May 30th
When I digressed last, Motorbreath wasn't in my viewport. Few seconds out, and there he is, a red-black spec of flesh and metal riding into my view horizon. As he pulls alongside me, he gestures indicating his steed cannot cope with speeds beyond a 110kmph. He rides ahead to demonstrate. With full throttle, and me tailing closely behind, he blasts off into the ether once more. And no sooner does my speedometer register a 110, sure enough, his steed starts stalling. To further impress his point, Motorbreath crouches over to minimize drag. Nope; his speedo stays defiantly at 1-1-0. I notice one additional problem. His silencer is quivering, hanging precariously from the steed as an extraneous limb. Motorbreath is more than aware of the problem; for through the remainder of our journey, his worn-out tyres and broken silencer cause him, and us, a great deal of anxiety.
As the six lane highway dissolves into a one lane with two-way traffic, three digit speeds become a luxury. Thankfully, the tarmac seems to be in mint condition - a welcome respite in otherwise aggravating riding conditions. Aggravating, for vehicle discipline is vastly undermined on one lanes. Oncoming vehicles plagiarizing our space, pushing us into extremities of the tarmac in a bid to shave off a few minutes from what is possibly their daily commute and doing so with an apologetic smile as if to say, "I'm sorry I'm nearly trying to kill you; but 5 minutes of my time are perhaps more precious then the lifetime that lays ahead of you. Sorry again. Don't be a stranger now! I'll screw you again soon.". The absurdity is not restricted to one lane. It translates equally well into 2, 4 and 6. Even dividers don't prevent some from attempting murder on our side of the tardom. We frequently encounter these smiling serial killers on motor heading directly toward us on a corner in the middle of a cornering lean, only to have to shift our weight, redirect the machine's momentum and steer clear of Dhansukhbhai and family. But I'm getting ahead of the story here...
Aggravating or not, our progress is tempered. For once, I get my chance to give Gujarat the eye. And while I'm painfully aware that whatever little is offered up by the NH8 through the window of my hardhat is not representative of Gujarat in all its glory, I'm blessed to have a flavour of its experience. For I have been here before; when I was just a boy. The memories have since faded; those that stood beside me then, stand beside me no more. Them I remember in this moment.
Maybe its just me but I notice a certain softness to the nature of Nature in Gujarat; a quiet contradiction to the raw spirit of Maharashtra. Paddy fields run alongside for miles. Parrot green rickshaws with yellow hats carrying at least 15 passengers; all you see of them are their heads - like a bouquet of human faces wrapped neatly in steel.
I see faces; each one with a story of his or her own. The young offer a look of bewilderment and excitement over our outlandish appearance; the middle-aged, quiet smiles and glances, often looking away as if to catch a dream of their own; the old - a glazed look of anguish and indifference. Of course I generalize. For there is evidence of indifference in youth and of dream-catchers without pearly whites.
Our journey seems to be progressing at discernible pace; no nasty surprises so far except for one.
Facebook update: Bee splattered on motors helmet n left big foul stench!
30 May at 07:10 via Text message
Winsey Varghese
lol :P
thats normal ;)
30 May at 12:04
Leena Sabharwal
u got any honey ??!!
30 May at 21:38
Dinesh Samtani
LOL!!!!!!!
31 May at 01:48
and moments later...
Facebook update: 425km @vasad!
30 May at 07:17 via Text message
-Rajni Taneja-
Nice Nice...
Ride safe N keep updating!
30 May at 12:11
Dinesh Samtani
awesome!!!
30 May at 17:39
Gopinath Venugopal
i hope the update ka josh stays through the whole trip....take care
30 May at 21:28
"We'll get our forty winks in Ahmedabad, elude the merciless sun", I think to myself. So far it has chosen to hide behind the clouds and revel in our fear. We still have some way to go before we rendezvous with the Big-A.
A peacock spotting by Spiderweb gives us an excuse to take a break, rest our backs, hydrate ourselves. As we hop back onto our steeds, Motorbreath hollers out to us. There's a puddle of liquid underneath his machine. We hope to God its just a minor oil spill. But on close inspection, the unmistakable smell of petrol convinces us that God wasn't listening.
Facebook update: Motors bike leaking petrol in drips! Trying to figure out COL.
