BiKronicles: The Southern Tip

PRELUDE: It’s been a week since the southern sojourn. I am drained, exhausted and probably using reserve fuel to write this post. The extreme sunburn, which has rendered me the “kaali kalooti” victim, and the food allergies, thanks to 0 control amidst seafood, hasn’t helped my situation. Needless to say, a great weekend has left me feeling and looking like I went on a drug-alcohol binge and am now in rehab. The icing on this weathered girl’s cake was facing her monthly monstrosity on the ER6n ripping its way back to Mumbai. Whoever said that time-of-the-month was no biggie certainly didn’t experience it on a zipping kwacker.

BACKGROUND: Jaya Sriram met us last year on NH48 heading from Hampi to Bengaluru. We made a brief chai halt, exchanged numbers, accidentally ran into his dad, grabbed lunch and went our ways. A week later (15 Aug 2015), we found ourselves in much-planned-never-executed Auroville. Spent a lovely weekend exploring, drinking, traversing, eating and developing a fast bond and mutual respect. Any plans after that never took off. Cut to a year later and Sriram asked us to plan the southern sojourn on his bday 12 Aug 2016. We also realized it’ll be exactly a year since our last meeting.  

In the interim, I got my Bonneville and that nagging itch to take her down south buggered me. Of course, with great bikes come disproportional bank balances (VRL slapped me with a 14k estimate to transport the Bonnie’s prissy behind back and forth). Hence, I retreated to my cave and stuck to the prearranged Royal Enfield bikes.

LE TROUPE: Sriram (the main protagonist – Chennai resident – AuroExport - architect); US (Abeer and I); Vivek (Puneite – Nasik export – hyper planner); Arun and Christina (Half-German + Full Scottish couple) – last minute addition, barely prepared gear wise but completely gunning in spirit. 

BIKES: Sriram rode his old classic RE Bullet while the rest of us made do with just-about-functioning RE rentals. Luckily, Abeer and my bike as well as Vivek’s bike survived and pulled through. However, our German/Scottish couple’s journey was far from smooth; stopping incessantly, barely touching decent speeds and leaving them always behind and sometimes off the grid, literally. What’s worse was that even though 800/day rental was a steal, at the nth moment the chap who gave us the bikes, charged us even for the day he kept it ready for us aka for when we didn’t use it. That was a bummer and a blow to our calculations which came to 3200/-.

ROUTE: Mumbai/Pune – Chennai Airport – Pondicherry – Edayanchavadi – Tranquebar – Pattukotai – Rameshwaram – Dhanushkodi – Karaikudi – Back to Pavilion. ~1100 kms with all diversions inclusive. This was 1 helluva trip packed in 3 scorching days on unfamiliar bikes. 

THE JOURNEY (Mumbai T2 Terminal): Like all trips, this one had to start with drama. This time it was Yash Raj meets Abbas-Mastan proportions. Abeer had a leisure day and I had a HELL week. Extreme sleep deprivation, lack of food, sanity and the need to leave it all behind made for a bad last minute cocktail. Back broken, I dragged our bags and gear down the metro to the airport. The entire city went zombieland on us. Air India meant finally a visit to the new T2 terminal. We scrambled, fought, and made it to the counter after battling snakes of disorderly passengers. Everyone had a flight that was JUST taking off – us included. I wasn’t having any of it. Never missed a flight; was never gonna let anything tarnish my clean record. A few arguments with AI staff and we managed to get luggage checked in, and into security checks. HERE is where all HELL opened their floodgates (in me). I got done and stamped my boarding pass. Realized AI gave me just one document and confirmed it was for Abeer too. Informed security that somewhere behind 50 passengers was Abeer who needed this pass to get through. Amidst fights that had already commenced in smaller groups, I had heated exchanges with security. An AI lady kept following me and my phone rang off the hook from AI (this is a silent terminal) to check if I boarded my 6:15 pm flight. It was 6:05 pm and I was standing in front of head of security, a royally pissed off Abeer and a matronly AI lady trying to resolve a now confirmed AI BOTCH JOB. Security had it up to their necks managing unruly crowds and I was the last thing they needed. He was rude and said that I was careless and breaking protocol. What followed next – even I can’t sit here and think I DID THAT. Dropped my bags and unleashed a volley of I-can’t-recall at him far enough for 3 departure gates to look at me. I didn’t realize then that tears were streaming down my face and I was seriously loud for someone who hates public spats and scenes. My flight was about to take off so I think my aforementioned state resulted in THIS. The security head (Army issue) kept quiet and avoided eye contact. AI sent their posy to escort Abeer and me through it all right up to our seats and apologized. The matronly lady hugged me and calmed me. I took my window seat and suddenly was aware of how embarrassed I felt. Cried for 10 mins and then slipped into impending slumber with a bemused partner trying his best to make me break into a grin and taking selfies. 

