The Smile

I looked at the drive of the taxi cab toward my left. His smile drew my attention first, even though what caught my eye was him waving. He was looking ahead and the woman in the backseat of cab was absorbed in her phone.

There must have been half a minute or so left on the red at the busy intersection, so I had enough time to study the scene further.

The recipient of the wave was a little girl looking at us from the backseat of a cab to the front. I looked at her and lifted my left hand and waved. The black ‘cyclng gloves must have appeared like a silhouette to hear with the backdrop of all the headlights of all the vehicles trailing us.

She blushed, looked down, and nuzlled close to the woman sitting towards her right. She looked at me again and finally waved at me. The cabbie notice the change in attention, and looked over at me. We both smiled.

The frame

I didn’t notice it until I had to look to see how far Jay was behind, as we were holding a steady 90 over the silken stretch on the Deccan Plateau between Ahmednagar and Otur.

The picture is framed by the plastic of my right rear-view mirror. The sun’s a full disk about a quarter-hour over the horizon, which is low because I’m riding up a road that passes through a col. It’s streaked with a couple of clouds darker than the cumulus clouds toward the upper left of the frame.

I can clearly see the road that I had just scaled, flanked by the Deccan trap’s silhouettes. The frame is circular. Off to the center in the lower right quadrant is Jay. He is also a silhouette. His motorcycle’s headlamp is the only thing brighter than the sun, at least from my perspective.

A few kilometers later, we stop for chai. At least that was the excuse. In reality, we were a bit cold in the still air of the winter on the plateau. I bring up the frame. Jay turns around and smiles. “The best view we have had all trip.”

Where we stopped for chai.

Another ride

Two days away from the next ride. This time further inland, through the ghats, on to the plateau, and eventually to a pilgrim retreat. The occasion remains the same. Every year–at least every year where it is possible–I try to meet and spend time with a friend who played some part in me being around to write such things. His name is Billy. And his birthday is on the 7th of December, a month after mine.

Unfortunately the day coincides with the birthday of someone else who I don’t quite get along with anymore. Someone who I shared a significant part of my life learning and making music with. He owes me money. Maybe I should say that he owed me money, because I don’t expect it to ever come back to me. His family blamed me for spoiling him and his elder brother, who is a successful writer now.

A few weeks ago, at an airport, I ran into the brother than the mother. I froze. I did not want to air out the skeletons from the past. I tried my best to avoid them, but I was unsuccessful. On eye contact, I responded with an expression that must have indicated resentment, because the smile that greeted me was not let to evolve into a conversation that might wreck me.

This incident left Jay convinced that I am not mended, that I am not doing well, and that I needed more help that I think I do. And when I think about the various ways that I feel that he’s equally unmended, equally unwell, and equally requiring more help than he thinks he does, I’m reminded of the fact that I need to spend about 16 hours on the saddle, albeit on another ‘cycle, on the next ride. It’s his first medium-distance ride.

There’s a lot to look forward to. Or a lot to be wary of.

Assorted

Today was eleven years to the day before or two days after I met Jay. We met online first and then in real life.

I gave a paperback copy of “A Man Without A Country”, which, in retrospect was a poor decision. The paperback part, and not the book.

We rode to his country home across the bay on our motorcycles. In the process, I got completely lost twice, thanks to Google Maps mishaps.

We made unniappams to celebrate. It’s the first time we tried to make it properly and they turned out really good. See pic.

We almost adopted a new cat (? kitten) called Sinju. Almost because Jay was not convinced that his mythical cat persona (a cat that likes being picked up and lies with you if you decide you want it to — basically, a cat with no agency) won’t be fulfilled by it.

I’m a bit sad because of this. I think Sinju would have been the perfect dovetailing companion to Blu.

Unniappams

Motorcycling in Mumbai

A few years ago, when I restarted motorcycling, I had made a pact to ensure that no matter what the situation is, including weather aspects, I’ll take care to wear protective gear while riding. For in-city rides, I would ease a little and wear a street leather jacket, riding boots, gloves, balaclava, and a helmet.

It is October. It’s muggy and smoggy in Mumbai. And the traffic is the worst it has ever been. Yesterday, it took me 2 h 35 min to ride about 38 km, of which there were about 12 kilometers in the first and second gears.

Why was the traffic so bad?

• Bottlenecks related to infra projects
• A motor cavalcade for a politician
• A Ganpati processsion
• Crazy riding and no lane discipline
• Roads taken over by street vendor and peddlers
• Daily commuters crossing 4-lane express ways when they see an opening

Remember I was wearing a leather jacket. I must have lost about a liter in sweat. The only think keeping me sane was the TWiT podcast team’s jokes.

