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?

Shatter-Proof

It is said, that once just once you see the light at the end of the tunnel. Sometimes you cross it .....sometimes you don’t, but the realization of the fragility of life, hits you hard............ pretty hard........... at that instant.

Yesterday night, it was pretty late. I had spend the whole day filling one detailed vendor registration form( a  9 page document), for a global OEM.Their representative had come in , and my boss and him were at it the whole day, I had filled something and he had to review it and bosses................. never have time.............. but they have deadlines :)

 

White skinned people believe in light lunches, ( a grilled sandwich, alas!) , and I am not a huge fan of these kind of lunches so hunger was predominant .On top if it the realization that if I delay by some more minutes all I would have was leftovers.

Hence the need for speed and one obliging machine at hand,(और ..........बजरंज बली का स्मरण!!) .

I reached outer ring road in about 3 minutes…(yep I timed it).This place is my favorite, cause there is one long stretch of nice tar and all............ want to race! 

Cab drivers cannot accept the fact that someone can be madder than them. So one guy was honking all the way trying to catch up with me.He managed it too, however, I always squeezed in between some gaps not good enough for 4 wheels.

 I caught his eyes and they were determined to get ahead. 

Madness is like gravity, it just needs a little push. So I flicked the throttle and revved to 100kmph easily, zip zap and zoom, and one swerve after another.

Coming close to ISRO, there is a turn. One Volvo bus (500D) roared for a quick U turn. 

It was, it seems to me a bit late to break, from my end, nevertheless I braked hard. Rear and front, the punched and holey disc brakes screeched.

Linear momentum plus coefficient of kinetic friction began a tussle and in the midst of it my machine was unsure whether to stop or move on.

I struggled to gain control. Narrowly missing the bus, I skidded on the last part of the mad dance of physics.

The burnt rubber………….the still rolling wheels…………. and the honks all around and milling of some curious on lookers.

I was dazed.

I patted myself………no scratch…not even one………

It hit me hard then.........the fragility of life........

Why the hell was I rushing about? For one meal of two rotis and some gravy…is that what this all is about?

Why are we all rushing around?

It wasn’t the first time I had an accident miss but it was certainly the first time I had thought about life. I had always lived in moments, and each moment had been transient. I had reveled in the transience and mocked my life, jeered at others who tried to capture on to these moments without any success.

Maybe, they are right.

Maybe life is about housing loans, infrastructure bonds, EMIs, fancy cars, trophy wives and status befitting club memeberships. 

For with them at least when you die you have a reason better than 2 rotis and some gravy.

A smile flickered on my face.I stood up and surveyed the bike, there wasn’t a scratch on it either, so I guess the disc brakes really work and I had just fallen due to the sudden stop.

Revving the engine I moved on.

PS – I had fried rice that night, somehow did not like the idea of rotis : )

Do You Want Directions?

I am new to this place, well relatively.

Sometimes when I need to go to a new place I ask for directions.

From today on I have decided to complete refer to only Google maps!!

One of our Directors, (he was the one who took my interview!), came in from firangland.Hi, Hello and greetings went on and later on I happened to bump into him while I was departing. I was planning to go to a place near Kundanalli for dinner, which I was told housed a nice Sardarji ka dhaba, famous for dal amritsari.

For good measure I told this person my plans to have dinner at that place.And just by way of conversation asked if there was a shorter way to go there.

Oh my!!

“Well there are two ways you see….if you leave the entrance of our office and take a right. Now this is a one way so obviously, you will have to take a U turn and then come back to our entrance but on the opposite side”.

He paused and I waited patiently to get some displacement in his instruction rather than the mere distance.

“And then, you see take an immediate left you will end up in a side lane. Now this lane you see is very narrow and mind you there are seven speed breakers so if I were you I would drive slowly. From here the second red light ….. “

He paused again. My mind scarcely registered anything beyond the seven speed breakers. No ways my suspension will go for a toss.

“And from the red light you go on in straight and then……”

I caught a quick look of my colleagues grinning face and had the nasty suspicion that I was at the butt end of an idiosyncrasy.

I nodded to my director and he added, “ To the right you see the gate…..

Ahh kundanalli gate, I knew that place, thankfully his flow stopped then.

“Thank”……and before the “You” ,  came out.

“ And the second way, you see is much better…..”

Seemed,  like he was one long lost traveler and wanted to ensure that no humanity was to ever suffer from lack of directions. 

The dal amritsari and kulcha in my mind were tantalizing close, but ostensibly unapproachable.

It would say to suffice that it was Krishna Vaibhava deluxe thali yet another night !

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 ……..no 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.

Pulsar 220 Street Fighter_Hamara Bajaj !

Hookers take a break , now it is time to appreciate one more body .... an Indian engineering first !!

After waiting the minimum possible time,  for a maximum cubic capacity bike I finally rolled out a pulsar 220 cc street fighter edition.Took this one, to get the max power to weight ratio.

No changes, I am stereotyping in my cage.This is the fifth Bajaj in my family, my dad had a penchant for chetaks, he got 4 of them in his lifetime !!

Anyways, back to the review.

All would have heard the cliched term of allowing the engine to break in before you race it........a thousand times??

I did not pay any heed to it !!

I rolled out the machine and flicked the electric starter.It purred to life, then after some gentle maneuvering through high traffic roads I reached the outer ring road Doddenakundi village street.I opened the throttle, and it raced on easily.No vibrations , no hint that I was doing a 100 kmph.

I happened to glance at the digital display and then realized that this is the first night case.You shouldn't be too harsh should you !!

Jokes apart, it is indeed a good engineering piece.The closest YZ , and R 15 look big, but in the end capacity matters.What is the use of adding hoods and side benders when your engine gives a puny 150 cubic capacity? The piston would only have a small distance to move,  so high speed for long time would naturally heat up the engine.

There are some hiccups,in it too.It seems huge and slightly unwieldy.The hood which gives its mean look also makes sitting slightly uncomfortable.Turning radius is good , but I lost track of which gear i was on, it pulls on easily on any gear, with the minimum rattling noise you would associate, when you lose speed on a higher gear.I read through the manual in detail, they allow for a max speed of 65km, till the first 1000 kilometers.It reaches that much in about 5 seconds , and I barley rotate the race !

And it has no kick, so god forbid if you lose battery on a highway.A single lever gear makes it tough to shift up and down, I got marks on my leather shoes. But 2 days later the gear shift became very synchronized, almost moving in on cue, rather sliding into place.

The bike is carbureted,  which is kind of a step back from fuel injection. However this shift back , gives a power output that is raw, high and a bit frightening.Obviously mileage will go for a toss, but not a huge one it seems :)

Long rides will take a bit more time, but I am looking forward to them :)