Please go ahead reading the first part of the incident (mentioned as a separate post below). This is the continuation.
____________________________________________________________________________
My Heart Beats THUMP …THUMP…THUMP!!! – Lighten up Holy cow:(
The moment I start driving my style, I reach home without hassles and issues in less than an hour. Again, I never took the Bullet above 70 kmph at any point.
I am home and its been two days. I haven't taken bullet out as I might have taken the other bikes. I don't do any R 'n' D s on the bike, no photo shoots.
TRING ... TRING !!!
Phone rings.
My mother does the honor of picking up the call. It's my uncle and most probably his query would have been about me.
She cries out in happiness, " He is here. Hasn't gone anywhere on the bike in the last days." Happiness oozing out of every word. She is happy to have me near her sight, where I would be rather safe.
I walk out of my house to find the Bullet parked in the parking space. The Bullet stood a legend, challenging me on what I probably boasted the most- My 'gone into drain' riding skills. I let the Bullet win here, put my head straight back down and get back to my laptop.
These happens in the morning, Late in the afternoon I can see my uncle standing on the door steps.
Oh... That's a great surprise. Please don't tell me that he is here to take back the bike. That would be the greatest defeat of my lifetime.
No. He wouldn't do that. I have known him all my life. No...No way!
I greet him,
'How's everything?' He asks.
'The motorbike's fine. Not a single scratch. Just the right foot peg bent a little.' I answer to ensure that he doesn't take away the bike.
'I never asked you about the bike. I could probably pay another 100,000 rupees and get another one.'
Clearly he was more bothered about me. I knew that even before I answered. He was one of the coolest person I have ever known. The reason why I called him when I scratched that car was also this. Being a petrol head, I could only think of the bike first, before me. It's always been like that, and will always be so.
My mother comes into the scene, serves tea. She was happy to see her elder brother. She always had a great amount of affection for him and his family, as she had for me and my younger sister.
While the tea session, he drops an atom bomb. He mentions that those people call him up and they were quoting 8500 rupees to get the door panel done.
Not again... I should have listened to the elders and sat quietly at home (again, what a thought! Occurs whenever I screw up). No one to ask, beg or borrow. Neither would anyone pay up.
Asking dad would have resulted in, me having three Adam's apple. To hell, I am not asking him. Definitely not! It was my mess and I needed to sort it out.
My uncle suggested that, he and my dad have a look at the door panel and I stay back. They go and view the depth and width of the kisses that the Bullet has given. Fair deal. I encourage that thought.
As he was about to leave, he comes close to me, whispers in my ear, 'Ride the god damn bike!' and he smiles. I understand what he meant and I see him leaving.
Next day....
Dup..Dup..Dup.......Again Dup...Dup..Dup..Duuuu.....
I again follow the mantra. The third time, Dup...Dup...Dup...Thump...Thump..
Aww, What a feeling! The Bullet has started thumping again. I go out on a 60 kilometer ride. Not so cool. I was too conscious.
I am not giving up. Period!
I plan to do the country/Village roads. Plenty of deserted village roads nearby. Scenic short drives would be a treat to my eyes and also would make my ride-longing soul happy.
So I start all over again, the loud thumps waking up the lonely, deserted roads and
I ride again....
_________________________________________________________________________
My Heart Beats THUMP …THUMP…THUMP!!! – Finally JOY :)
Days passed, weeks passed. I drove the Bullet along the village roads.
Now the Bullet was no more a legend or a raging bull or something fierce, it was now my best buddy. Someone whom I take along to any place that I go.
It became an extension of my body, pretty much like any ordinary or sports bike. My eyes would dictate and the Bullet would follow the path.
I would take it down to the beautiful, lonely alley nearby or to the evening market in my village, to the challenging city traffic or the long stretch of highways.
Most enjoyable of the rides came when I used to take it to the night to the nearby Cinema halls. May it be the lads with a skinny sports motorbike or a middle aged man with an under powered car, the Bullet would get its due respect. The return was even more thrilling. I would be relaxed, couple of fingers of the right hand doing the job of holding the throttle to keep the bike in motion, the left hand relaxing on my left knees, face shield of my helmet open to let the cold air have a go at my face, couple of buttons of my shirt left open so that air touches my body and forms bubbles in my shirt at the back and I would sit relaxed void of tensions and stresses that the world has to offer. That is the time when I know that, I am living my life.
I have so got adapted to the bullet that my heart starts beating to the tone of bullet's exhaust note. The rhythm that is loud and heavy enough to wake a small kid up sleeping peacefully in the house, scary enough to give a heart attack to a robber trying to sneak in through a locked gate, good enough to wake the lonely sleeping alley, sweet enough to pierce through my ears and reach my heart, melodic enough to set a rhythm good enough for my beating heart.
Yes, My heart has beat-ed to the thumps and I have experienced the pleasure beyond imagination. That was then and my life has moved on.
When I look back, I feel like my heart misses beating to the thumps and I sure miss living my life like a Royal on the ROYAL ENFIELD.
(some parting shots...)
THE END...
