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Sunday, December 5, 2010

Vroom Vrooooooom !!

I had just finished my lunch at my standard hotel, the standard fare, and was pondering on options ahead. Someone mentioned Nandi hills and its resemblance to a modest hill station and its existence some 60 kms, in the adjacent tables.

My dame had just clocked 209 kms, and now putting an additional 120 odd on it?

To zap or…….. to not……..? …….The eternal question.

“No”, decided the better part of me, “Yes” decided the not so better part of me, and I j...............just sat there and ordered another rava dosa.

“Sir you look like Surya from Singham,”, the dyed in madras waiter from the hotel interrupted my dense thoughts.

Ahh the moustache, I thought and retorted back in Tamil, dallied with him for some time with a smile on my face.

Way out I drove leisurely to my room and parked my bike outside the gate which was locked. I got down and went inside to unlock it. There is a building being constructed adjacent to mine and there are a lot of construction workers and their families in temporary makeshift huts nearby.

One kid had another half her size perched on the hip. She was staring at the smooth finish of the bike with an indefinable expression on her face. She did not see me as I was well hidden by the parking gate wall. Slowly she took her finger and traced it smoothly on the fuel tank, blowing her warm breath on it and tracing her finger simultaneously.

I suddenly interrupted her flow and walked towards my bike with a determined stride. My countenance seemed to inspire detestation in her, and she stepped back slightly. I ignored her and saw what she had scribbled.

She had traced a perfect “pulsar” in a similar manner to the metal plate, which was fast vanishing against the cool breeze.

I looked at her and felt a sudden twinge of sadness. 

What was the difference between me and her, a couple of feet, some additional kilos and miscellaneous resources?

“Coming for a ride?” I asked her in Tamil. She did not understand …

Meanwhile a woman came briskly from the huts, with a menacing expression on her face, directed towards the kid.

I told her “I am taking these kids for a ride”, mimicking riding expressions.

The woman was puzzled. I did not really look like the street kid lover part of the image. I mimicked road distance and said I wouldn’t go far. She nodded, so I guess I did not quite look the street kid grabber image too. I hoisted the girl on the pillion who was then relived of the younger one by her mother. She clutched my ample midriff, (no corrections these are love handles!!) and I took off.

One spin around and I came back.

The girl jumped off and walked away. No thanks …… acknowledgment

I was disappointed, I expected, a nod or at least a smile from her.

Anyways, this little episode over me parked the beast, made to my room, and promptly dozed off. When I woke up it was evening, I decide to mall out.

I walked down, and was greeted with a gleaming bike. It was no superficial cleaning, I looked at the kick and the rear mud guards, and they were sparkling too.

The security guard seeing my self gave a thin whistle. I looked up and he pointed his finger towards the hut and said softly, “She just went back“.

Ahh, so that’s her way of saying thanks. She wanted to mean it, not just say it. She was a rare breed of a street child, a rare one indeed.

In a sudden burst of inspiration I kneeled down and blew my breath against the fuel tank. In a manner that could be termed as artistic, (stretching the term wee bit far), I traced a “thanks”. As I straightened up the “thanks” was fast vanishing too, however I believed that my point was well conveyed.