raat ko
mandeep
The moon isn't visible tonight. Instead the sky is full of clouds, marching to take up the positions for the upcoming battle of monsoons. Soon, darkness will envelope the surroundings like a habit being pulled over a beautiful nun's face, obscuring and darkening the faint glow of her angelic face. Thunderclaps will sound like a huge applause from the gods, witnessing the strange drama of human turmoil, going on and on and on. And then, it will rain. Softly at first, the aroma of the earth mingling with the numerous other earthly smells and producing an intoxicating mixture of perfumes to be inhaled and cherished. Harder then, washing off the dust and grit accumulated over the summers and winters on the leaves of trees, waking them up from the lazy stupor of the heat and sweat, refreshing them, reviving them, invigorating them again with a zest to live, cleansing the roads of their burden of grime, gladdening one's soul, mind and body, grateful for the elixir of life touching one's body as intimately as a lover. But there is still time.
This was what I was thinking when I climbed down the stairs tonight. It was just impulsive. A need to ride, even a short distance would do. But I had to ride. So here I was at 10.15 opening the shutter and getting the bike out. Putting the key to the ignition, I did all the checks that come automatically when I ride. I had fuel, enough to get me some place I didn't know I was going to and back. The oil level was ok and so was everything else. The bike started without much aplomb. I think it always knows when I am riding beyond the city limits. It idles happily, like a child gurgling contentedly after acquiring a new toy. I let it idle for a moment while I cleaned the glass of the headlight and then I was off.
It is still summer, so the city hadn't gone to sleep completely as yet. It was almost in a fitful slumber, like a child being plagued by a nightmare, tossing and turning and waking up in cold sweat. Here and there, a crotch rocket with free flow silencers would fart and make its presence felt. Some scooters and activas whizzed by but I had better things to do than think of stupid kids with their puny 100 cc scooterettes on steroids. I let the 500 make its mind about where to go. It automatically turned its way towards dharampur, a sleepy little town about 30 kilometers from my place. It was like Epicenter was reading my mind. I had been thinking of going this way since a long time but due to some reason or the other, I couldn't. It was like the motorcycle was rewarding me with this ride, thanking me for taking care of it each and every day, feeding it oil and letting it guzzle fuel, tightening the tappets and changing the clutch plates.
As soon as I crossed the highway flyover towards Dharampur, darkness closed over. Like a human fist closing over a trapped mosquito. The low beam was trying its best to prevent me from crashing into the milestones but was failing to do the job satisfactorily. I switched over to the high beam, which cut like a light saber into the darkness and illuminated the deserted and winding road to as far as my spectacled eyes could see, and then some more. I felt more at home and more confident. The 500 chugged along happily, like a goods train with just the right load on it. Neither straining too much, nor running unrestrained. It was a cool night, despite the heat of the hot summer. The foliage, which now appeared in the shadows as wretched souls of humans and super humans long gone, lent a healthy freshness to the atmosphere. If it was daylight with these temperatures, I could ride all day long. Where the trees faded off, the sky was full of a strange compilation of different shapes of clouds visible in the strange incandescence of their own. A jigsaw puzzle, still unsolved. Who would dare solve it? I wondered and rode on with a wistful smile on my face.
Riding alone at sedate speeds in wonderful weather indulges you to think of various things. The same was the case with me. I though of all the wonderful times I had had since I had bought this living legend called the royal Enfield 500. The amazing rides, the magnificent friends, blood brothers for life, easy camaraderie on the roads, bickering about things relaxing after a long ride, a race against the sun, or the rain. A state of calm descended upon me. I was one with this vintage piece of machinery thumping gloriously, remembering the last fifty years of its existence and the times it had gone through to be here with me, and me with it.
A smattering of light welcomed me and before I knew I was thumping into Dharampur. The empty streets of the city center, although relatively small, reverberated with the exhaust note of the motorbike and I had to pull in the clutch and slow down to suppress the sounds a bit. Ahead, a familiar sight, the regular tea stop was still open. It was 11.20. I decided to have a cuppa. One for the road. Tea at 11.30 was amazingly refreshing. My vision cleared up as the strong, invigorating fluid entered the system and the anti oxidants started to do their thing. It was like somebody had cleaned up my eyes with a magical solution. The roads appeared clear, the vision sharp, taking in all the motions it had been avoiding, knowingly or unknowingly, consciously or sub consciously earlier. I just sat there taking in the emptiness of the streets, the lack of traffic, except the highway bound trucks, racing to link up and empty their loads somewhere or the other. Listened to the Rajasthani folk songs playing at 1.5 times the speed of sound and enjoyed them a lot. It sounded like a strange concoction of noises, familiar and alien with music from some obscure cartoon film put into the background. I paid the money and saddled my steed again. A soft hiss of decompression, like a python sighing after an extremely engaging meal with pleasure and an ultasoft kick later, the motor was thrumming softly under my bottom. The ripples of vibrations creating various patterns on my arms. I shifted gears and headed home.
The leisurely pace and the cool atmosphere soon nullified the freshness that had enveloped me after the cup of tea and I was feeling drowsy. I rode on, reducing the speed still further, not wanting any error in judgment in the middle of nowhere at midnight. Of course the cell phone would bring in any help if something happened. But better safe than sorry. I chugged along, homeward bound, at a stately 40kmph. It was past midnight when I reached the road where I would turn left, head home, park the bike, give it a pat, climb the stairs, change into my boxers, arrange my pillows and plop into bed to go to sleep. But something didn't want me to take that turn. I motored on straight and soon realized what it was. A turn, this time towards the right, leading to the station, for some more chai. But it wasn't chai that made me take the turn. I was feeling hungry. Maybe it was the weather. So the station it was. As soon as I parked my bike, I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned around and smiled. Rajubhai, a policeman, whom I had known since my days at Tata Motors was smiling at me too and indicated a small sign on the wall. It said "No Parking". I shrugged, he smiled and patted my back and said, "Chal Chai Piyenge". So we went to the stall and soon I was having another cup of tea. He also ordered paav bhaji, which is one of the favorite midnight snacks I prefer. Usually Sandeep or I go to the station at midnight to get it. We reminisced the fun we used to have at Carewell Motors and enquired about each other's families. Soon it was well past 1 o clock and I decided that if I wanted an entry into my house tonight, then I would have to haul ass as soon as possible. I thanked Rajubhai profusely for the chai and paav bhaji, he waved his hand and soon I was heading home. After killing the engine a couple of hundred yards from my building, I coasted to a stop at the gate. Gently lifting the lock, I let Epicenter and myself in. I parked the bike, gave it a pat, headed up the stairs, opened the lock with the stealth of a SWAT commando, entered my room, changed into my boxers, fluffed up my pillow, plopped my ass into the welcoming softness of my bed, bounced twice to bed myself in, shook off my slippers and closed my eyes and fell into the mattress.
But sleep would not come easily. I lay there in my bed almost wide awake. Then I got up, switched on the computer and put up the ride in writing.
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cheers
mandeep
98258 70143
valsad
I don't need shoxs, my ass absorbs the impact