School time. The old scooter coughed again. Seemed like a lifetime before it started. I was sick & tired of tellin’ him to buy a new bike instead o’ this wretched ol’ scooter. That way I don’t get to feel embarrassed when I see my friends in cars. Not that they sported around in BMWs and Rolls’, but hey, a bike’s a bike. Where does a scooter even stand a pig’s hair in front of a roarin’ monster that comes with a ‘Definitely male’ tagline?
‘Dad...’
He looked up.
‘What happened to the new bike we were gonna get?’
‘Oh that!... Let’s see’, he glanced back into the TV.
‘Yeah rite... All you see’re those crappy singin’ competitions on TV’, I mumbled without him surprisingly not noticin’ it.
‘For God’s sake sell the damn thing Dad... It’s been 15 years since you’ve been pushin’ that thing around’
He suddenly seemed to ponder a few seconds. Somethin’ that totally took me aback. (Well...uhh...you know… I’m not used to people thinkin’ over stuff I say. Odd faces and Yeah-rite-and-I’m-the-Duke-of-Wellington looks are what I get usually.)
‘Yeah you’re rite...Think its ‘bout time we got a new one’.
Wait a minute. Did he just agree with me? Agree as in OK?? Wow! The last time that happened I was in my diapers apparently signallin’ him that I had…uhh…successfully accomplished Operation Nature’s Call and wanted my diaper off. He agreed!!!...The huge ant-bite on my butt that evenin’ was a totally different story.
The next day more than half the school knew I was gonna buy a new bike. And more than half the school gave me more than half a school o’ suggestions.
On television, crappy singin’ competitions were ignored and commercials were given a priority. Newspapers were under forensic examination for ads and our mechanic became our dearest friend. Even those nosy neighbours played their parts. Always screwin’ up the bike I chose.
But before getting’ our hands on the new member of the family, we chose to dispose the old-timer. Mom didn’t know anythin’ ‘bout bikes but she was all the more excited about the gettin’ rid of the old-timer part. A nation-wide search for the apt scape-goat was launched. Neighbours, my folks’ colleagues, some o’ my worthless friends, everyone were told to keep an eye out for...uhh…vintage scooter collectors.
And after what seemed like a never endin’ fortnight, we managed to find one. Courtesy: Our new friend Mr. Mechanic. The guy offered a whopping six grand. Dad had related the tale of his prized possession countless times all my life. I chuckled as his words echoed,
‘You see the big fan here right above the engine? Well there’s a 150cc beneath it. It was a prestigious issue to own one o’ these those days you know? Was imported directly from
Every time I was listenin’ to this speech of his…I found myself scrubbin’ the scooter. Gettin’ a new bike wasn’t gonna change all the scrubbin’ part, but if you’re asked to choose between watchin’ Dame Judi Dench strippin’ or Scarlett Johansson…uhh...you get the point!
The guy was supposed to visit the antique the next week. The rage o’ the road arrived home before then. I was rubbin’ my hands like a greedy villain with an evil grin who eyed the damsel in a bollywood movie. Dad cut it short by directin’ me to get some lemons in my bicycle. Bah!! He’d make the worst director if you ask me. (Oh and if you’re the same alien whom I mentioned in my first blog, then I’ve ta tell you that the lemons are for makin’ a new vehicle auspicious. You place one beneath each tyre and crush them in the first go and whoosh!!...your vehicle’s all auspicious. Yeah right! Try tellin’ that to the lemons.)
You know what they say...’An optimist is never deterred’. (Actually no one said that, but, it adds to the effect you know. By the way, if that line clicks, I’d like to have a copyright on that.) Ok I have to admit I was pissed off when he sent me to buy those stupid lemons, but, when I came ta think, (Yes, I do that sometimes too...Ha ha...Very funny you guys...), I came across the fact that I can’t be stopped by lemons! Those teeny, weeny yellow balls!! That’s ridiculous!! I’ve got more balls than a lemon!!
The grocery shop was at the street across. I geared up and sped as fast as I can. (In case you’re wonderin’, my bicycle had gears too. Eighteen of ‘em!!....I still had to pedal my ass off though.) When I raced back to the parkin’ lot with two o’ the plumpest lemons a pumpkin would’ve ever seen, I stopped by a crowd. A very nosy, noisy crowd. Neighbours!
I got closer to the source o’ the noise only to see Mr. Memon gettin’ on my ride. What nerve!! Hey wait a minute! What were those? Two lemons were lyin’ massacred on the floor! Courtesy: Dad. Apparently, he’d found some rotten lemons in the fridge while I was cyclin’ my ass off through the street. And now Mr. Memon was gonna test-ride it. Wow. How exciting. (RATS!!)
I stood there watchin’ while he sped off. I was in love with this bike. So now his daughter’s history. The engine was like a piano! Never heard more appealin’ music churn out from anythin’. And if Bach was there, I’m sure he’ll agree too.
Time stopped still as I felt the echo in my ears. No wait! It was that Memon guy comin’ back...with MY ride.
He came. He spoke. He never got up.
I can’t remember one dirty word that I didn’t associate him with. Unless of course, I heard this come outta his mouth.
‘Your motor-cycle has gotta lot of power sir. It can be fatal in the hands of teenagers.’
Have you ever wondered how it would be if you ended up in a lone island where there’s all the mouth-waterin’ food and the classiest of booze you ever wanted and loaded with the most beautiful chicks in the world, clad in designer bikinis? Well, stop wonderin’!! My heart’s bein’ ripped out in cold blood here!!
This was when I couldn’t help but think of ways to bash him up. I could wear a monkey-cap and sneak up at dark and bash him up. Yeah! I was gonna pound him left & right. Make him wish he was dead meat. So what if he was a trainer at his own gym huh?? I was the biggest guy in class! (Well horizontally....but...that’s not the point!!!)
Normally, I would’ve done what I was thinkin’, if it weren’t for somethin’ that sounded like,
‘You’re right Memon; maybe we’ll wait till he grows up a bit more and then give him the ride.’
Crap!! If it weren’t the lemons, it had to be the Memons!! Who knows what “grows up a bit” means? I could grow up to be someone who doesn’t even fit through his door for Pete’s sake!! Yeah!! Maybe then I could beat up Memon. Wouldn’t be much difficult too!! All I had to do was push him down and sit on him and the bastard’ll squish to death.
So the verdict was final. I can’t ride the bike. I can soak it, soap it, wipe it, wax it, dry it, clean it, but I can’t ride it!!
A guy came the next day. Was dressed pretty neat in shabby clothes. His hands were tight and he didn’t look like the kinda guy whose pockets were big enough. And I could tell he’d come to buy our old scooter. Dad & I took him to the parkin’ lot where it was left standin’ in a corner. It still bore the marks of the paint I scratched off as a kid (and had had a nice thwacking for it)...It still had the dent from the first accident we were in...Still had the memories of Dad takin’ Mom to the movies for the first time...The way I looked at Dad in awe when he gave that speech of his the first time...The way I scrubbed it clean all day after that...The excitement I had when I first managed to start it up...The first time I smelt petrol...The first time I went to school and ran behind it cryin’ as Dad sped off...The first time I played Speed Racer and kicked the kid next door off the back-seat...The first time I had the wind at my face...All the times that I annoyed Dad with the constant horn-thumping...All the scolding I got from him for dancin’ on the seat while riding...All the times I fell asleep on Mom’s lap at the back-seat... And as the guy drove off with the scooter, I agreed with Dad for the first time...Maybe it was priceless!!