30 May at 09:30 via Text message
(COL = Cause of Leak; which I derived from COD = Cause of Death (CSI). I thought it was clever at the time.)
We need to find the cause and fix it before his fuel runs out.
Saturday, July 10, 2010
Friday, July 9, 2010
Section 2: The Journey > Chapter 4: Interlude
You'd be a deluded writer if, at the onset of your adventure, you went on to declare that the protagonists lived happily ever after. For even though it is, for the most part, an expectation...nay a law by which most adventures are written; your readers don't want to hear you blurt it out when you've barely begun telling the story. They like to delude themselves that the converse is indeed possible, only to discover for themselves that which they always knew. Its the thrill of self discovery they seek and its nothing short of criminal to deprive them of their right.
And yet I am about to step across literary bounds and commit murder. I am about to reveal, that the protagonists did indeed live happily up until the publication of this note. As for the ever after, your guess is as good as mine. Why would I commit such blatant mutiny? Why would I murder my own child?
For the dynamics of this blog are vastly different from your average paperback. This is being read, for the most part, as its being written, chapter by chapter. I do not have the liberty to go back and edit my words - at least not before I cause some buzz. This puts me in a precarious situation. For as the stories unfold, there will be times where readers will be quick to judge us, our intellect, our riding, our friendship, our very core. And while perceptions might change as the adventure progresses and the protagonists mature, given the interlude between each post, opinions will be formed; opinions not about fictitious characters, but about real people. I fear that these opinions may be unfair and just plain wrong in the absence of the big picture, one that will be woven only at the completion of this blog.
It is to prevent this mishap that I inject this interlude.
As the pages progress, you will see us fail, you will see us falter, you will see us buckle under the pressures of long distance riding, give in to fatigue, to anger, to stupidity, to selfishness, to misinformation. We turn on each other, call each other names, behave like infants...sometimes animals, scream till we can breathe no more, hate till we can hate no more. Yes, its all here. It all happens.
But as you read through the passages, don't be quick to judge us, or judge one. For as fervently as we do all of the above, we share laughs, stories of lovers lost, of joys, of sorrows, of disasters, of potential soul mates lost in the sands of time, of the joys of biking, of the need for biking with equal zest. We fall only to find at least one other lending a helping hand, words of comfort and some much needed spare change, spare cigarettes, spare parts... of the biking genre I must clarify. And yes, we do live happily ever after - that is up until today. For now our destinies are tied together no more.
And with that quick clarification, we continue forth with our journey. Remember, do not judge us, for we do not judge our selves, individually, or collectively. We merely make mistakes, learn from them, or try to and then forget them all as we chart our course for more adventures...
And yet I am about to step across literary bounds and commit murder. I am about to reveal, that the protagonists did indeed live happily up until the publication of this note. As for the ever after, your guess is as good as mine. Why would I commit such blatant mutiny? Why would I murder my own child?
For the dynamics of this blog are vastly different from your average paperback. This is being read, for the most part, as its being written, chapter by chapter. I do not have the liberty to go back and edit my words - at least not before I cause some buzz. This puts me in a precarious situation. For as the stories unfold, there will be times where readers will be quick to judge us, our intellect, our riding, our friendship, our very core. And while perceptions might change as the adventure progresses and the protagonists mature, given the interlude between each post, opinions will be formed; opinions not about fictitious characters, but about real people. I fear that these opinions may be unfair and just plain wrong in the absence of the big picture, one that will be woven only at the completion of this blog.
It is to prevent this mishap that I inject this interlude.
As the pages progress, you will see us fail, you will see us falter, you will see us buckle under the pressures of long distance riding, give in to fatigue, to anger, to stupidity, to selfishness, to misinformation. We turn on each other, call each other names, behave like infants...sometimes animals, scream till we can breathe no more, hate till we can hate no more. Yes, its all here. It all happens.
But as you read through the passages, don't be quick to judge us, or judge one. For as fervently as we do all of the above, we share laughs, stories of lovers lost, of joys, of sorrows, of disasters, of potential soul mates lost in the sands of time, of the joys of biking, of the need for biking with equal zest. We fall only to find at least one other lending a helping hand, words of comfort and some much needed spare change, spare cigarettes, spare parts... of the biking genre I must clarify. And yes, we do live happily ever after - that is up until today. For now our destinies are tied together no more.
