Some people love biking. They just can’t get enough of it. For them nothing can substitute the thrill of speeding through an empty urban roadway. They get some sort of high from the high octane biking. Unfortunately, as it turned out, I am one of those bikers.
“You are only as good as your machine”, I’ve heard this sentence and I find it absolutely preposterous. The people who say this are either the home bound theorists or have always travelled only on vast, plain and empty roads. When one comes across the urban roads it’s an entirely different matter. On such roads, driving is more of a mind thing than the machine dependent simulation. You can try all you like but while driving in a metro city you have to use your brains more often than any other sensory organ of your body and that’s precisely what makes it even more addictive.
There is absolutely nothing compared to a speedy retreat to ones dwelling, after a long hard day at the ever enigmatic place called ‘the office’. Just you and your bike, on the long, cold and dark road; speeding at your will; the wind in your hair, saying something soothing in your ears. The moment you climb that bike all the headaches and the heartburns, suffered during work, leaves you. You find that 1 hour of your day brilliantly dazzling in the otherwise pallid 24 hours. Probably the best thing about travelling by road is that there are no demarcations based on wealth, castes and creeds. You are all the same to the road and it will do all it can for all of us.
Then comes the rain.
Kolkata is a filthy city, utterly chaotic and closely resembling a bedlam. And the roads (a vast black array of bumps, holes, abysses, soil fragments) are made of surprisingly water soluble material, so it doesn’t take a genius to figure out the state of affairs when it rains in Kolkata. This combination is the most feared and deadly one and hardly any biker would find moxie to drive a bike on it let alone enjoying it.
Yesterday was a day of the Armageddon! (for the roads of Kolkata). The rain had started early morning and it was raining cats and dogs throughout the day and night. And during this cataclysmic day a lonely ranger ventured into the unknown. His weapons were with him- an overwhelming urge to go home, an optimism and trust on Kolkatan roads, and his bike. He was apprehensive yet he was confident, his heart raced with fear while his hands gripped the handle with an apodictic certitude. He was alone because his usual home-bound partner had ditched him. He put him anxiousness to rest and roared off from the parking. The moment he left the building he was drowned in a pool of muddy water. It was an artistic specter, with the debris floating in the water along with the biker. Suddenly the engine whined as if threatening to shut down and the adrenaline rushed in his body. He accelerated until he reached the shallower pool of muddy water. He had thought that this is the only demon he will have to face during this odyssey but as he looked up in the far horizon, he couldn’t help gulping his own words. There was a long, honking, blaring topsy-turvy awaiting his entrance onto the main road (from now on I will call the relatively shallow muddy waterway as road).
He was piqued to say the least. The journey hadn’t even started and he was loosing the first of his weapons. But he braved on. He found the small clearing between the monstrous buses and SUVs with great difficulty and inched his way closer to his destination. He was sure that this was the only stretch of road where he would face the 2 antagonists and as soon as he left that stretch, his problems would half themselves. He left it and drove in silence for a while, silence which turned out to be the one before the storm. As soon as he entered the “safer” zone, he was engulfed in a bigger wave of both traffic and water, this time the water daring to reach up to his knees. He was angry at God for making this such a painful experience for him, cursing his stars under his breath. Anger gave him new life and he accelerated into the ‘road’.
Just half way through the journey and he was exhausted and numb. The cold had settled into his bones and now he was sure that nothing could worsen the situation. Suddenly a pop! His headlight went out. The ire which followed inspired a fresh wave of adrenaline and he zoomed quickly into the dark. Out of nowhere he heard a guzzling sound of water being sucked somewhere and it was not long before he realized he was headed straight towards the open man-hole along with large quantities of muddy water. He maneuvered his bike just in time to avoid the catastrophe. Fortunately no more mishaps followed during the rest of his journey.
When he reached home he was at wits end. But surprisingly he wasn’t all forlorn. He was actually upbeat in reliving the experience in his head. He felt profoundly proud about being able to push his limits. He distinctly remembered feeling euphoric when the first raindrops hit his face. He had an impish smile on his face when he thought about the numerable pedestrians whom his bike had given a shower, during the quest of not shutting itself off. He was happy and wanted people to feel his thrill.
And that’s what one should ideally do in life, isn’t it? We crib and crib about what has happened in the past and how horrible it was but we never try to remember the little joys which it gave us. Life goes on and so should you. Take the positives out of a misfortune and move on because life is too short to be lived unhappily.
