It seems so long ago now. Those years of blissful freedom, when my days were filled with fun and laughter and I used to revel in the simple pleasures of life, like sharing a cup of Irani chai and 'biskoot' at Paradise with three other classmates, footboarding on an RTC bus all the way to Charminar, only to footboard all the way back on the next return bus...those prof-teasing, college-bunking, basketball-playing, watching-blue-film-at-Lamba-theatre days. All thats left now is slowly fading memories and long lonely hours of wistful yearning.
It is in an attempt to relive these fond memories of an innocent childhood, that I embark on a series of 'Teenage Tales' posts, each of which will serve to highlight a significant episode of my adolescent days.
The first in the series - Learning to Ride.
The first unsteady steps
As any boy worth his salt will attest, his first bike-riding lesson is one of the most enthralling events that life has to offer. It is normally preceded by days of uncontrollable excitement coupled with sleepless nights, where a normally meek and docile boy can be found salivating with a savage, hungry glint in his eyes whenever he's in the vicinity of the bike. It is, if you ask me, the first step from boyhood into the independence of adulthood.
So it was that one bright, sunny morning I set off with my dad, to learn the secrets of this illustrious art, at the hallowed instruction place of Parade Grounds, Secunderabad.
Now, to fully grasp the following sequence of events, you need to understand two things:
One, that I wasn't exactly the 'Punjab da puttar' types you see in the movies. I was a puny skinny little kid, with a head that was a little too large for my body, wearing huge round owlish spectacles that allowed me to see the world around with some semblance of clarity. In short, a typical nerd minus the brains. Of course, time with her infinitely soothing caress has changed all that. I've now grown into a bespectacled puny skinny little man with a head thats too large for my body...and I'm still not entirely convinced about the efficacy of my brains. But thats beyond the point...
Two, a Bajaj 150 scooter, while being an excellent family type vehicle that embodies the 'Hamara Bajaj' spirit, is not exactly conducive to being ridden by little runts. It has this odd tendency to skid, backfire and buck when started, and tends to run around on one wheel while you hold on to it for dear life. In fact, this behaviour of the bike earned me considerable fame as 'Mr. wheelie' in college, when all I was actually trying to do was put it in 1st gear.
Anyways, back to the lesson. After having received a brief discourse on the fine art of riding, it was time for me to 'go solo'. In much excitement, rushed around to the right side of the bike to kick-start it, only to find the bike had this alarming tendency to tilt over and fall when I stood on the kick-start lever. Yes, thats right...stood...merely kicking required considerably more strength than nature had chosen to endow me with.
Much to my shame, I had to get dad to start the bike, which he did with a dubious look of "Maybe I should have waited another 2 years for this". The next step was to sit on the bike, where I was faced with the problem that the bike simply refused to stand still on two wheels while I sat on it. It seemed to want me to prop it up with a leg on the ground, which I did only to find my butt wouldn't reach the seat in that position.
Dad, who by then had started to have a faint red tinge suffusing his cheeks, abandoned the solo idea and sat on the back seat, propping up the bike. I managed to sit on it, and tremulously tried to put it in gear...which I finally accomplished, accompanied by screeches of protest from the bike, with the use of both hands. Then came the part of raising the throttle, when I discovered my left hand wasn't strong enough to hold the clutch down on its own. The bike, possibly tired of all this nonsense, gave a little leap forward and shut itself off.
Dad, who had by then reached the end of his tether, gave me a rap on the head and instructed me to go over the whole sequence again, "This time properly!" Like an errant schoolboy, I complied only to achieve exactly the same result. Honest to God, the scene replayed itself like some stuck disc of a horror movie atleast 10 times, which was accompanied by atleast 10 raps on the head by dad, who had by then gone completely red and had steam billowing out his ears. The bike had started to sound more like a screeching banshee than a scooter. Dad then decided he had enough and with a final rap on the head, took off for home, with me sitting teary-eyed on the back seat.
Destination - Old Man
My riding prowess had improved considerably after a month of practice. I was able to start the bike, sit on it and shift through all the gears with the bike emitting only minor screeches of protest. So it was that one day, when I had to renew my bus pass, I decided to ride to Secunderabad Station. The onward journey was fairly incident-free, which was probably owing to the fact that my brother was riding. Having completed our business, I boldly took the rider's seat and started back. The return journey was also incident-free...atleast for about half a minute. Now, anyone who's played 'Road rash' or the much more entertaining 'GTA III' knows what fun it is to slam your vehicle into a pedestrian. Of course, not having had the chance to play these games at that time, I decided to try it out in person. Thus it was that a few seconds later, the three of us (the bike, my brother and I) found ourselves in a tangled heap with an old geezer on the footpath.
After the complicated yet mandatory process of extricating oneself from old people on the footpath was completed, I found myself surrounded by a group of onlookers who no doubt found this incident rather odd. It is at times like these, that I find myself bestowed with with an unwordly sense of calm, and am able to keep an iron control over my wits. In response to a "What happened here?" query from a dangerous looking fellow on the street, I calmly elaborated on the sequence of events for his benefit "I came from there....old man was walking here (pointing to a spot about 3 feet away)...then we got entangled here...then you came and asked me this question" etc. Upon which he frowned deeper and asked "But why did you collide with him?"
