaged him days ago with a mix of excitement and caution, not knowing if I’d make it to the final list. Now, here he was, in person, smiling and welcoming everyone with the same warmth that came through in his messages. I also found myself quietly scanning the paddock, hoping to spot GTO – the man who started it all. The legend. For years, he was part storyteller, part mentor to an entire generation of enthusiasts who’d never met him but felt like they knew him. I had half-imagined shaking his hand someday, just to say what words can barely convey: that he’s personally responsible for me jumping through hoops across work schedules, family commitments, and flights to chase a dream halfway across the country – all because he built a space that keeps passion alive! Even though he couldn’t make it that day, the spirit of what he created was everywhere – in the conversations, the camaraderie, the laughter echoing through the pit lane. It was surreal to realize that something he began years ago had now brought dozens of us here, standing together at Buddh International Circuit, living our shared dream. We had lunch and refreshments, which were excellent by the way. Soon after, the team called us together for a briefing, and as we lined up, I found myself looking once more toward the track outside. The calm was over. The day – the dream – was about to begin. The Drivers’ Briefing – Where the Real Day Began Aditya kicked things off with a warm welcome, setting the tone for what the day was all about – driving responsibly, learning, and above all, enjoying the thrill of being on a legendary circuit. His calm, composed energy immediately grounded the group. Even though excitement was running high, there was a shared sense of respect for the track, the cars, and the opportunity we’d been given. Then came Mr. Rayo, who took over for the driving brief. His words carried that perfect blend of instructor clarity and racer confidence. In a few short minutes, he managed to make the track sound both thrilling and technical. There was something infectious about his delivery. You could tell he’d lived and breathed tracks for years – but he also knew how to keep beginners relaxed. We were a total of 16 participants, divided neatly into four groups of four – each group would get multiple stints on the circuit, accompanied by instructors. I was with team 4. It felt structured, safe, and professional – yet nothing could fully mask the quiet buzz of excitement rippling through everyone there. Being in Group 4 gave us a relaxed start. We spent the wait chatting with Aditya – about cars, track driving, a bit of politics, and everything in between.The Warm-Up: Slalom, Moose Test & Mini Handling Track (with the Skoda Kylaq)As Group 4 was finally called, the relaxed mood at the paddock shifted instantly into quiet excitement. We went toward the front parking area for our first driving session – a set of short exercises designed to get us comfortable before hitting the main track. This segment included a moose test, slalom course and a mini handling circuit -perfect to understand how Skoda’s modern lineup behaves under pressure. The cars were a bunch of Skoda Kylaqs and for a moment I was skeptical. Can this small car be so engaging? Boy, was I wrong! Our instructor, another Aditya (clearly, the name’s a good omen for calm confidence!) briefed us quickly and efficiently, while being seated inside the Kylaq. Myself and bhpian Desi Dybuk were together for the runs. The first run was the moose test – that sudden swerve and recovery manoeuvre -showcased how well-balanced the car really was. Even when pushed, the Kylaq didn’t lose its poise. The suspension soaked up the direction change gracefully and I was pleasantly surprised. The run through the slalom cones immediately broke my earlier assumptions. The Kylaq handled far better than expected – agile, composed, and with a steering response that felt tight and reassuring. It didn’t roll or wobble like a soft SUV; instead, it darted through the cones with precision, the tyres chirping just enough to remind you that physics was still in charge. On the mini handling track, it felt playful and predictable – almost like a hatchback in SUV clothing. By the end of the runs, every participant had the same amused grin: this wasn’t the test drive we expected, but it was a masterclass in how modern engineering can surprise you. When we pulled back into the lot, I was asking myself “If the warm-up feels this good, what’s the main act going to be like?” – because the real show was still waiting behind the pit wall.The Main Event – When the Track Finally Came AliveAnd then, it was time. The moment every late-night flight, every re-scheduled meeting, every whispered family promise had led up to. The main track session. Me and Desi Dybuk went to the track. Our instructor for the session was Dhruv – calm, confident, and