My bike; my friend

I don’t know when I fell in love with bikes. I remember the adrenaline rush I used to have each time I saw an episode of Street Hawk. I used to collect information about them and then irritate, especially my uncle with pretty useless trivia. Barraging him with my did you knows like Hayabusa means falcon, Kawasaki also makes spaceships, Ducati made radios and Yamaha builds swimming pools and unmanned helicopters. It’s been three years since I bought him, my one and only bike. Black Hero Honda Splendor + with blue and grey streaks. My journey on my iron stallion has just been that, a royal splendor. No electric start, no disc brakes, no alloy wheels, no fifth gear but I love him just the same. His beauty lies in his simplicity. There is a special and sacred bond that I share with him. He was the first gift from me to me. I remember the first day I rode him from the dealer to the temple very vividly. I must confess that I was a very shaky driver then. It took me no less than thirty to forty tries to keep the engine running after I had shifted him to first gear. Leave the clutch slowly gradually raising the accelerator said a kid half my age sitting on a monstrous bike twice his size. I did just that but he was in no mood to budge, stalling each and every time. Probably he didn’t like a stranger sitting on him, kicking and waking him from his deep slumber. Perspiration and embarrassment saturated me. I prayed, nothing. I pleaded, nothing. I begged and voila I was cruising albeit unstable through the streets of Bangalore. Slowly we rode; I took him to a fine service station and treated him to a healthy dose of his favorite Castrol engine oil topped with unleaded petrol served neat, bottoms up. Drink and drive is his motto. All the while, I kept rubbing his head to get that extra shine. I knew he was getting accustomed to me by the way he sparkled shyly. Filled his tubes with nitrogen to cool him on the hot pothole ridden roads and to carry the dead weight around the hideous, out of this world traffic. From that day to this day, I have the same joie de vivre feeling when I ride him. Very less maintenance, more than average mileage, ergonomically built for my comfort; what else do you need to fall in love with him. Every day we drop my dad to his office and then go to mine. He stays at the basement leaning stylishly, chatting and flirting with a gorgeous white Activa, though I have not had the same luck with its rider proving the stud that he is. At night he buzzes through the serpentine clogged roads with the same enthusiasm as always completely dedicated to get his tired rider home safe and sound. At times I have been a very irritable driver, taking all my frustrations on him. But he has always been patient with me, always starting at one kick, never being a nuisance to other drivers and taking good care of his own and the pillion. Especially when the pillion is extra special. There have been many unforgettable instances in my life courtesy of him. The first time I drove to my native with a special pillion, my mother. Off road drive with my colleagues. Long drive out of the city with my friends where the other bike buckled under pressure and he just went on and on and the first time we crossed the 100 km/h mark on top of Bangalore-Tumkur expressway. The exhilarating feeling of the breathtaking speed can’t be explained. The vibrating bike, cool air splashing my face, headlights of other vehicles passing by in a blink of an eye and the warm embrace from my pillion can’t be topped. I am no Evel knievel when it comes to stunts and I am no Valentino Rossi when it comes to speed and he is certainly no Chrysler Tomahawk too but we do alright. In a country where bike is the most preferred mode of transport for socio-economic reasons we know their value. They are revered as gods, worshiping them especially on Ayuda pooja during Dusshera where every bike will be in tip top shape sporting a garland of flowers and crushing lemons for good luck.  From 1885 in Germany where the first bike was built to this day its value has just increased. They have been an integral part of most our families and the respect that we share is proved when we bow to them humbly every time we start them. Like all Indians I don’t consider my bike to be just a motor on wheels but a friend, a divine relationship cherished for life and that’s what defines me and many others as drivers.

This is my entry for the Castrol Power1 Blogging Contest contest on Indiblogger: www.facebook.com/CastrolBiking