And with that quick clarification, we continue forth with our journey. Remember, do not judge us, for we do not judge our selves, individually, or collectively. We merely make mistakes, learn from them, or try to and then forget them all as we chart our course for more adventures...
Thursday, July 8, 2010
Section 2: The Journey > Chapter 3: Flirting with the R15
May 30th
Her red will drive you green with envy. On our exit from Mumbai, she has a little over 10,000 kms total on the odometer. Yeah, we don't go out that much. I laugh at how little I knew her when I first got her. It was love at first 130kmph. I made her mine.
As the sun comes up, the fatigue of an extremely arduous night-ride is fast catching up. My eyes are weary, my mind is wandering. I can barely focus on the road. None of us can. But we must reach Ahmedabad before noon, for we've been warned "Riding after noon in Gujarat in complete gear will be no less fun than sticking your head into a microwave."
We can't stop. So we do the next best thing. We rip. (For the benefit of non-biker readers, to rip = to ride extremely fast). The adrenalin rush from watching the world dissolve around us should allow us a few more hours of riding. The now 6-lane NH-8 welcomes our strategy with open lanes. We devour them, like caged-beasts getting their first taste of freedom.
The first few revs and the R15's speedometer climbs to 80. Fast, but hardly a worthy number for her. More throttle...110...nice. She's capable of more. I've seen it. I tease her with the throttle - as if to say "Ready for more?". Her engine purrs...almost a giggle. "Bring it on. I'm just getting warmed up.".
120...she's willing, capable, impatient to do more. My upright body won't let her. It creates several points of wind resistance (drag) impeding her. I slide back, lower my head, crouch forward. It's time to be one.
That's all she needs.
The ether explodes around me as she slices the air into two halves...the right and what's left.
130...132...134...136...
She's not shaking, she's not groaning. I can barely hear her engine roar - a testimony to the marvel of modern engineering. Blessed am I for having shared the same space with her. The only semblance of speed I have is the deafening sound of the wind whiplashing my hard-hat.
Several minutes have passed. Kilometers have faded quickly. I've realized I've broken formation. I'm ahead of the pack. I check my rear-view. I see Spiderweb. No sign of Motorbreath. Where is he...?
Her red will drive you green with envy. On our exit from Mumbai, she has a little over 10,000 kms total on the odometer. Yeah, we don't go out that much. I laugh at how little I knew her when I first got her. It was love at first 130kmph. I made her mine.
As the sun comes up, the fatigue of an extremely arduous night-ride is fast catching up. My eyes are weary, my mind is wandering. I can barely focus on the road. None of us can. But we must reach Ahmedabad before noon, for we've been warned "Riding after noon in Gujarat in complete gear will be no less fun than sticking your head into a microwave."
We can't stop. So we do the next best thing. We rip. (For the benefit of non-biker readers, to rip = to ride extremely fast). The adrenalin rush from watching the world dissolve around us should allow us a few more hours of riding. The now 6-lane NH-8 welcomes our strategy with open lanes. We devour them, like caged-beasts getting their first taste of freedom.
The first few revs and the R15's speedometer climbs to 80. Fast, but hardly a worthy number for her. More throttle...110...nice. She's capable of more. I've seen it. I tease her with the throttle - as if to say "Ready for more?". Her engine purrs...almost a giggle. "Bring it on. I'm just getting warmed up.".
120...she's willing, capable, impatient to do more. My upright body won't let her. It creates several points of wind resistance (drag) impeding her. I slide back, lower my head, crouch forward. It's time to be one.
That's all she needs.
The ether explodes around me as she slices the air into two halves...the right and what's left.
130...132...134...136...
She's not shaking, she's not groaning. I can barely hear her engine roar - a testimony to the marvel of modern engineering. Blessed am I for having shared the same space with her. The only semblance of speed I have is the deafening sound of the wind whiplashing my hard-hat.
Several minutes have passed. Kilometers have faded quickly. I've realized I've broken formation. I'm ahead of the pack. I check my rear-view. I see Spiderweb. No sign of Motorbreath. Where is he...?
Sunday, July 4, 2010
Section 2: The Journey > Chapter 2: Two hundred miles and counting...
