I love my car. In the past 10 days of driving I must have covered at least 3000 kilometers, what with two return trips to Delhi, Neemrana and one to Bhilwara from Jaipur. I love the freedom that a car provides, the simple ability to be able to go anywhere, without bothering about the rain or the sun. To park outside your favorite roadside coffee-shop and lean back and sip away relaxing in your seat, while reading on the book you simply didn’t want to get away from (yeah “Mumbai-kars” in some parts of the world that IS possible). Getting four nutcases to fit in instead of just the one as on a bike, dumping all the stuff in the boot instead of hauling it all the way on the local trains or juggling it on the fuel tank of your bike, the simple pleasures.
All the new-car charm had actually made me forget what it feels like to be on two wheels, why I revered so much, the empowering touch of a bike’s accelerator. The degree of control and confidence, your high stance from the ground and your legs fitted into fuel tank crevices give you. The exhilaration of a powerhouse thumping beneath you, waiting for the twitch of your wrist, yearning to be commanded yet desiring to be unleashed. And then you let go.
The mute acceleration of a car gives way to the raging, revving anger of the bike. And just like that, in a flash, the world becomes mute, everything else ceases to exist as your heart, your fingers and the pulsating music of the engine, beat in perfect rhythm, rising and falling with every hint of your desire. The wind sweeps through your hair, pushing with all its heart, failing against an iron grasp, you have on the bike. The road spread out in front of you forever, luring you into its tricky turns, urging you on to let go, daring you smell it on every wild curl, the scenery changing with every moment, displaying yet another human emotion, yet another whim of God, yet another moment, which will never ever occur quite like that again.
Ride hard. Or stay home.