with that unmistakable ease of someone who knows every inch of Buddh like the back of his glove. We started with a familiarisation lap, this time again in a Kylaq and to top it off, I got the manual one. Driving a manual on the Buddh International Circuit – there are few joys that come close. There’s a purity to it: the left foot dancing, the right hand moving instinctively, the revs rising and falling in sync with your heartbeat. Every gear shift felt like punctuation to a sentence you’d been waiting years to write. From the first few corners, the Kylaq proved yet again that Skoda engineers have a wicked sense of humour – they build these small SUVs that somehow think they’re hot hatches. The car felt planted, obedient, and beautifully predictable. Through the sweeping bends and long straights, it carried itself with confidence. Dhruv was exceptional – his tone a perfect mix of command and calm. “Accelerate. Brake. Lift off. Follow the line. Eyes ahead.” Each cue timed perfectly, each instruction carrying the rhythm of experience. As we moved deeper into the lap, he explained the racing lines, braking markers, and how to maintain flow through each sector. He wasn’t just teaching us how to drive; he was teaching us how to listen to the track – to let the tarmac talk through the tyres, to respect the corners before conquering them. The long straight was a breath of freedom; the world blurred, the engine sang, and the moment felt endless. Somewhere between braking and upshifting, I realised I was smiling like a ten-year-old. The Kylaq might not have been the RS, but in that moment, it didn’t matter. It was the first real dialogue between a man, machine, and a track built for legends. As we rolled back into the pit lane, Dhruv gave a knowing smile – the kind of look that said, “Now you’re ready for the real laps.” And he was right. Because the next stint would be with the Octavia RS – and the Buddh Circuit was waiting.The Octavia RS – When Dreams Found Their LineThis was it. The grand part of the day. Time to get behind the wheel of the Octavia RS. All morning, as we’d lingered around the pits, I’d found myself constantly glancing at one particular car – the Mamba Green RS. That colour wasn’t just paint; it was personality. It looked alive even while standing still. And as luck (or destiny) would have it, when the allocations were announced, we got that very car. I was up first behind the wheel. Dhruv slipped into the passenger seat, calm and confident as always, and Desi Dybuk climbed in behind us, grinning like he already knew what was coming. The moment I shut the door, the world outside dimmed. The RS has this uncanny ability to cocoon you – the snug bolsters, the firm steering, the hum of kinetic energy just waiting beneath your right foot. We had three laps ahead of us. Just three – and yet, those would become some of the most vivid minutes I’ve ever lived. As we rolled out of the pit lane, my hands were steady, but my heart wasn’t. In a moment of muscle memory betrayal, I tried to signal my exit and instead switched on the wipers. Classic daily-driver reflex. Humorous on the road, and apparently, equally fitting on an F1 track. Then, the pit limiter released, and the track opened up. All those YouTube videos I’d studied, the track maps I’d memorised, the corners I’d rehearsed in my head – they vanished completely. Turn 1 arrived like a flash. Brake. Turn-in. Sweeping left along turn 2 and sudden right to turn 3, the long straight had arrived – everything I knew was replaced by everything I felt. The Buddh Circuit unfolded in front of me – wide, majestic, alive. The car surged forward, turbo spooling, engine note deepening, the speedo rose like an orchestra building to its crescendo – silent power turning into symphony. The end of the straight arrived way quicker than expected; before the mind could register, the track began to rise into that deceptive right-hander. The ascent demanded commitment – braking firm, eyes already hunting for the next line. Barely a breath later came the next short straight, leading into a left with a double apex – the kind that rewards patience more than bravery. Clip the first, hold your nerve, let the car drift wide, then pull it back neatly for the second – pure rhythm, pure poetry. The next set – a tight chicane – came and went in a blur of steering input and tyre grip, setting me up for the banked right-hander with the grandstands towering to one side. It was surreal – that massive curve felt like driving through a living amphitheatre. For a split second, I understood what MotoGP riders must see from their parallel track – the two worlds separated by a few metres, yet completely different in spirit. From there, it was a dance of left and right flicks, the RS gliding with grace that felt far lighter than its frame suggested. The final right-hander fed beautifully