ME AND MY MOTORCYCLE

ME AND MY MOTORCYCLE

Let me start with a disclaimer “The contents of this post has nothing to do with the book ‘Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance’, but I can always say that it provided the inspiration”. The book itself is a modern day classic which was published first in 1974. Written by Robert Pirzig it is a philosophical novel in which the author explores the Metaphysics of Quality. Two types of personalities are brought out in the book, one being in the present moment and not on rational analysis and the other seeking to know the details, understand the inner workings and master the mechanics (in this case motor cycle maintenance). One sentence from the book still keeps ringing in my head “Other people can talk about how to expand the destiny of mankind. I just want to talk about how to fix a motorcycle. I think that what I have to say has more lasting value”.

So really I do not have anything philosophical to say and nor am I going to post something profound. As I was cleaning my bookshelf today, and that I do infrequently, I took this book out and while dusting it, turned to the first page. I usually sign there and write the place of purchase and date. This was purchased on 13^th May 1982 at Bombay (Mumbai only later on), a good five years after I had bought my motorbike and that’s where it all started.

After living together for nearly twenty two years (I mean me and my motorbike) I watched him being ridden away by that Parsi mechanic who of course had through the years was there to ensure his well being from time to time, again I am talking about my bike. You have to understand that he was very masculine what with his robust body and a roaring voice and everyone called him ‘Yezdi’. I still do not know what it means, even the Wikipedia could not give me any satisfactory answers. But of course what’s in a name ‘an Yezdi by any other name will still be an Yezdi’ (sorry borrowed that from Shakespeare – I hope that’s right). Well any way he had to go and all partings are painful. It was like leaving behind a pet dog behind with someone, for you cannot take him wherever you go (I hope the loved ones do not take umbrage at this statement for I thought that this was the closest analogy I could give).

Well the Parsi mechanic disappeared with my bike into the distance leaving behind a vacuum in my life (let me clarify that I am talking about my motorbike and not the Parsi lest I am misunderstood). Like all flashbacks (like in the movies) my mind went back to that day in November 1977 when we first met. You see that the motorbikes are always the first acquisitions as soon as one gets confirmed in the job (I am talking about those days when acquiring an Yezdi motorbike was the second most macho thing to do, the first being the ‘Bullet’. Taking my physical build into consideration I had to settle for the Yezdi, also I rationalised (this is where the rational part comes into existence) that in case the bike has a puncture or suddenly stops it would be easier to push it to the mechanic’s shop than the ‘Bullet’ and also he was less costly. So I hope you get the point – wives come in only next. But in my case, wife came first and then only the bike (two months later). In case you are wondering whether I had acquired him after waiting for the dowry, I am sorry to disappoint you for I did not receive any (I hope my wife does not read this).

For the next nineteen years he served the family, which grew from two to four over the years diligently, till finally taking note of his advancing age and his increasing protestations on the road, I had to go in for a car to accommodate all of us. But I never let go of him for the next three years. I gave him a new look, painted and plated and a thorough check up, of course by the same Parsi gentleman. He did a very good job for I think that he was sure that one day he would be taking him away.

We shared a lot of great moments together and a few mishaps though nothing serious. I will never forget the day when he suddenly sat on the road and refused to budge. Though I coaxed him by cleaning his spark plugs and other little things which would have him all excited once more, to become active (don’t get me wrong on this also) and take me back home, nothing worked. So I had to engage an ambulance (a mini truck) and have him taken to his doctor for treatment (the Parsi one of course). It appeared that he had had a stroke and his shock absorbers had given away. After he was discharged I took him home and put him in his corner. I should also place on record here that he also contributed to my physical well being and fitness. I remember a particular episode when I was trying wake him up by kicking repeatedly and the guy next to me at the vehicle stand  looked at me, sitting on his new snazzy bike with auto start and said ‘That’s always the problem with these old bikes, see I just have to press a button for mine to start’. He was a plump overweight little fellow and I was of a slim and healthy build. What audacity I thought and replied ‘see that’s why you are like what you are and I am like what I am’ and as my bike started with a roar I looked at him and smiled. He had got the message – no one fools with my bike!

I cannot relate all the adventures we shared and the feeling of togetherness which grew over the years, but for me he was something very real, alive and kicking. So it was sad to see him go, but that’s the way things are and we move on and I moved on to my car. Well that’s another story.