“You are only as good as your machine”, I’ve heard this sentence and I find it absolutely preposterous. The people who say this are either the home bound theorists or have always travelled only on vast, plain and empty roads. When one comes across the urban roads it’s an entirely different matter. On such roads, driving is more of a mind thing than the machine dependent simulation. You can try all you like but while driving in a metro city you have to use your brains more often than any other sensory organ of your body and that’s precisely what makes it even more addictive.
There is absolutely nothing compared to a speedy retreat to ones dwelling, after a long hard day at the ever enigmatic place called ‘the office’. Just you and your bike, on the long, cold and dark road; speeding at your will; the wind in your hair, saying something soothing in your ears. The moment you climb that bike all the headaches and the heartburns, suffered during work, leaves you. You find that 1 hour of your day brilliantly dazzling in the otherwise pallid 24 hours. Probably the best thing about travelling by road is that there are no demarcations based on wealth, castes and creeds. You are all the same to the road and it will do all it can for all of us.
Then comes the rain.
Kolkata is a filthy city, utterly chaotic and closely resembling a bedlam. And the roads (a vast black array of bumps, holes, abysses, soil fragments) are made of surprisingly water soluble material, so it doesn’t take a genius to figure out the state of affairs when it rains in Kolkata. This combination is the most feared and deadly one and hardly any biker would find moxie to drive a bike on it let alone enjoying it.
Yesterday was a day of the Armageddon! (for the roads of Kolkata). The rain had started early morning and it was raining cats and dogs throughout the day and night. And during this cataclysmic day a lonely ranger ventured into the unknown. His weapons were with him- an overwhelming urge to go home, an optimism and trust on Kolkatan roads, and his bike. He was apprehensive yet he was confident, his heart raced with fear while his hands gripped the handle with an apodictic certitude. He was alone because his usual home-bound partner had ditched him. He put him anxiousness to rest and roared off from the parking. The moment he left the building he was drowned in a pool of muddy water. It was an artistic specter, with the debris floating in the water along with the biker. Suddenly the engine whined as if threatening to shut down and the adrenaline rushed in his body. He accelerated until he reached the shallower pool of muddy water. He had thought that this is the only demon he will have to face during this odyssey but as he looked up in the far horizon, he couldn’t help gulping his own words. There was a long, honking, blaring topsy-turvy awaiting his entrance onto the main road (from now on I will call the relatively shallow muddy waterway as road).
He was piqued to say the least. The journey hadn’t even started and he was loosing the first of his weapons. But he braved on. He found the small clearing between the monstrous buses and SUVs with great difficulty and inched his way closer to his destination. He was sure that this was the only stretch of road where he would face the 2 antagonists and as soon as he left that stretch, his problems would half themselves. He left it and drove in silence for a while, silence which turned out to be the one before the storm. As soon as he entered the “safer” zone, he was engulfed in a bigger wave of both traffic and water, this time the water daring to reach up to his knees. He was angry at God for making this such a painful experience for him, cursing his stars under his breath. Anger gave him new life and he accelerated into the ‘road’.
Just half way through the journey and he was exhausted and numb. The cold had settled into his bones and now he was sure that nothing could worsen the situation. Suddenly a pop! His headlight went out. The ire which followed inspired a fresh wave of adrenaline and he zoomed quickly into the dark. Out of nowhere he heard a guzzling sound of water being sucked somewhere and it was not long before he realized he was headed straight towards the open man-hole along with large quantities of muddy water. He maneuvered his bike just in time to avoid the catastrophe. Fortunately no more mishaps followed during the rest of his journey.
When he reached home he was at wits end. But surprisingly he wasn’t all forlorn. He was actually upbeat in reliving the experience in his head. He felt profoundly proud about being able to push his limits. He distinctly remembered feeling euphoric when the first raindrops hit his face. He had an impish smile on his face when he thought about the numerable pedestrians whom his bike had given a shower, during the quest of not shutting itself off. He was happy and wanted people to feel his thrill.
And that’s what one should ideally do in life, isn’t it? We crib and crib about what has happened in the past and how horrible it was but we never try to remember the little joys which it gave us. Life goes on and so should you. Take the positives out of a misfortune and move on because life is too short to be lived unhappily.