I had an option to react to each deplorable cause of traffic congestion. I could either say

• “fuck,” “bastard,” “motherfucker”, “I can’t believe it”, “are you out of your mind”? OR
• ”wonderful”, “awesome,” “this is just great”, “thank you”, “perfect”

I chose the latter, with I only meaning something for vulnerable looking pedestrians trying to cross the road in the middle of traffic. Their faces told sad stories of the misery of their lives with the only hope of betterment being their imminent union with their family for a meal.

WOW. Now you tell me if you want to be in the Maximum CIty.

Communication (lack of)

I have known Jay for about 11 years. From the start, the communication rhythm we had was less than smooth, and things have gone only south. Our bad communication behaviors trigger others’ bad behaviors and it’s a vicious cycle. In such a situation, communication while we go for long motorcycle rides is a messy situation.

Today’s ride was one such day. We were starting from our respective apartments separated by about 35 kilometers of the mess that is referred to as Mumbai City. The idea was for us to meet at a common rendezvous point on the way up to the famous motorcycling restaurant 130 clicks north of the city for brunch and back.

Jay had a rough start; some new equipment Jay had purchased did not quite work the way he expected. Jay’s m’cycle also gave him some problems. I, being norther than he is, could afford to start much later. I was skipping my swimming lesson for the ride, but in retrospect, I needn’t have skipped my lesson as Jay had gotten delayed.

We spoke three times on Jay’s way up until we met. We had rough conversations with Jay sounding anxious and uptight, and I failed to calm him down. When we eventually met, there was no exchange between the two of us that would suggest us being partners. It was matter-of-fact-ly. I would have liked to talk a bit and plan the rest of the ride up North, but we didn’t.

The rest of the ride up north was similar. We stopped a couple of times, with our choices for stopping not syncing with the others. I had made pancakes in the spare time I had while waiting for Jay to ride up. We didn’t manage to eat it because there was no conversation about it. I suggested it once, but I was brushed off. I was on the less-powerful bike and I ride generally slower than Jay. This meant that throughout the journey, Jay would gain kilometers, stop and wait for me, and then the cycle would repeat itself. Eventually, my secondary phone (used for navigation and music/podcasts) died, worsening things.

Once we reached the restaurant, the noise of the super-bikers doing stunts ruined the meal. Even though we tried speaking like normal people at the restaurant, it was still stilted. On the way down, our riding discrepancy was even more pronounced, and I constantly felt like I was dragging him down–both in pace and joy of riding. This is the same feeling that I had, the one that I was trying to rectify, while I made a rash decision and ended up having a spill, which led me to eventually go through surgery and recovery.

Now, after having thought about the entire situation, I don’t have much hope for us two to have a healthy communication routine. If you think I’m being pessimistic, let me tell you that m’cycling is seemingly the only thing that we enjoy doing with each other.

Precious aspects of life

It was half past twelve in the afternoon. The pantry was almost empty. I noticed that the big stain on the window sill has been washed away. Probably by the rains. The only other person in the pantry is seated at the third table looking away from me.

I have my earphones on with the podcast I’m listening to. I have decided to get through this podcast and start the next one by the time I’m at my desk, almost forcing myself to notice people. But then I realize that the person who is sharing the pantry with me is someone that I share some precious aspects of my life with; things like motorcycling, mental health, books, philosophy, and home.

So I decided to break away from my plan. I let her know about my newly cleared-for-motorcycling status. She is so happy for me. We discussed trip plans. She doesn’t have any–she rides pillion with her husband if you were wondering.

She asks about my plans. I say short- and medium-distance rides, primarily to build back my saddle endurance. I explained to her that the knee surgery also involves hamstring surgery, which meant that my hip now needs to get adjusted to the saddle once more. She understood. She continues to be excited.

I ask her if I can share my potato-bacon-egg thing, but she says she’s fasting (meaning abstaining from non-vegetarian food). I take leave explaining my podcast, and she says it is okay. I am happy that I am able to share my precious life with her.

Nine Months

No, I did not delivery a baby. I rode a motorcycle after 9 months. One of our two. All the way from Jay’s apartment to mine, which is about 40 kilometers and about 100 min.

I got cleared by my surgeon and physical therapist yesterday. I was anxious but I’m glad I did it. I was safe and I stayed well within my limits. The hip on the operated side still needs a little bit of getting used to.

When I heard the news, I was pleased as I was expecting to be. But I’m not happy or excited. That’s the state of my mind. I don’t know if I identify with happiness or pleasure.