I don’t support it, but I understand it. When you’ve spent more time researching engine oil than olive oil, you end up comparing the obedience of a non-living bike to an actual living person.
But if we look at it empathetically, men start loving bikes much earlier. Before we even learn to walk properly, we are already on tricycles. That obsession doesn’t leave till you have kids or get hit by a truck.
Mine started in 1998. I had just learned cycling on my cousin’s cycle, and after that, that’s all I wanted to do. Behind Erragadda mental hospital, near Borabanda, there was a guy who rented cycles. ₹2 rupees it, ₹1 rent. What a steel.
I would cycle all over Erragadda and Borabanda, go till the mental hospital, stand outside, look in, come back home, exaggerate and tell people that I saw crazy people doing crazy things.
Hyderabad was nice back then. Now when I look back, I’m just happy no one kidnapped me. Maybe times were different, or maybe nobody kidnaps a kid cycling like he is getting late to work in a meter factory.
Then came the era of the Chetak.
Chetak was not a vehicle. It was the bare minimum for a dowry. I didn’t ride it much, but I spent a lot of time standing in that front space. Later, I found out that space was designed so Italian men don’t get their pants dirty. But Indians saw it and said: this space is perfect to keep groceries, children, and black money.
That vehicle is only good for nostalgia. It could have killed us all with that ever accident ready design.
Then came college, and my father got me a Bajaj Platina. At home it was presented like a smart investment. Mileage, economy, sensible choice.
I agreed… till I took it to college, where my friends had Pulsars and Bullets, and me with my Platina. It felt like showing up to a potluck with Pepsi. Not even Coke.
But the Platina had one unbeatable feature, mileage. One litre petrol, 100 kilometres. My father didn’t care about speed or style. Only one question: ‘Kitna deti hai?’
And slowly, the world also agreed with him.
Petrol prices went up, and all the Bullet guys parked theirs at home and started hitching rides on my bike.
Which had now become public transport.
You can’t do this now, but once I put ₹7 petrol on empty and still reached Jubilee Hills from Ameerpet.
Then I got a job and bought a Pulsar. Caption: definitely male. This was a bike that made sure men don’t buy a Scooty Pep and be comfortable, but instead buy something 220 cc, fast, loud, full of adrenaline while accelerating, and when you brake it feels like Titanic hitting the iceberg, total disaster, but full swag.
All of us thought: this bike looks so nice, with me sitting on it girls will like me more.
I realised women don’t like sitting on a Pulsar back seat that much. It’s just another public space that makes them uncomfortable.
And then one day, I rode an Activa. I realised… this is not a bike. This is a sofa with a handle.
By this time, I was nearing 30.
I sold my Pulsar in just two weeks and got myself an Activa.
This is a really nice vehicle. I don’t care for it at all, it gets washed only when it rains, serviced only when someone I know meets with an accident, and it doesn’t even stop for no reason.
But this will be my last two-wheeler. I’m not that brave, especially with roads looking like graves.
I will ride this bike till I either buy a car or get hit by a Thar.
Sandesh
@msgfromsandesh
(This comedian is here to tell funny stories about Hyderabad)
(The writer’s views are his own)