Need for Speed_Hamara Bajaj

I was returning after hustling the defense government at the Army workshop. This place is near Trinity church, sprawling acres of land dotted with the typical manicured lawns and age old buildings. The roads from Trinity Church, towards old airport road are winding and mostly empty during 11 or so in the afternoon, so I speed-ed up.

Strategically located, under some shady tress, were Banglorean cops with a speed gun concealed, under a SUV’s hood. I was doing good speed, and so one white hat policeman made way to the center of the road and motioned me towards the side end.

Damm…..another  100 this time, that too after bloody pleading as though he was doing a favor for me. I had already been ripped once in Doddenakundi.

What’s the use of a big bike if I can’t speed up?

I reduced the throttle wearily, as I made my way to the side. 

Just as slowed down, I could catch a glimpse of the smug expression on his face.

I felt repulsed.

I revved up suddenly and squeezed through the side gap and made way past him easily.

The shrill whistle of the police red light echoed behind me, however there was no movement of the vehicle towards me. I speeded up more; the old airport road I know well, and soon I could find one gully deserted enough for me to park.

I got down the bike, unstrapped my helmet and sat near the side walk.

What had I just done? Escaped a policeman?????

I am darn sure they had a number of my bike on their records; the speed gun takes pictures also. They could trace me easily. But then I asked myself, will they?

Will they trace someone because he was speeding and did not stop to pay chai paani to them?

I could not reach the main office road through side roads, I had to come to the main road once and now I think the policeman would have circulated my number to all others in the beat stating that there is a high chance for cash making.

Do I plaster mud on my number plate; bloody sounds so bollywood movie types, and so obvious a display of foul play.

Devil …….please light the flame of wit.

Devil is good; particularly when devil meets the full time resident saint.

Aha….got it. I navigated a bit through the internal roads and shops and found one stationary shop; I got some black paint and a brush.

Then, parking it near the tree away from sight of people, (or so I thought).I began art work. One deft swing of my fingers and 3 became an 8.

I got a coke and some puffs, as lunch as I waited for the paint to dry.

All preparations done, I removed my shirt too. I had a flimsy translucent t-shirt underneath, for I had run out of undergarments.(Its Friday ……..ignoramus!).

Do I throw away the articles of suspect that is the brush and the paint? Being caught on the murder scene .........if at all being caught is a good idea............. then definitely the murder weapon should not be in your hand.

Why so serious ..............said the devil?

I packed the brush and paint as well.

I came to the main road again, and zoomed forward. This time I was slow. I reached the outer ring road without any trouble. From here I went through a gully route to my office and reached without any obstruction.

Now, I wait for the summons from the court .......... if any….

What do you say?