May 29th / May 30th
11 ticks on the clock into the Prime Meridian. National Highway (NH) 8 crawls beneath us. Spiderweb, Motorbreath, I, in that order. Trucks, Lorries, monster vehicles defying definition, loaded to the brim rumble on beside us; their sheer size summarily mocking our own. Dirt tracks and pot-holes caress our wheels as I utter a silent prayer for the fork seals. "This is just the beginning", I think to myself.
Motobreath's brake-lights overwhelm my visual cortex at every opportunity; arguably very useful on city streets; a stumper on our chosen journey. On the advice of a confidant, I must tail him for the rest of the journey. "Keep Motorbreath in your sight. He might not be able to keep pace with Spiderweb and you." is what I was made to believe. And so, follow I must. And follow I will for the rest of the journey, with a few notable exceptions.
We seem to be riding at a steady pace. I'm thirsty but I dare not stop for fear of being left behind. "What if I do get left behind...what if...", I don't finish the thought. Indicator lights go off. Spiderweb banks left, rides into a small compound. Motorbreath follows. I do the obvious. Hotel Aaram - Pure Veg. I reckon they spent a full five seconds on brainstorming the name. I reckon they spent fewer still on the decor. "Pure Veg" annoys me for I am anything but pure. The tag will haunt us for many miles to come.
A few clicks. Blurry and unimpressive. Nevertheless, more than words...
4 more ticks to the hour. Low visibility. Tired, sleepy eyes. 200 odd kilometers on the odometer. The roads metamorphosize from unbearable to the antithesis. Spiderweb promises us they will get better. We've bid adieu to Maharashtra several revs ago. I notice the transition only when we arrive at Chikhli, Gujarat. I reckon there were other indications to the fact; perhaps a toll both welcoming us into Gurjar-rashtra, gone unnoticed in my sleep-laden progress. I wonder if we've missed any scenic treats owing to the dark of the night. A return journey, several moons later, indicates that I have not.
Many miles slip away beneath us. Quizzical looks follow us across State boundaries. On more than one occassion, local riders - if I can indeed I can call them riders - in their helmetless avatar - attempt to impress their apparent biking superiority on us - a typical response to our outworldly appearance owing to our security gear and travel supplies. They attempt to overtake us and succeed cause we let them; they attempt to break our formation by injecting themselves into the riding hierarchy - but our intolerance to formation leakages causes us to quickly reclaim our space; they fall back, pretend to adjust their privates, and repeat the process to show us that they can do it not once, but many times over. Our security conscious culture prevents us from getting throttle-happy on the naive bastards. Several patient minutes later, most reach their destinations and leave us to our journey. Some strike conversations with Spiderweb, including one who passes on his visiting card while cruising at 100kmph. We can only laugh hysterically at their senseless display of bravado; we can only sympathize with their desperation to prove their worth to unknown, uncaring riders. We have nothing but mockery to offer to such mindlessness.
A few more ticks to the small hand and...
...a welcome sunrise. A more than welcome break from riding for our collective butts are sore, our collective eyes weary and our collective minds the unmentionables. On the side of the positive, a metamorphosis of NH8 into a 6-lane highway makes it a perfect environment to flirt with the R15...
11 ticks on the clock into the Prime Meridian. National Highway (NH) 8 crawls beneath us. Spiderweb, Motorbreath, I, in that order. Trucks, Lorries, monster vehicles defying definition, loaded to the brim rumble on beside us; their sheer size summarily mocking our own. Dirt tracks and pot-holes caress our wheels as I utter a silent prayer for the fork seals. "This is just the beginning", I think to myself.
Motobreath's brake-lights overwhelm my visual cortex at every opportunity; arguably very useful on city streets; a stumper on our chosen journey. On the advice of a confidant, I must tail him for the rest of the journey. "Keep Motorbreath in your sight. He might not be able to keep pace with Spiderweb and you." is what I was made to believe. And so, follow I must. And follow I will for the rest of the journey, with a few notable exceptions.
We seem to be riding at a steady pace. I'm thirsty but I dare not stop for fear of being left behind. "What if I do get left behind...what if...", I don't finish the thought. Indicator lights go off. Spiderweb banks left, rides into a small compound. Motorbreath follows. I do the obvious. Hotel Aaram - Pure Veg. I reckon they spent a full five seconds on brainstorming the name. I reckon they spent fewer still on the decor. "Pure Veg" annoys me for I am anything but pure. The tag will haunt us for many miles to come.
