Royal Enfield, a romantic story.

So, I have just moved into one of the most beautiful cities in Punjab, Amritsar. It has been one hell of a turmoil as things aren’t as per plan with my new house. The weather has only aggravated for the worse with the sun, choosing to shower it’s wrath every bloody day. I can’t stop behaving like a husky forced to be in the heat.

I needed a machine to get from place A to B, and had originally intended to get myself a big fat SUV. However, I decided to reward myself with it for a later time when I truly deserve one.

So the next best thing was to get myself a decent bike. Buying a bike is one of the most mind boggling experiences. Everyone suddenly gets enthusiastic and expects you to fullfil their fantasies through you. It was imperative to get a Royal Enfield, because it has one of the best services in remote locations, with one service center just a few miles away from where I currently live.

The next challenge was to zero in on the particular model, which is a bigger pain as the plethora of options and colours are mood based. I ended up liking a colour in the morning and changing my mind in the evening.

The Trial limited edition

The idea was to stick the the 350cc bracket because I am not a biker nor an enthusiastic afficionado of two wheelers. I find cars not only functional and safe, but extremely comfortable for my tall lanky athletic frame.
That helped me zero down on some specific models. The classic and the Thunderbird. Now here’s where people lose their shit and defend their opinions with the enthusiasm of kids at a Baskin Robbins.

I have driven both and loved them both. Some part of me associated myself with the birdie and I instantly knew that it was mine. Yet I teased myself by trying the others. The trial edition of the 350cc really caught my eye. I loved the silver too, yet I was not drawn to them like I should have been.

The bird was mine.

I loved the red.

The black alloys.

The halogen and ABS.

The cool gloves and keychains I got from the store.

A simple black helmet. ( I’ll make someone gift me a cooler one 😉, you know who you are!)

My love for colours was really evident with this choice. It is a bike I will want to handover to my son along with a secret stash of playboys saved over the years. Now I’m not one of those speed junkies. I prefer making loud unspoken statements. It’s my thing. Just like this bike. So I decided not to succumb to peer pressure and follow my heart. I love it. There is a satisfaction. Just like a happy relationship.

I see them kiss at the airport gates

I see them kiss at the airport gates

He looks as dilapidated as my ignored handkerchief

If only footprints in the sand of time could tell the future

Maybe a tear or two could be saved?

They say men are not expressive at times

But these ‘they’ don’t understand

If he doesn’t spout a tear or two

Has he even loved at all?

I see them kiss at the airport gates

Takes me to the time I had grass stains on my knickknacks

Father used to quip

If you didn’t stain them a little

Then did you even play at all?

As I walk away from their moment

I’ve promised to save this thought for a different day

Emotions are like a stomach upset

Never easy to say.

The Untraceable Murder.

They should be tried for murder

For killing emotions, a crime too

Some people destroy feelings for so many materialistic things. They leave no trace on the crime scene because the murder is a mentally exclusive affair. It is possible to ruin and destroy a cafe without a trace through the ammunition of haunted feelings and sentiments. Cities never remain the same, neither do songs and their lyrics. People die too, yet you see them walking around and carrying on with their lives, while you consciously choose to not notice them, nor acknowledge their presence online for they bring back emotions of hatred of a mangled past.

What made me get to this zone? No I am not in a bad space of mind. I started contemplating about this issue because of subjecting myself to a conversation with my old school pal who stopped talking to me for a long time because I brought back haunted memories of his ex girlfriend, through whom we both became friends. For years I never understood why, till he decided to come out and explain himself. I have never appreciated honesty so much.

Feelings are such a core aspect of our lives, and yet we underplay them on such a complex scale.

Ode to Josephine

Somewhere out there someone’s saying a prayer
That we’ll find one another in that dream somewhere out there

And even though I know how very far apart we are

It helps to think we might be wishing on the same bright star

And when the night wind starts to sing a lonesome lullaby

It helps to think we’re sleeping underneath the same big sky.


I’ve come home on a short stint of leave of some sorts though my heart has been trumpeting with its own steady problems.

Though there have been no major battles across the borders, my mind has been fighting issues of its own.

I need to understand and accept certain things that I cannot change . I have been letting the gods of insecurities overpower my emotions for a long time.

It’s time I let the margarita in front of me to keep quiet and let the sober me to start taking over the real feelings of this blog.

There has been a shift in the last couple of months and this has been the most challenging phase of my life till date as I have had to deal with one of the most trying times that have made me question the fundamental reason of my basic decisions.

Dear God

Please don’t let me screw up.

I am at the crossroads of the most important junctures of my life.

May I have the maturity to handle things that I cannot change and live up to the expectations of everyone affected by me.

I need to survive. Most importantly, I want to.

Dear Josephine

For distances across the seven seas

There are permissions and currencies

For love to conquer boundaries

I have unpardonable tendencies

Elements with weird valencies

To curb the heart of insecurities

Because I’m helpless in countless philosophies

For the mind to battle adversities

I succumb to the fatalities

Untitled Mindset

So post a short stint of leave at Bangalore I have joined work again. Work has been action packed quite literally. I’m currently battling a minor back pain which made me think about how much I have hurt my body in the past couple of years. Yet I never learn. My gut tells me I suffer from a hyper activity disorder.

I have also began some serious training, and pretty soon give the ladkiyaans of my imaginary mohalla something to look at.

There has been a roller coaster shift with the job as I’m literally juggling between a thousand odd chores.

I’m looking for a good steady SUV for myself to roam in the streets of Punjab playing obnoxiously loud materialistic punjabi music for neighbours to crib about.

I bought a new iPad pencil last month and cannot stop gushing over how amazing I have become at doodling, which is a habit I picked up in one of the many long phone calls that I attend as a part of my work.

A Fear of Airplanes.

Turbulence ahead, you are requested to please fasten your seat belts.

This one announcement in the plane sounds like a death threat to my petrified soul.

It is to be kept in mind dear reader that this blog is being written some 10,000 ft in the air as my airplane crosses the unforgiving skies of Chandigarh. I can see a raindrop or two on the window.

I have had this nagging fear of the skies for over a couple of years now. It was never there before. I used to be fascinated by air travel in my early travels. I guess that went for a toss when I let a few terrible experiences and YouTube videos get into my nut.

It was thorough pondering that made me realise that it is not the fear of the skies or death that haunts me. I am a qualified sky diver. I have jumped in the dark skies without a second thought. Give me a parachute and I will be sure of myself.

But in this giant metal tube with a hundred other passengers and a stupid wailing kid, I realised that I have a serious fear of helplessness. The helpless idea of putting my life in the hands of a pilot I do not know or do not trust. The fact that I could be subjected to plummet to my death from a height, within a minute that would be filled with nothing but a sense of anger at the idea that I failed to book a train ticket. I have had thoughts about what I would actually think about. I have been wondering at the business proposition of investing in a new technology where a mega giant super parachute could be installed for a failing engine to save the plane.

The worst part of the ordeal is that this niggling fear does not come to me while booking the god damn tickets.

It comes to me only when the plane taxis on the runway in full swing. Those minutes put me through a sort of regret. A familiar feeling that makes me want to tear open my front seat and slap the scalp of the uncle ahead of me.

Just like any other typical human, I never learn. I’ll continue to bitch about this amazing invention that has been saving my ass as well as saving me 4 days of precious leave because my loved ones stay way far in the hinterland while I stay perched in a pigeonhole in the mountains, in the Siberian end of the country.


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