The First Time...

It's happened to almost all of us (unless you're way too young to do it). The first time is usually the hardest, what with the pain and the blood, not to mention the discomfort that goes on for a few days. My first time was yesterday, at the ripe old age of 27 and a half - I fell off my bike.

Looking back, the day started with a sign of things to come. Agsie (my Bike... short for Agniezka) refused to start in the morning, despite repeated pleas and a lot of kicking and swearing. She finally purred to life, albeit a bit reluctantly. I made it to the karma-bhoomi without incident and spent a long, tiring day working to dramatically alter the life of trillions of car buyers who depend on my team for their car-buying decisions.

Heading back home in the evening, I encountered the usual traffic in the province of Banga-A-Lot - overworked office workers going home to the fat, ugly wife and noisy kids, auto drivers who've always wanted that F1 dream, frustrated techies on their bikes heading home to their beloved porn collections... you know, the usual. Into this sea of chaos, I drove Agsie, our benign 350-cc influence no doubt calming the multitude. Cruising along at a demure 30kph, making brilliant plans to end the world's poverty and hunger, I surveyed my flock, all quietly heading towards the road-on-which-the-BOARD-OF-DIVINE-COFFEE-building stands.

Into this oasis of peace, suddenly, a streak of red, well, streaked into my line of sight. Aforementioned streak then proceeded to cut in front of me and just as my ageing grey cells were beginning to grasp the fact that the streak had four wheels and was driven by someone who'd apparently supped too well and was looking to relieve their umm...burden, the streak stopped streaking and took on a solid shape. It stopped...hard.

My impulses, after years of watching classic kung-fu movies, were honed to perfection. The distal and proximal phalanxes on my right hand, in conjunction with my metacarpophalangeal joint, worked smoothly to jam the brakes, a gesture reciprocated moments later by the metatarsopahalangeal joints on my right foot. I stopped too...even harder.

The world then twisted around sickeningly. During the next second, I saw the car in front roll over to its left. The trees by the side of the road rolled over too and the cars and bikes around me did the same. The road came up and scraped against my side. Poor thing, must've had a few scratches. A second later, the world and its mother had rolled over to their left and more annoyingly, stayed there. Why didn't they right themselves? All that rolling about can't be good, unless there's hay involved (wink, wink to someone).

Moments later, reality flitted back into the cranial cavity and I stood up, swayed, tried to lift Agsie and swayed some more. She was hurt, broken but there was no bleeding. She'd live. Hands appeared out of nowhere. People moved me to the side of the road. Agsie was safely put aside. Two guys from Wipro stayed back (Ravi and Suresh?, both natives of Karnataka). Thanks guys, for bringing me water and pushing a 182-kg bike 2 kms to my home. I didn't expect such generosity. I don't know what to say.

I was thinking of ending this by wagging my chubby index finger and warning people to watch out for that deadly-combination of bad drivers (usually in red cars) and a mix of sand and water on roads that invitingly say, "Come lie with me." Instead, if you're ever in Bangalore and you come across a couple of tall, thin guys working in Wipro who go by the names of Ravi and Suresh from Bangalore and who stay about 5-6 kms from the Majestic bus terminus, thump their backs (gently pat if you have a heavy hand) and tell them they're good people. Thanks again, guys.

Thump On (somewhat carefully)!

On a Woman-Woman Relationship

Alright, all you perverts who've eagerly jumped onto this blog expecting a raunchy write-up, $@%#$% off. This is neither the time nor the place (we'll talk about that over a drink or three some other time). Today I'm ranting about the hate/no-love-lost relationship that most women have with pretty much every other woman.
Like all great writers, let moi dredge up an example from the 'Sparkling Life of MySelf.' In the red corner we have Agsie, a puny 182kg Bull(-et) who spends her days carrying me around the Kingdom of Nai Dilli @ a demure 40kph(speed thrills but kills). In the blue corner we have YUM-YUM, a vivacious 35kg(+10 - but you didn't hear that from me) girl about whom I could write reams but I only refrain for fear that her pretty little head would bloat.

Round I (Scene: Pleasant windy day, we've just ripped(@53kph) into the parking lot of shitty-expensive-snob-hangout-mall-in-Saket):
YUM-YUM(running a pretty hand through shiny black hair): Hmmm... My hair's all messed up.
Moi(thoughtfully scratching unshaved stubble): Wind, probably.
Agsie: [purr].
YUM-YUM: It's the ride dummy! All that wind in my hair.
Moi: huh?
Agsie: [rumble].
YUM-YUM: Seriously, you should get a car. Even 'you' can afford one.
Moi(ogling at pretty thing getting into a nearby car): [grunt].
Agsie: [growl].

Round II (Scene: Traffic signal at busy intersection. Warm evening):
YUM-YUM(arms lovingly draped around Moi): Jeez! It's getting late. My crazed-over-protective-excuse-for-a-father's going to be furious if I'm late.
Moi(thoughtfully scratching... unshaved stubble): Traffic, heavy.
Agsie: [rumble-that-sounds-suspiciously-like-a-grin].
{The sun sets and simultaneously the light turns green}
Agsie: [kaput].
Moi(after 13 attempts to kickstart): @#$%@#!@$!!???!
Agsie: [floorrrp].
YUM-YUM: WTF??!!?? Daddy's gonna murder me! Can't you get this piece of $#$@% to start?
Moi(oceans of sweat pouring down brow): "Antiquis temporibus, nati tibi similes in rupibus ventosissimis exponebantur ad necem" (from the latin: In the good old days, children like you were left to perish on windswept crags).
YUM-YUM: WHAT??
Agsie: [bleerb-that-sounds-like-a-giggle].
Moi: I said I'd just dislocated my Ox Coxae.
YUM-YUM: Very funny. Perhaps you've also dislocated the Humerus?
{choice Punjabi words accompanied by loud honking from motorists behind}
Moi(muttering under my breath): I'd like to squash someone's Medula Oblongata right now.
YUM-YUM(walking off): Turn that infernal thing off. Let's take an auto and you can come back for the damn thing.
Moi(tears welling up, that empty feeling in the heart): Agsie, you're the best-est-est thing ever that carried me around (after Mommy - little slower but nine months on the trot!).
{final half-hearted kick}
Agsie: [ROAAARRRR-DUB-DUB-DUB-GRRRRRRR-DUB-DUB-DUB]
Moi(with a whoop that sounds like red-indian who's about to ravish hot white woman): She's...Alive!
YUM-YUM: Hmmpph... Do you think it'll last?
Agsie: [GROWWL].
{Long traffic-infested ride to drop YUM-YUM. No goodnight kiss}

