CONFESSIONS
OF AN INSPIRED BIKER
It had not been long since I
owned a bike. At that time, holiday to me was chatting with my friends and
family and doing some silly frolics. Three things brought a paradigm shift in
my world of squandering time.
1.
My purchase of a brawny Pulsar 150.
2.
My subscription to the BIKE INDIA magazine.
3.
My posting to Purulia.
It is very much essential to have
a bike of your own to be a biker. Previously I used to ride my Dad’s one which
gave me neither comfort nor the urge to ride more. The P150 with its sexy black
look, thundering growl and quick torque titillated me all the time to ravish
the roads. I got keen on biking.
Being keen, I wanted to have some
study on the bikes and the bikers. I subscribed to the BIKE INDIA journal which
proved to be immensely helpful. Actually, it initiated me to a new horizon that
can only be seen by an ardent biker. I learned from it that biking isn’t only
about commuting; nor is it about flaunting your dashing machine. It is to enjoy
the rough gust of wind on your face, heat on your body and raindrops on the
visor of your helmet. It is about taming the adverse conditions, exploring the
godforsaken kingdoms and unleashing the utmost power of freedom. I understood
that it is never about the destination but about the journey itself. I got
keener.
Thirdly, my posting to Purulia
let me have the chance to practise what I imbibed. Nowhere, except here, in
West Bengal can the long stretches of open roads be found amidst the bare,
deserted, pristine lands. On the contrary to the thickly populated other parts
of Bengal, it is, as if, a slice of virgin province of Arizona. The biker
inside me could never have aroused hadn’t I lived in here – in Purulia. The
landscape is hard here. Sun shines at an average of 500 C
temperatures. But beneath its hardness, its simplicity indulges. The heat,
though sapping, ignites to set in for a new trip. And thus, among the worldwide
brotherhood of bikers, a baby was born.
After that, it was hard to stop
me on an idle day from biking. Multifarious roads and spots were awaiting me.
They waved at me and I nodded to them in response. Often, I do not have a fixed
idea of where I am going. Instead of a fixed destination I often pick a
direction and ride. I stop where I wish to, feast my eyes on the open vistas
and ride forth again or return. Hence, the trips are sometimes long and
sometimes short. But the outcome is always the same – a sort of rejuvenation.
In this way, I visited the nearby
Asansol, Jamshedpur, Bokaro, Ranchi, Bankura, the hills of Panchet,
Jaichandipahar, and Ayodhya and the innumerable spots in between. And it is
those very insignificant places which left deeper impression on my heart. Each
ride enhanced my repertoire. I learned more miles to munch at a stretch; I
learned to overcome fatigue on the saddle. I learned how to dodge the defence
of a whirlwind in an open domain, I learned how not to be tempted by some dull
and stupid urchins who tries to be posers and pace-setters on road. Highway is
a tricky place and you need to be always careful.
Being a biker has taught me one
other great philosophy of life. Not only did it impart the lesson of enjoying
loneliness to me but also instilled the habit to be solitary, even in a dingy
place, for some time being. It makes room for interiorization. Sitting on
saddle is like being existential to me. I can feel my very insignificance in
this greater go of the world. The open road in front each time reminds me of
“miles to go before I sleep.” A narrow save always implicates the razor’s edge
that we are walking on in life. And the rev of my buddy still protests, as
though, by saying, “And I think to myself/ what a wonderful world!” when I look
with his eyes, ecstasy dawns upon me. Reaching well over 100 kmph never remains
only dry digits for me. It becomes synonymous to having the wings of liberation
on which I can soar and surpass this dreary world of dystopia and detrimental
desolation.
I often try my wife to convince
and squeeze her in my track. In fact, we made our own customized honeymoon
instead of a traditional one and those were all road trips in and around
Purulia. Later on, when we did make a planned one to Goa, I could not fight shy
of a bike there too and hired an Avenger cruiser and rode to our hearts’
content.
But as I said, biking teaching me
to swallow the dregs of loneliness, I get irked very often to take a pillion,
even it is my wife. Thereby and to quench by riding thirst I have sometimes
shirked from my duties of a husband which I deeply regret and this article I
dedicate to all my falls from my duties to my family as an expiation. But I do
not regret that I wanted to ride because riding to me is a religion and to
double cross it is a blasphemy.