A few clicks. Blurry and unimpressive. Nevertheless, more than words...
Left to right: Motorbreath, Spiderweb
Facebook update: 110 kms complete! Late dinner (daal roti) n off we go!
30 May at 01:11 via Text message
30 May at 01:11 via Text message
Gopinath PS
good riding man :)
30 May at 01:30
Dinesh Samtani
ya man...good riding...
30 May at 01:58
Winsey Varghese
GO !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
30 May at 02:10
Satyen Poojary
Not bad! Its a journey not a race, remember that and have fun!
30 May at 02:29
Sujan Shetty
good keep goin
30 May at 10:05
Honey Misra
goog keep updating regularly then i dont have to torture d for info tc
30 May at 19:17
good riding man :)
30 May at 01:30
Dinesh Samtani
ya man...good riding...
30 May at 01:58
Winsey Varghese
GO !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
30 May at 02:10
Satyen Poojary
Not bad! Its a journey not a race, remember that and have fun!
30 May at 02:29
Sujan Shetty
good keep goin
30 May at 10:05
Honey Misra
goog keep updating regularly then i dont have to torture d for info tc
30 May at 19:17
4 more ticks to the hour. Low visibility. Tired, sleepy eyes. 200 odd kilometers on the odometer. The roads metamorphosize from unbearable to the antithesis. Spiderweb promises us they will get better. We've bid adieu to Maharashtra several revs ago. I notice the transition only when we arrive at Chikhli, Gujarat. I reckon there were other indications to the fact; perhaps a toll both welcoming us into Gurjar-rashtra, gone unnoticed in my sleep-laden progress. I wonder if we've missed any scenic treats owing to the dark of the night. A return journey, several moons later, indicates that I have not.
Borivali, Mumbai (my home) to Chikhli, Gujarat (~200 kms)
Facebook update: Total 212 kms done! @chickli!
30 May at 02:41 via Text message
Anil Correa likes this.
Satyen Poojary
Go easy dude,
30 May at 02:43
Anirudh Khusape
Hope you are feeling better :)
30 May at 04:50
Dinesh Samtani
Cool......
30 May at 07:07
Sujan Shetty
cool
30 May at 10:10
Rohit Upadhyay
good..ride safe guys ;)
30 May at 13:24
30 May at 02:41 via Text message
Anil Correa likes this.
Satyen Poojary
Go easy dude,
30 May at 02:43
Anirudh Khusape
Hope you are feeling better :)
30 May at 04:50
Dinesh Samtani
Cool......
30 May at 07:07
Sujan Shetty
cool
30 May at 10:10
Rohit Upadhyay
good..ride safe guys ;)
30 May at 13:24
Many miles slip away beneath us. Quizzical looks follow us across State boundaries. On more than one occassion, local riders - if I can indeed I can call them riders - in their helmetless avatar - attempt to impress their apparent biking superiority on us - a typical response to our outworldly appearance owing to our security gear and travel supplies. They attempt to overtake us and succeed cause we let them; they attempt to break our formation by injecting themselves into the riding hierarchy - but our intolerance to formation leakages causes us to quickly reclaim our space; they fall back, pretend to adjust their privates, and repeat the process to show us that they can do it not once, but many times over. Our security conscious culture prevents us from getting throttle-happy on the naive bastards. Several patient minutes later, most reach their destinations and leave us to our journey. Some strike conversations with Spiderweb, including one who passes on his visiting card while cruising at 100kmph. We can only laugh hysterically at their senseless display of bravado; we can only sympathize with their desperation to prove their worth to unknown, uncaring riders. We have nothing but mockery to offer to such mindlessness.
Facebook update: 353 kms :-)
30 May at 05:48 via Text message
Satnam Singh Vohra and Vikram Pathak like this.
Leena Sabharwal
dheere chala.. wig udd jayega !!
30 May at 21:37
30 May at 05:48 via Text message
Satnam Singh Vohra and Vikram Pathak like this.
Leena Sabharwal
dheere chala.. wig udd jayega !!
30 May at 21:37
A few more ticks to the small hand and...