into the last left onto the main straight, and as the car straightened out, the engine roared like applause following a perfect performance. By the time we crossed the start-finish line after that first lap, I wasn’t thinking, analysing, or recalling lines. I was just there – fully, completely, alive! By the second lap, the awe began to settle, and analysis quietly took its place. Coming from a garage where EVs have spoiled me with instant torque, the acceleration of the Octavia RS didn’t shock me – it impressed me. The build-up was linear, predictable, and immensely satisfying. The car didn’t lunge forward; it surged – a wave of controlled energy rather than a punch. Down the back straight, the Octavia RS came alive – that perfect stretch where the world narrows to a vanishing point and the only sound that matters is the engine climbing through its revs. The speedo needle swept upward like a heartbeat chasing adrenaline, crossing the 150 mark, then 180… and then past 200 km/h. I caught a glimpse of 202 before instinct took over – my eyes snapped forward to scan for the next curve. The track ahead was a blur of shimmering tarmac and distant braking boards. Somewhere in that mix of focus and disbelief, I realised I was doing something I’d dreamed of for years – touching 200 on a Formula 1 track! Later, Desi Dybuk told me he’d seen 206 on the display. I could’ve gone higher, no doubt – the RS still had breath left – but a small miscommunication kept things grounded. Dhruv had told me, “Don’t lift off throttle!”. But in the heat of the moment, I heard it as “Lift off throttle!” and eased off a fraction too early. It didn’t matter. That brief surge was more than enough to understand the RS’s poise at high speed – planted and calm. No nervousness, no float, no vibration. The car felt like it belonged there, like it had been waiting for that stretch all day. For a few glorious seconds, everything – the noise, the rush, the blur – dissolved into one simple truth: This wasn’t speed. This was serenity, disguised as acceleration! What did surprise me, though, were the brakes. After the long back straight, they showed a faint shudder, likely a symptom of the relentless workout these cars had endured over the past few days – from media sessions to owner drives. But even so, they delivered beautifully. There was absolute confidence in how the RS decelerated; it felt as if the car knew it could stop well before I believed it could. I often found myself wanting to brake later, chasing that sweet spot of courage – until Dhruv’s calm voice cut in, reminding me, “More brakes, earlier.” He was right, of course. Each time I listened, the car rewarded me with perfect balance through the entry. The steering was sharper than I expected – far more sensitive than the Kylaq I’d driven earlier. Even the smallest wrist movement translated instantly to direction change. Through tighter sections, it felt alive and communicative, letting me place the car exactly where I wanted, centimetre-perfect. The chassis and suspension setup felt impeccable. There was no unwanted flex, no float, no unpredictable roll. It was taut but forgiving – the kind of balance that lets you explore limits without fearing them. The gearbox was an absolute gem. Now I wanted to use the paddles, but Dhruv asked me to leave it as it is and let the car do its job. In my Kona, I always reach for the paddles to fiddle around with them. Muscle memory made me do it here also, at times. The car is beautifully engineered. Remember this was the first time that I was driving an Octavia RS and that too in a demanding and technically challenging track such as Buddh. Even then, the car followed my commands to the T. Every input returned feedback, every correction felt natural, and the entire car seemed to move as one cohesive thought. If the first lap was emotional, the second was educational. The third lap was the cooldown lap – but in a way, it felt more like a moment of quiet gratitude than a mechanical necessity. The adrenaline from the previous laps began to ebb, replaced by a strange, comforting calm. The track that had earlier felt fierce and commanding now looked serene – the same corners, the same straights, yet somehow gentler, more familiar. The RS hummed softly beneath me, no longer demanding speed, only composure. The tyres whispered instead of howled. The steering rested lightly in my palms – like a handshake that says, “Well done.” As we rolled through the bends, I found myself noticing things I’d missed earlier – the grandstands glinting in the sun, the skid marks tracing invisible stories, the elevation changes of the track itself. I couldn’t help but laugh at how completely this drive had consumed me. Before coming here, I’d made all sorts of mental notes and plans – a specific playlist I wanted to play, a few features to test, even a reminder to ask my