Which is what the 'status quo post bellum' is, like my old uncle Julius Nairus Caesar used to say. At this point I should probably be asking, "Why do women hate each other instinctively? Why do I have to bear the brunt? Why do women ask men if they look fat(if you're asking, you probably are!)?". Brave men throughout the ages have attempted to answer questions like these, failed spectacularly and ended up slashing their wrists/throats/'other body parts' in despair. However, lacking that particular brand of testicular fortitude, I plan to do the only thing a reasonable man can be expected to do - reach for a glass of the 'Aqua Vitae' and surrender to glorious oblivion.

On Humility

For the first few days that you own a Bull, you're on top of the world. You polish it till it gleams, you don't allow anyone else near it, you wipe dirt off the silencer (while it's still hot and burn your index & middle fingers); you know, the usual.

So this past Sunday saw me riding, decked out in all my finery, to the showroom to get my leg-guard fixed. There's a red light up ahead with a few cars waiting. I downshift and slide into neutral and slowly cruise to a stop. The weather was a pleasant 38 degrees and the sun was just bright enough to glint off the shiny new paint on Agnieska (the bike, idiot!).

If you've taken care of your Bull you know that one of the the best things while stuck at a traffic light are the stares of envy you attract. There was the usual crowd - uncle-JI's wishing they'd bought a Bull instead of those big, air-conditioned monstrosities on four wheels (Mercs they're called, I believe), bored aunty-JI's wondering what their hot yoga instructors were doing and Pinkis' and Pappus' picking their noses or drooling over Agsie (still talkin' of the bike, moron!). Acknowledging my superstar status, I turned off the ignition, adjusted the mirrors and checked that my receding hairline hadn't retreated any further overnight - all the while throwing quick glances at the traffic light (remember the 'Magnum' look in that Ben Stiller movie?).

And then it happened... the light turned GREEN.

With a lazy flick of my wrist, I turned on the ignition and pressed the electric starter - all the while glancing down arrogantly at the hoi polloi. There was a sound like a dog choking on a carrot. Unfazed, with the arrogant look still on my face, I pressed the starter again. This time the dog seemed to have swallowed a watermelon. With the sound of angry horns being honked by angrier drivers I turned to my reliable kick-start.

Kick One: Agsie burped...honking grows louder.
Kick Two: Agsie coughed...I can faintly make out references in punjabi to the female members of my clan.
Rolled Agsie forward and Kick Three: Familiar subdued thump...feel the power of the beast waking up. Shift 1-2-3 and I'm out of reach.

As I rolled away, spirits slightly dampened, I figured Agsie had taught me a valuable lesson in humility - the whole pride goes before a fall thing. No worries, I forgive all you car-driving, road-rage affected Dilli-wallahs. I ride a Bull, you'll just spend the rest of your miserable lives wishing you could.
Plus, when Royal Enfield take over the world, I'll have you all executed... nasty @#$%@@$%#

I got me a Bull

Concerned Chaddi-buddy: "Seriously, are you eff-ing crazy?"
Colleague, who's been there, done that: "Why don't you get a nice little NaNo instead? It's economical and safe. Plus, it'll have an A/C for Delhi's summers."
Older, wiser colleague: "Get a car - invest in your future."
Ex-GF: "What is this, a quarter-life crisis?"
Best Friend & Machismo owner: "It's pure lust. Don't fight it, go for it!!"
X: "I'll sleep with you if you buy the TBTS!!"

Ok, the last one isn't true. So here I am...late twenties, software coolie, haven't ridden anything except bsa champ/hero cycles (in school) and an advanced automatic-geared Kinetic (in college), with a history of crashing into gates, cycles, mopeds and innocent chole-bhature-wallahs by the road;my first bike - a Bullet? Looking back (to about two weeks), WHAT WAS I THINKING?

That's how love at first sight works, I guess. I was passing by a Bull pen, saw a few on dislpay and instantly fell for the TBTS. Some say it's not a real Bull - oh yeah?? !
It's been a couple of weeks now - early morning (4AM - honest!) rides because I'm too sissy to ride in Delhi's traffic, day-dreaming at work, reading up on Bull-care, planning long trips up mountains somewhere and hoping my parents don't find out that I've bought a bike.

Pissed-off parents: "Rajiv!!! You little turd! If that bike doesn't kill you, we will...."

IM(not-so-humble)O, there comes a time in every bonded labourer's life when he gets sick of hauling crap; planning and acting very carefully in the hope of a mythical Shangri-La-like future. He feels the urge to make a clean break from the past and, at the risk of sounding cliched, to get away from it all. Suddenly, in a moment of clarity, he decides to steal the master's horse and run away to the mountains - to savour the HERE and the NOW.
Well, I got a Bull and the labourer story doesn't make any sense, but being the don't-care-till-it-bites-me-in-the-@$$ kinda guy that I am, I really don't need to convince anyone.

Thump On (even with a subdued thump)!!