L&T
Our babies; left to right: Motorbreaths Pulsar 200, my R15, Spiderwebs Karizma
Left to right: Spiderweb, me, Motorbreath
Me and my baby
...a welcome sunrise. A more than welcome break from riding for our collective butts are sore, our collective eyes weary and our collective minds the unmentionables. On the side of the positive, a metamorphosis of NH8 into a 6-lane highway makes it a perfect environment to flirt with the R15...
Thursday, July 1, 2010
Teaser Break
Since there weren't any photos to go along with the initial text (there will be for the text in the future), I thought a teaser break would be nice to keep things interesting! Here you go!
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Section 2: The Journey > Chapter 1: The Send-off
Facebook update: Hitting the road.... Now!!!
29 May at 20:23 via Text message
I'm all nerves not to mention, but I will mention, late to get to the rendezvous point. A million times through the essentials checklist, and I still have that uneasy feeling that I'm forgetting something; something...essential. But there's no time to speculate on what it might be. I was to be at Fountain Hotel, situated at the crossroads of Ghodbunder Road from Mira Road, Ghodbunder Road to Thane and the Mumbai-Ahmedabad Highway (NH 8), at half past eight. It's way past the half past.
As I weave my way through the streets of Mumbai, traffic begins to squeeze in, decelerating my progress. It's as if Mumbai is holding me back in it's cradle. Its as if she knows that my journey into faraway lands will convince me that its better out there; make me consider the possibility to never return. Its a possibility I have yet to consider on the 29th day of May. Its a possibility I will consider several times in the days to follow. For now, all the city offers me is a strange sense of detachment and anguish. I'm just a stranger passing through. An abandoned child gone rogue.
I nervously wait at every red. Weary drivers offer curious looks. Fully armoured in the sweltering heat - jacket, gloves, knee pads, army boots - a looming tail bag on the pillion for added effect.
Thirty ticks on the minute hand; Fountain. A brief scan of the area - a family on the left, thirty odd individuals on the right but not what I'm looking for - a small group of bikers - two, no more than three. I reason that not many would be interested in seeing us off. Its no big deal them anyway. A wave from the more than thirty, and I stand corrected. Some familiar faces, most unfamiliar. Each one carrying a glow of anticipation and excitement, one that's reciprocated wholeheartedly.
The wait for Motorbreath aka Swapnil Jadhav and Spiderweb aka Rohit Chourasia begins. The two are to take the journey with me. We don't have to wait long for Motorbreath. For Spiderweb, we must wait till half past ten for last minute complications delay his departure. The wait is glossed over by introductions, handshakes, casual chats, last minute advice by experienced long-distance riders. One unfamiliar hand I shake that day belongs to an individual, Raman Mishra, who will, through twists of fate, join us in the days to come and be an integral part of our adventures.
Sighs of relief as Spiderweb makes his way into Fountain. We were all eager to get started or get departed. Pictures, re-fastening bags, fireworks - for a wedding nearby - assumed to be our own, more last minute advice and we are all set to go. A trip to the restaurant to get a bottle of water and it dawns on me that the essential I've forgotten is cash. I have only my card with not an ATM in sight. Cash borrowed, hugs exchanged and its time.
For the past several years I perceived my life as headed in reverse. For every step I took forwards, the clock struck backwards. For every footprint I made, the sands of time erased - eradicating every evidence of progress.
But that day, at that time, as the three of us rode out of Fountain, the clock did something unexpected. It struck clockwise...
29 May at 20:23 via Text message
I'm all nerves not to mention, but I will mention, late to get to the rendezvous point. A million times through the essentials checklist, and I still have that uneasy feeling that I'm forgetting something; something...essential. But there's no time to speculate on what it might be. I was to be at Fountain Hotel, situated at the crossroads of Ghodbunder Road from Mira Road, Ghodbunder Road to Thane and the Mumbai-Ahmedabad Highway (NH 8), at half past eight. It's way past the half past.
As I weave my way through the streets of Mumbai, traffic begins to squeeze in, decelerating my progress. It's as if Mumbai is holding me back in it's cradle. Its as if she knows that my journey into faraway lands will convince me that its better out there; make me consider the possibility to never return. Its a possibility I have yet to consider on the 29th day of May. Its a possibility I will consider several times in the days to follow. For now, all the city offers me is a strange sense of detachment and anguish. I'm just a stranger passing through. An abandoned child gone rogue.
