There's no advice given here - I am the one in need!
One more birthday has come and gone, and the time to make one more dream a reality(or to let it go forever) has come. I like the idea of making this particular dream a reality, but need somebody to blame it on, should it turn into a nightmare!
Should it be Kiran who took me for my first spin on a bike, and didn’t act smart when I asked, ‘But where do I hold on for support?’
Or Charan who first introduced me to the Bullet, and indulged me when I pleaded for rides along the beach, and even waited patiently while I jammed a helmet on my head – not so much because I was concerned about my safety as I was about being seen and being recognised in my small home town?
Or should I blame tall, dark, and…ummm…well, tall and dark Senthil, who with his 65 vintage Bullet seemed almost like a hero out of a classic romance?
Or Anand, who when I asked “So you have a bike?' said'No, I ride a Bullet!'
Or my teen, who insisted I do things I’ve always wanted to?
Or my DH(darling husband) who rolled his eyes, and said I was crazy?
Or MS' own Nandu who demanded weekly progress reports and said if his Medini could do it, I could too?
A little bit of all these people and experiences have fuelled the bike-fever I have in my blood now, so I suppose it is only fair to apportion the blame among all of them.
MS is full of bike enthusiasts, and I wouldn’t dare give advice on a'dream bike' of all things. Anyway, one can talk about one's own dream bike, but is it possible to tell someone how to go about dreaming of their perfect bike?
Coming back to my dream bike, she’s a witch – a dark, loudmouthed beauty with a kick to watch out for; I took one look at her and fell in love. Secretly I even gave her a name - MAYA. She’s an Royal Enfield Thunderbird.
She’s curvy and sexy but bloody heavy, and stubborn too – really tough to shift once she digs her wheels in. “Imagine you are lifting a bucket of water, and lift, don’t pull” I heard my instructor’s voice echo in my head, as I wrestled with that mound of metal while trying to put the stand in place, but I’ll bet no bucket of water weighed a blessed 190+ kilos – somebody needed to tell that woman that!
And she’s tall – you need to be more than my 5’4” to comfortably ride her.
“Why don’t you start with a Unicorn, that’s a nice and easy bike.” I remembered Senthil saying that as I struggled to get off this monster and still hold onto some shreds of dignity.
But no, I didn't want'nice and easy.' I had to follow paths that existed only in my mind, and often ended up as I did now – balanced on one leg, the other stuck in some bit of metal on the back of the Thunderbird, praying my pants wouldn't split, trying to block out my son’s sniggering and pay attention instead to the showroom manager who was asking me not to worry, saying he had a hold on the bike, and all I had to do was raise my leg a couple of centimetres, and it would be fine.
Blast, wouldn’t I raise my leg higher if I could? I made a mental note to call my yoga instructor, and concentrated on yanking the limb free. Whoever said dreams didn't come with a price!
Once I mastered the art of getting on and off, at least to the extent that I didn’t send my idiot teen into paroxysms of laughter, I sat astride the bike and pressed the switch that brought her to life.
If I tried to tell you how it felt, it would only sound obscene, so I’ll simply say it was a wonderful feeling – of having raw power in my hands, and of being in charge of it all. And the sound, the muted thump-thump(which while it was nowhere near the original, still said, 'I’m the Bullet's sister, don’t mess with me, ') sent a heady rush of excitement coursing through my veins. It took all the self control I had not to open up the throttle, and ride away, along the beach, chase the open road, feel the wind in my face, (and taking my meagre experience into consideration) probably crash within 10 mins of the ride, but still…
I let the warm throbbing of the metal ride up into my brain, till I could almost hear the dark witch laugh and say” I got you babe, I really got you.”
Killing the engine I clambered off, apologised to the showroom manager, and said I wanted this, but I was not ready yet; I needed some more practice on my driving school's rickety Splendour, and then I would be back.
“Don’t worry, ” he said, “when it’s time for your class, just come around here with your instructor, and take my bike. Learn on it for three or four days, then come back here and buy the one you want, there’s no hurry.”
“But I don’t know anything about bikes, ” I stammered “I can’t even name these parts.” I pointed to the array of instrument panels winking seductively at me in the dim light.
“Oh, that’s ok” he reassured me, “we have different kinds of bike mechanics classes for our customers – we will teach you everything you need to know.”
I had no more arguments – what could I say? If riding the borrowed Splendour could be such a thrilling experience, how much better this had to be, and I loved her already anyway.
The voices in my head, however, wouldn’t be seduced or silenced as easily as I had let myself be.
“Mid-life crisis, ” one voice said,
'Biker babe, tattoos and all, hmm? When are you going to get your leather jacket?” my brother’s voice teased,
“So what will you do next?” a friend’s voice sneered “Skydive with your bike?”
'But it's so dangerous, one hears of horrible accidents all the time' my mother's voice whispered
“The Thunderbird’s too hard for you to handle, find something else” a male expert said,
“Don’t just talk about it, do it ma.” My teen’s voice growled,
“Cool ma, Will you give me rides?” my Chelli-baby asked,
'The Bullet is for the mustachioed money lenders in our village' my DH's voice laughed, 'not for you. And anyway we don't have parking space'
“Go for it” my sister’s voice encouraged, “Who knows, maybe I will learn to ride too.”
Would my dream withstand the gritty reality of rush-hour traffic, a faceful of diesel fumes and expensive bike maintenance? Was this the bike for me? Are some dreams better left as dreams? Was I blowing away hard earned money on a passing notion?
I don’t know; I have no answers. I just know the Thunderbird, which to me is not just another super-fast bike with a number-letter combo name, but an idea, a feeling really, is tied up in the romance and rebellion of my doing things I always wanted to, but put away because of what other people would think, or because the time wasn't right, or something else equally stupid.
Touching her one last time, I walked away, swearing I would go for it. I would sign up for all the classes, I would do my ‘main-road lessons’ and I would be back.
For my bike, my slice of freedom, my Thunderbird.
If you really want my advice, I'll tell you about dreams, not bikes -
It's ok to dream. It's ok to try and follow your dreams, whatever they may be.
Life is too short for regrets.