You know, what I really can't stand is people with this insatiable thirst for knowledge. You understand their inquisitiveness and go about patiently answering their questions, but even before you've completed, they start bombarding you with another question and another and another, until you're at your wits end and are pulling your hair out in despair.
Still maintaining an iron grip on my emotions, I contemplated the pros and cons of doing the "Bwaaaah" bit. You will, no doubt, ask "But what exactly is this bwaaah bit?" Well, to tell you, I'll have to resort to a cheap gimmick which B-grade movies employ to confuse viewers, a flashback within a flashback.
Back in school, I had this classmate who had perfected the art of appearing to wail his guts out. He could do it instantly, with no external stimulus whatsoever. Worked wonders when teachers caught him doing stuff that...well..good little boys are not supposed to do. The teacher would round on him menacingly, but before she could come within two feet, he would go "Bwaaaah" at the top of his voice. The teacher of course, would be completely startled and beat a hasty retreat, and our friend would be grinning ear-to-ear before she even left the room.
As an aside, news is that this dude did exceedingly well in his medical exams and studied to be a doctor at one of India's top medical universities. I can just imagine the scene at his practice:
Classmate-Doctor (to patient): I've completed the angiogram of the left auscular valve of your heart, and its ticking away perfectly. No cause for worry at all!
Patient: Ah, excellent, doctor, does that mean I'm cured of my appendicitis?
Classmate-Doctor: Er..appendicitis(??)... yes... ehm... BWAAAAAAAH!!
But I digress...to get back to the point, I ultimately decided not to bank on the bwaah bit, owing to the fact that its effect greatly reduces with age, and figured that the best recourse would be to put as much distance as possible between me and the scene of the crime. So I collected my brother, who a few moments ago had grabbed a mineral water bottle from a nearby store and was proceeding to empty its contents on the old man, mumbled something to the dangerous dude about the brake being broken and my being on the way to the mechanic to have it fixed, and successfully managed to scoot off.
The final (still unsteady) steps
As they say, practice makes perfect. So I persevered. I practised and I practised. With the result that I've now perfected the art of falling off bikes and crashing into pedestrians. Over the years, I've fallen off many many bikes and had up close and personal acquaintances with many many people on the street. I've fallen off the Bajaj 150, then a Splendor and a Pulsar, and I currently fall off an Enfield. I've fallen all over Hyderabad, Chennai, Bangalore and other smaller places. And if things work out according to plan, I hope to be falling off the Himalayas within a year or two :-)
It is in an attempt to relive these fond memories of an innocent childhood, that I embark on a series of 'Teenage Tales' posts, each of which will serve to highlight a significant episode of my adolescent days.
The first in the series - Learning to Ride.
The first unsteady steps
As any boy worth his salt will attest, his first bike-riding lesson is one of the most enthralling events that life has to offer. It is normally preceded by days of uncontrollable excitement coupled with sleepless nights, where a normally meek and docile boy can be found salivating with a savage, hungry glint in his eyes whenever he's in the vicinity of the bike. It is, if you ask me, the first step from boyhood into the independence of adulthood.
So it was that one bright, sunny morning I set off with my dad, to learn the secrets of this illustrious art, at the hallowed instruction place of Parade Grounds, Secunderabad.
Now, to fully grasp the following sequence of events, you need to understand two things:
One, that I wasn't exactly the 'Punjab da puttar' types you see in the movies. I was a puny skinny little kid, with a head that was a little too large for my body, wearing huge round owlish spectacles that allowed me to see the world around with some semblance of clarity. In short, a typical nerd minus the brains. Of course, time with her infinitely soothing caress has changed all that. I've now grown into a bespectacled puny skinny little man with a head thats too large for my body...and I'm still not entirely convinced about the efficacy of my brains. But thats beyond the point...
Two, a Bajaj 150 scooter, while being an excellent family type vehicle that embodies the 'Hamara Bajaj' spirit, is not exactly conducive to being ridden by little runts. It has this odd tendency to skid, backfire and buck when started, and tends to run around on one wheel while you hold on to it for dear life. In fact, this behaviour of the bike earned me considerable fame as 'Mr. wheelie' in college, when all I was actually trying to do was put it in 1st gear.
Anyways, back to the lesson. After having received a brief discourse on the fine art of riding, it was time for me to 'go solo'. In much excitement, rushed around to the right side of the bike to kick-start it, only to find the bike had this alarming tendency to tilt over and fall when I stood on the kick-start lever. Yes, thats right...stood...merely kicking required considerably more strength than nature had chosen to endow me with.
Much to my shame, I had to get dad to start the bike, which he did with a dubious look of "Maybe I should have waited another 2 years for this". The next step was to sit on the bike, where I was faced with the problem that the bike simply refused to stand still on two wheels while I sat on it. It seemed to want me to prop it up with a leg on the ground, which I did only to find my butt wouldn't reach the seat in that position.