I nervously wait at every red. Weary drivers offer curious looks. Fully armoured in the sweltering heat - jacket, gloves, knee pads, army boots - a looming tail bag on the pillion for added effect.
Thirty ticks on the minute hand; Fountain. A brief scan of the area - a family on the left, thirty odd individuals on the right but not what I'm looking for - a small group of bikers - two, no more than three. I reason that not many would be interested in seeing us off. Its no big deal them anyway. A wave from the more than thirty, and I stand corrected. Some familiar faces, most unfamiliar. Each one carrying a glow of anticipation and excitement, one that's reciprocated wholeheartedly.
The wait for Motorbreath aka Swapnil Jadhav and Spiderweb aka Rohit Chourasia begins. The two are to take the journey with me. We don't have to wait long for Motorbreath. For Spiderweb, we must wait till half past ten for last minute complications delay his departure. The wait is glossed over by introductions, handshakes, casual chats, last minute advice by experienced long-distance riders. One unfamiliar hand I shake that day belongs to an individual, Raman Mishra, who will, through twists of fate, join us in the days to come and be an integral part of our adventures.
Sighs of relief as Spiderweb makes his way into Fountain. We were all eager to get started or get departed. Pictures, re-fastening bags, fireworks - for a wedding nearby - assumed to be our own, more last minute advice and we are all set to go. A trip to the restaurant to get a bottle of water and it dawns on me that the essential I've forgotten is cash. I have only my card with not an ATM in sight. Cash borrowed, hugs exchanged and its time.
For the past several years I perceived my life as headed in reverse. For every step I took forwards, the clock struck backwards. For every footprint I made, the sands of time erased - eradicating every evidence of progress.
But that day, at that time, as the three of us rode out of Fountain, the clock did something unexpected. It struck clockwise...
Monday, June 28, 2010
Section 2: The Journey > Prologue
I plead insanity. For insane is just about the only way to describe the experience that unfolded between the 29th day of May and the 26th day of June, 2010.
Not so long ago I wrote...
"Why pen down the anticipation, the possible journey or the disappointment, the experiences beyond? To share with those before me? But they've already experienced it. I'll only be telling them what they already know. To share with those after me? But they'll experience it some day. I'll probably be ruining their surprise. To share with those that never will? If they did not care enough to experience it themselves, will they really care about my perspective on it?"
I was wrong on every count.
Those that went before us followed our travels the closest; sensing our excitement, our joy, our disappointments, our jubilation, reliving their past, making promises for a future return. Only some of those promises will be fulfilled.
Those that will go after us looked to our travels as an approximation of their own future adventures. Is it worth it? Can WE do it too? To which I say - give it a whirl for I do not know the answer. Your experience will be distinct from mine, for Nature can and will find ways to surprise you. Its usually kind.
As for those that probably never will attempt this journey, those that are not bikers, those that have no inclination to be - it was from them I received the most adulation. Little did I know my journey would strike the fancy of so many, so dear. Little did I know that I would receive emails, SMSes, PMs requesting...no...demanding more information on my whereabouts, my adventures, my day of return. Little did I know that what I thought was a personal journey, meant so much to so many. Little did I know that apart from the one who expressed his desire to live through me, many more rode with me in spirit.
I dedicate my journey to you all.
A close friend recently wrote:
"how r u? been following ur amazin trip to leh n back. it seems like a trip of a lifetime! do u thing u have changed as a person becoz of it? had any epiphanies?... v."
The answer... I do not know yet. For in the course of this journey, there was way too much to take in, very little time to process it. Much has yet to sink in. And in committing my memories to digital ink, I hope to discover the new me... if indeed one exists. I believe readers who know my beat will be the first to spot the change if any, long before I do.
We view the world through the perspective of our individual lenses. I began my journey looking through a glass that was foggy from a persistent search for relevance, cracked by the loss of my father 2 years ago, twisted by misleading words that masked actions unfair, insensitive, inhuman, marred by lies. I do not know what has changed. But I do know that I have a new lens now. A new perspective. What it shows I do not comprehend. Discover I will, bit by bit, as I recount the 28 days that changed it all.
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