fellow team-bhpian to take a video of me driving the RS. I’d also spent hours watching YouTube laps of Buddh, memorising every corner, braking zone, and apex as if I were preparing for an exam. I could’ve drawn the track from memory the night before. But the moment the car rolled out of the pit lane, all of that vanished. The playlists, the toggles, the video – even the corners I’d carefully memorised – all wiped clean from my mind. It wasn’t that I forgot them; it just didn’t occur to me that I needed them anymore. Once the RS came alive beneath me, the experience took over completely. The circuit wasn’t a diagram in my head – it was a living thing, something to be felt, not followed. I’d come prepared to document, analyse, and replicate. But somewhere between the throttle and the tarmac, I forgot everything – and found everything that truly mattered! Sometimes, the best drives don’t go according to plan. They erase the plan entirely – until all that’s left is you, the car, and the moment. Before reaching the final left-hander into the main straight, I lifted off completely, letting the car coast. The Octavia RS settled, like a sprinter easing into a jog after a record run. And as we eased back into the pit lane, that surreal thought hit me: Just like that, a dream that took 2600 kilometres to reach had passed in a few fleeting minutes – but it left behind something permanent!After the Lap – The Quiet After the Roar I stepped out of the car. Next it was Desi Dybuk’s turn. I relived my experience again through him, this time from another perspective. We returned to the pit lane after his drive. The pit lane was buzzing again – cars lining up, engines idling, instructors giving last-minute feedback, crew taking photographs, participants sharing quick handshakes and laughs that only come from shared adrenaline. The Skoda team was at their best – professional, friendly, and genuinely excited to see participants living the experience. Aditya was there again, chatting with everyone, that same calm energy still grounding the place. It didn’t feel like a corporate event; it felt like a reunion of people bound by the same pulse. When the engines finally fell silent, a soft melancholy hung in the air – that familiar ache of something wonderful ending. We lingered around a little longer, swapping stories, taking pictures, committing faces to memory. Standing there, I looked out once more at the Buddh International Circuit – empty again, quiet and majestic. Just a few hours earlier, it had felt untouchable. Now it felt familiar. It had gone from being a dream I chased to a memory I owned. For the first time all day, I didn’t feel the urge to record, to measure, to analyse. I just stood there, smiling, letting it all sink in. I’d come to Buddh chasing corners, and left finding calm.The Journey Home – The Long Road Back As the day wound down and the sun dipped low behind the grandstands, the Buddh International Circuit began to return to silence. The Skoda banners fluttered softly in the warm wind, the pit garages emptying one by one. It was strange – just hours earlier, this place had been alive with noise, engines, laughter, and anticipation. Now, it was still. I lingered for a while longer, not wanting it to end. There’s a certain ache that follows great experiences – the kind that doesn’t hurt, but hums quietly inside you. Eventually, we said our goodbyes – to the cars, to the crew, to the fellow BHPians who had quickly gone from usernames to real faces, from forum friends to trackside companions. The cab ride back to the hotel felt unusually quiet. The same roads that had felt electric that morning now felt heavy with reflection. I stared out at the faint lights of the Yamuna Expressway, the “Buddh International Circuit” sign now slipping away behind me. Somehow, it felt symbolic – like waving goodbye to a version of myself who had been waiting for this moment for years. The return journey was long, when all was said and done. But it didn’t feel like distance anymore; it felt like perspective. I’d come all the way from Kochi to Noida to drive a car I didn’t own, on a track I’d only seen on screens – and yet, what I brought back was far more than photographs or videos. I brought back clarity. I’d realised that driving isn’t about showing skill, or chasing numbers, or even speed. It’s about connection – that quiet, wordless dialogue between man, machine, and moment. That day, somewhere between Turn 1 and Turn 16, that connection became complete. As the flight back to Kochi descended, I glanced at my reflection in the window. I was tired and sunburnt – and happier than I’d been in a long, long time. I went to Buddh chasing corners, and came back with peace. This was my pilgrimage!Check out BHPian comments for more insights and information.
Source link
Driving the MK4.5 Skoda Octavia vRS at BIC; Life-long dream fulfilled