Hope you all liked my write up. Thanks for reading.
____________________________________________________________________________
My Heart Beats THUMP …THUMP…THUMP!!! – Lighten up Holy cow:(
The moment I start driving my style, I reach home without hassles and issues in less than an hour. Again, I never took the Bullet above 70 kmph at any point.
I am home and its been two days. I haven't taken bullet out as I might have taken the other bikes. I don't do any R 'n' D s on the bike, no photo shoots.
TRING ... TRING !!!
Phone rings.
My mother does the honor of picking up the call. It's my uncle and most probably his query would have been about me.
She cries out in happiness, " He is here. Hasn't gone anywhere on the bike in the last days." Happiness oozing out of every word. She is happy to have me near her sight, where I would be rather safe.
I walk out of my house to find the Bullet parked in the parking space. The Bullet stood a legend, challenging me on what I probably boasted the most- My 'gone into drain' riding skills. I let the Bullet win here, put my head straight back down and get back to my laptop.
These happens in the morning, Late in the afternoon I can see my uncle standing on the door steps.
Oh... That's a great surprise. Please don't tell me that he is here to take back the bike. That would be the greatest defeat of my lifetime.
No. He wouldn't do that. I have known him all my life. No...No way!
I greet him,
'How's everything?' He asks.
'The motorbike's fine. Not a single scratch. Just the right foot peg bent a little.' I answer to ensure that he doesn't take away the bike.
'I never asked you about the bike. I could probably pay another 100,000 rupees and get another one.'
Clearly he was more bothered about me. I knew that even before I answered. He was one of the coolest person I have ever known. The reason why I called him when I scratched that car was also this. Being a petrol head, I could only think of the bike first, before me. It's always been like that, and will always be so.
My mother comes into the scene, serves tea. She was happy to see her elder brother. She always had a great amount of affection for him and his family, as she had for me and my younger sister.
While the tea session, he drops an atom bomb. He mentions that those people call him up and they were quoting 8500 rupees to get the door panel done.
Not again... I should have listened to the elders and sat quietly at home (again, what a thought! Occurs whenever I screw up). No one to ask, beg or borrow. Neither would anyone pay up.
Asking dad would have resulted in, me having three Adam's apple. To hell, I am not asking him. Definitely not! It was my mess and I needed to sort it out.
My uncle suggested that, he and my dad have a look at the door panel and I stay back. They go and view the depth and width of the kisses that the Bullet has given. Fair deal. I encourage that thought.
As he was about to leave, he comes close to me, whispers in my ear, 'Ride the god damn bike!' and he smiles. I understand what he meant and I see him leaving.
Next day....
Dup..Dup..Dup.......Again Dup...Dup..Dup..Duuuu.....
I again follow the mantra. The third time, Dup...Dup...Dup...Thump...Thump..
Aww, What a feeling! The Bullet has started thumping again. I go out on a 60 kilometer ride. Not so cool. I was too conscious.
I am not giving up. Period!
I plan to do the country/Village roads. Plenty of deserted village roads nearby. Scenic short drives would be a treat to my eyes and also would make my ride-longing soul happy.
So I start all over again, the loud thumps waking up the lonely, deserted roads and
I ride again....
_________________________________________________________________________
My Heart Beats THUMP …THUMP…THUMP!!! – Finally JOY :)
Days passed, weeks passed. I drove the Bullet along the village roads.
Now the Bullet was no more a legend or a raging bull or something fierce, it was now my best buddy. Someone whom I take along to any place that I go.
It became an extension of my body, pretty much like any ordinary or sports bike. My eyes would dictate and the Bullet would follow the path.
I would take it down to the beautiful, lonely alley nearby or to the evening market in my village, to the challenging city traffic or the long stretch of highways.
Most enjoyable of the rides came when I used to take it to the night to the nearby Cinema halls. May it be the lads with a skinny sports motorbike or a middle aged man with an under powered car, the Bullet would get its due respect. The return was even more thrilling. I would be relaxed, couple of fingers of the right hand doing the job of holding the throttle to keep the bike in motion, the left hand relaxing on my left knees, face shield of my helmet open to let the cold air have a go at my face, couple of buttons of my shirt left open so that air touches my body and forms bubbles in my shirt at the back and I would sit relaxed void of tensions and stresses that the world has to offer. That is the time when I know that, I am living my life.
I have so got adapted to the bullet that my heart starts beating to the tone of bullet's exhaust note. The rhythm that is loud and heavy enough to wake a small kid up sleeping peacefully in the house, scary enough to give a heart attack to a robber trying to sneak in through a locked gate, good enough to wake the lonely sleeping alley, sweet enough to pierce through my ears and reach my heart, melodic enough to set a rhythm good enough for my beating heart.
Yes, My heart has beat-ed to the thumps and I have experienced the pleasure beyond imagination. That was then and my life has moved on.
When I look back, I feel like my heart misses beating to the thumps and I sure miss living my life like a Royal on the ROYAL ENFIELD.
(some parting shots...)
THE END...
Hope you all liked my write up. Thanks for reading.
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