Abba Nahi Manenge, And That’s When It Got Real

Abba Nahi Manenge, And That’s When It Got Real!

Don’t Come Back’ - The Words That Ignited a Rider’s Destiny

They say some journeys begin the moment you decide to disobey.
For Abdul Rashid Ansari, that moment came wrapped in five words from his father:
“If you go to Nepal, don’t come back.”
It wasn’t anger that fueled him that morning, it was fire. The kind of fire that comes when your dreams are too loud to ignore and your wings are too strong to cage.

The Ride That Changed Everything

At 4:00 AM, when the world slept, Rashid kicked his bike into ignition , his Bajaj Dominar 400, lovingly named Heer , and left. No helmet stickers of “safety first,” no grand plan, just ₹10,000 in his pocket and a heart that refused to stay still.
The road stretched ahead like an unfinished sentence. Varanasi faded in the mirrors, and Nepal waited somewhere beyond the mist.
His best friend, Vivek Daharwal, rode pillion , a silent witness to the rebellion of a man who wanted to live on his own terms.
As they crossed the ghats of Varanasi, the memory of a ghat built by the Maharaja of Nepal came flashing back. That was it, the signal, the sign from the universe that it was time to go.

And somewhere in his head, he laughed to himself, “Abba nahi manenge.” Yet, he twisted the throttle anyway, because sometimes, the only way forward is to go even when no one believes you can.

When Dreams Collide with Fear

By sunrise, the phone rang. His father’s voice carried both worry and authority.
“Where are you?”
“On my way to Nepal.”
“Come back. Right now.”
“No, Abba. I need this ride.”
“If you go to Nepal, don’t come back.”
That line wasn’t just a threat. It was an invisible wall between a father’s fear and a son’s freedom.
But Rashid, the rebel, the dreamer, the rider, crossed that wall anyway.

Somewhere between the long roads and cold winds, he whispered to himself, “All is well.” Maybe it was a lie then, maybe not, but sometimes, you say it till it becomes true.

Freedom Costs Something

When he returned home days later, there was silence. Heavy, uneasy silence. Yet, behind that silence, both father and son had learned something powerful.
Parents see us grow up but sometimes, they don’t let us live grown up.
They fear the world will break us. But how do we learn to fix ourselves if we never fall?
Rashid’s story reminds us that life isn’t meant to be protected; it’s meant to be lived.
Like stickers that cling to the helmets of riders, lessons stick to our hearts , sometimes painfully, sometimes proudly.

Rebellion Becomes Identity

That ride to Nepal became the sticker moment of Rashid’s life, bold, colourful, impossible to peel off.
It wasn’t about distance. It was about defiance. About choosing to experience the world rather than just imagining it.
He didn’t go to Nepal to rebel; he went to remember what living felt like.
He didn’t cross borders; he crossed the limits others placed on him.
And when he came back, something had shifted, not just in him, but in the way his family saw him. He had become proof that sometimes losing permission can win you purpose.

The Lessons Between Miles

That trip to Pokhara was only the beginning. Over the next two years, Abdul Rashid Ansari rode over 26,000 kilometers, exploring Ladakh, Mainpat, Chhattisgarh, and Madhya Pradesh, conquering high passes and low valleys.
He reached Umling La, the world’s highest motorable pass, not as a son seeking approval, but as a man chasing peace.
He says his biggest fear used to be self-doubt. Now?
It’s not being able to ride again.

Parents, Let Us Fall, We’ll Rise

There’s a quiet truth Rashid’s story whispers:
How will we ever learn to stand if we’re never allowed to fall?
Our parents love us enough to protect us, but sometimes, that love builds walls around our potential. They still see us as fragile glass when, in reality, we’re forged metal.
When Rashid’s father said, “Don’t come back,” it wasn’t cruelty. It was fear disguised as control. And when Rashid returned, that fear turned into understanding.
His rebellion taught not just him, but his family, that love means letting go, even when your heart wants to hold tighter.

The Road Ahead

Today, Rashid still rides, solo or with his Throttle Master Club Banaras crew. His dream?
To travel across every corner of India, and one day, to the Kaaba, with his partner beside him.
He doesn’t chase records. He chases moments, the laughter at tea stalls, the chill of mountain air, the stories shared by strangers.

Why His Story Matters

Because it’s not just about one rebellious ride, it’s about all of us who are trying to prove that we can take care of ourselves, dream without permission, and live without fear.
We’ve all heard our version of “Don’t come back.”
Maybe from parents, maybe from society, maybe from our own doubts.
But like Rashid, we have a choice, to turn that warning into a war cry.
And when we do, when we take that first leap of faith, we realize one truth, maybe “All izz well” wasn’t just a saying. Maybe it was a way to live.