The world’s population ,according to me,is divided into two categories-people who know me,and people who don’t.People who know me,have,invariably,at some point of my life commented upon/laughed at/looked with disgust at,my ride. People who don’t know me,well,some of them atleast,have seen a rickety old motor-cycle being driven by some random guy,and have commented upon/laughed at/looked with disgust at,his ride.It didn’t take much for my mathematically challenged brain to put two and two together and infer that the whole world hated my poor Victor.
So,like any other 20-yr old under peer pressure,the pressure to get a girl-friend, and the pressure of disgusted faces every time I passed those faces on my bike,I decided to change my ride.I usually aim high, so I thought of getting a Royal Enfield. An Enfield,unlike some cell phones,costs something in the range of 1-2 lakhs,and I didn’t have that kind of cash on me.So,daddy dearest had to be convinced.
Now, convincing my father to get me a new bike wasn’t going to be easy.Conversations,especially those which involved the flow of dough from his hands to mine,were like a chess game.I needed to play my moves correctly if I had any chance of conquering that royal stash of cash. Fortunately,I had convinced my mother that I needed a new bike by confusing her with my technical wizardry.Mum was convinced,I had the queen playing for me. I played my pawn with some confidence.
“What do you need a new bike for?”Asked my dad as he read about India’s loss to South Africa.India had lost the game.Dhoni,unknowingly,had made my father grumpy,and by extension,had jeopardized my chances.That fu*ker.
“The Victor’s gear box,clutch plate and camshaft are in a bad shape.The repairs will amount to about five grand.”
“I don’t mind,take the money from my wallet and send the damn thing for repairs”.Little width offered,and Soham’s dad hits it for a four.I felt stupid.I looked for help.
Mum went,”The neighboring kid had a bad accident on his motorcycle. Maybe we should go visit him”
“Yeah.Idiotic guy,must be riding his bike too fast to handle.”he said as he peered over the paper.Good,we had him falling.
“I suppose,but he wasn’t at much high a speed,around 60ks an hour”I said.
“Is it? Then how did he end up hurting himself?”
“His brakes failed,baba.2002 model Passion.Old bike,rickety parts,happens all the time.”
“He should have got them repaired ”A good ball,but defended well by the batsman.I felt dejected as Ricky Ponting stared at me from the back of the page. I wondered why dad never read Bombay Times. Rejection, laced with a look at Scarlett Johansson’s cleavage, was any day better than rejection laced with Ricky’s frown.
I looked helplessly at mum.She tried again “These old bikes are getting risky. Maybe we should get him a car.”A fast in swinging yorker,and the batsman was shaken.Mum had appealed to the analytical CA’s mind.”As it is ,the bike consumes about the same petrol as car does,we might as well get him a safer ride.”Both,me and dad knew this was a bit over the top,I mean,my bike wasn’t the slickest of all machines,but it did give an average of 35.But mum looked serious, none of us dared to point that out to her.
Now,I had his full attention,it wasn’t shared with Dhoni’s abysmal captaincy. Pointing’s face was flat against the table;Preity Zinta popped out from some page, proclaiming she’d come first if she played cricket.Or something like that.I knew there was a dirty joke that I was missing there.I didn’t bother,I wanted to get rid of the dirty bike.
The CA asked(for those of you who haven’t got it by now,my dad is a CA,I didn’t want to insult others’ intelligence by mentioning it earlier)-“Okay,the rides getting risky?”
“Yes baba,it is getting risky”A vigorously bobbing head said.
“And you reckon the bike consumes petrol like you drink Frooti?”
(He had absolutely no business teasing my distaste for aerated drinks there,I was bubbling inside,but a shiny bike’s vision burst the bubbles)
“Yes.It is getting quite expensive to drive it. Perhaps we should get a new bike, the cost will be recovered in the petrol”
A hint of a smile.I thought he was proud that I had used economic considerations to convince him-showed him I had gained respect for money after all.
“Alright.I have a solution that offers far less risk(he looked at mum) and decreased cost(and here,at me)since you have begun thinking about money so much”
His tone was cocky,mocking.I had heard myself using that tone many times. And I never said anything good in that tone.I hated it.
“Travel by bus”. And Pointing stared at me once more.I thought he was smiling a bit.That bastard.
Royal Enfield zoomed away from my imagination leaving me screwed. Royally screwed.
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Soham Sabale.
(Guest Writer)
The Grease Monkey Blog