Dad, who by then had started to have a faint red tinge suffusing his cheeks, abandoned the solo idea and sat on the back seat, propping up the bike. I managed to sit on it, and tremulously tried to put it in gear...which I finally accomplished, accompanied by screeches of protest from the bike, with the use of both hands. Then came the part of raising the throttle, when I discovered my left hand wasn't strong enough to hold the clutch down on its own. The bike, possibly tired of all this nonsense, gave a little leap forward and shut itself off.
Dad, who had by then reached the end of his tether, gave me a rap on the head and instructed me to go over the whole sequence again, "This time properly!" Like an errant schoolboy, I complied only to achieve exactly the same result. Honest to God, the scene replayed itself like some stuck disc of a horror movie atleast 10 times, which was accompanied by atleast 10 raps on the head by dad, who had by then gone completely red and had steam billowing out his ears. The bike had started to sound more like a screeching banshee than a scooter. Dad then decided he had enough and with a final rap on the head, took off for home, with me sitting teary-eyed on the back seat.
Destination - Old Man
My riding prowess had improved considerably after a month of practice. I was able to start the bike, sit on it and shift through all the gears with the bike emitting only minor screeches of protest. So it was that one day, when I had to renew my bus pass, I decided to ride to Secunderabad Station. The onward journey was fairly incident-free, which was probably owing to the fact that my brother was riding. Having completed our business, I boldly took the rider's seat and started back. The return journey was also incident-free...atleast for about half a minute. Now, anyone who's played 'Road rash' or the much more entertaining 'GTA III' knows what fun it is to slam your vehicle into a pedestrian. Of course, not having had the chance to play these games at that time, I decided to try it out in person. Thus it was that a few seconds later, the three of us (the bike, my brother and I) found ourselves in a tangled heap with an old geezer on the footpath.
After the complicated yet mandatory process of extricating oneself from old people on the footpath was completed, I found myself surrounded by a group of onlookers who no doubt found this incident rather odd. It is at times like these, that I find myself bestowed with with an unwordly sense of calm, and am able to keep an iron control over my wits. In response to a "What happened here?" query from a dangerous looking fellow on the street, I calmly elaborated on the sequence of events for his benefit "I came from there....old man was walking here (pointing to a spot about 3 feet away)...then we got entangled here...then you came and asked me this question" etc. Upon which he frowned deeper and asked "But why did you collide with him?"
You know, what I really can't stand is people with this insatiable thirst for knowledge. You understand their inquisitiveness and go about patiently answering their questions, but even before you've completed, they start bombarding you with another question and another and another, until you're at your wits end and are pulling your hair out in despair.
Still maintaining an iron grip on my emotions, I contemplated the pros and cons of doing the "Bwaaaah" bit. You will, no doubt, ask "But what exactly is this bwaaah bit?" Well, to tell you, I'll have to resort to a cheap gimmick which B-grade movies employ to confuse viewers, a flashback within a flashback.
Back in school, I had this classmate who had perfected the art of appearing to wail his guts out. He could do it instantly, with no external stimulus whatsoever. Worked wonders when teachers caught him doing stuff that...well..good little boys are not supposed to do. The teacher would round on him menacingly, but before she could come within two feet, he would go "Bwaaaah" at the top of his voice. The teacher of course, would be completely startled and beat a hasty retreat, and our friend would be grinning ear-to-ear before she even left the room.
As an aside, news is that this dude did exceedingly well in his medical exams and studied to be a doctor at one of India's top medical universities. I can just imagine the scene at his practice:
Classmate-Doctor (to patient): I've completed the angiogram of the left auscular valve of your heart, and its ticking away perfectly. No cause for worry at all!
Patient: Ah, excellent, doctor, does that mean I'm cured of my appendicitis?
Classmate-Doctor: Er..appendicitis(??)... yes... ehm... BWAAAAAAAH!!
But I digress...to get back to the point, I ultimately decided not to bank on the bwaah bit, owing to the fact that its effect greatly reduces with age, and figured that the best recourse would be to put as much distance as possible between me and the scene of the crime. So I collected my brother, who a few moments ago had grabbed a mineral water bottle from a nearby store and was proceeding to empty its contents on the old man, mumbled something to the dangerous dude about the brake being broken and my being on the way to the mechanic to have it fixed, and successfully managed to scoot off.
The final (still unsteady) steps
As they say, practice makes perfect. So I persevered. I practised and I practised. With the result that I've now perfected the art of falling off bikes and crashing into pedestrians. Over the years, I've fallen off many many bikes and had up close and personal acquaintances with many many people on the street. I've fallen off the Bajaj 150, then a Splendor and a Pulsar, and I currently fall off an Enfield. I've fallen all over Hyderabad, Chennai, Bangalore and other smaller places. And if things work out according to plan, I hope to be falling off the Himalayas within a year or two :-)
Comments
I found everything, except Irani chalti phirti chai–if one doesn’t know what is chalti phirti, ask any Irani cafe in Hyderabad.
Alpha Hotel, opp. Secunderabad station, mein to hotaich–ray sab ko chalti phirti chai de.