Chennai Airport: Had been here and t’was nothing like the one I had traveled through before. This looked like Goa airport (pre-refurbish). It was late. Our flight was an hr late in departure but miraculously on time landing. I was relaxed but craving sleep. We waited for our bags. After 30mins and ALL bags, came Abeer’s stuff and one of my bags. HELMET was missing. The conveyor stopped, everyone cleared out. I stood there going – THIS IS NOT HAPPENING. Abeer panicked. Not cuz my helmet didn’t arrive but for a possible encore of the Mumbai showdown v2.0. The customer helpdesk appeared remarkably calm –missing bags was a mundane complaint. Too tired to get pissed, I decided I was gonna be patient; for now. The bag tags didn’t read on their monitor aka they were unaware of its whereabouts. I filled out the forms and decided that I wld stay put at the airport since our Pune entourage would land in the morning. 30mins later someone came running with it. I was eternally grateful. The dark packing combined with poor light and dark container had left my hapless helmet in some corner of the tarmac. Issue resolved we stepped out. Of course, Abeer (signature male trait) did not wanna listen to me and proceeded to book a cab to Perungalathur bus station on the behest of the not-so-knowledgeable Sriram. We Ubered 14kms to the bus stop had our 1st lavish south Indian/fishy meal and proceeded to catch ANY bus that would head to Pondicherry. By then it was 11:00pm, exhaustion didn’t even begin to describe our state and the heat was unforgivable (I missed Mumbai and that says it all). AC buses were limited and overpriced so we took a non-AC metal rattler. Sadly, we stood out like Ambanis in the crowd and were easily victimized into shelling out 4x the accrued cost of the metal glued together. The bus trudged for 5ft, honked a shrill ear shattering horn (which I am sure is illegal in 80% of the globe) and looked for passengers to replicate a sardine can environment. Imagine this for nearly 20 kms precluded by 48hrs no sleep, ~40°C and suffocation. I hardly imagined this to be a vacation and was ready to go homicidal. Abeer had it at his wits end and was seriously EXHAUSTED. I could see him glistening with perspiration akin to some war movie and a hapless innocent captive in a cave. The part that pissed me off: the same bus made a stop OUTSIDE the airport and I just glared at Abeer with that I-told-you-so look. He in turn decided it was safest to blame Sriram. Thereafter, the bus picked up speed like it didn’t care to live or die. Driver confidently declared 2 hrs every 2hrs of the journey to Pondicherry as his puny body navigated the large rattling chunk through blank charcoal darkness and multiple near misses. The cooling air was temporary respite but nothing helpful. We started at 11pm and touched Pondicherry at 4am. Sriram was fast asleep unwrapping another layer of frustration from us. We got off the bus in the middle of Pondicherry (more like some unknown square) and sat in the middle of the road with a glass of divine coffee from a just opened stall. After 30mins Sriram answered and we proceeded to get home, get our bikes and the works. All I recall at this point is collapsing in deep slumber in the same clothes for a good 2hrs.

Edayanchavadi to Pattukotai/Day 1: Vivek and troupe landed and got in at around 8am. Woke up, showered, dressed and still felt like a gust of wind could put me to bed again. Vivek apparently had not accounted for the exhaustion and was flat drained out. But we HAD to leave and soon. The boys took off to get the bikes while I caught up on poor but needed slumber. With REs come a plethora of issues. Its tradition you see. It’s a crime to have intact Enfields and so we took it in our stride. Our bikes were just about ok. But the newly joined-in Scottish-German couple (Arun and Christina) were about to find out what it was like to do this trip with no gear and a not-so-happening bike. We navigated through instantly unforgivable heat and chaotic traffic out of Pondicherry. Our target was Rameshwaram. Sriram had arranged for our stay and someone to take us around since we didn’t have the luxury of exploration at our own pace.

The entire day/ride was a series of near misses, maneuvering through good and bad roads, catching up, waiting, pleading with the sun to take a hike, losing and finding each other and the works. South India’s traffic was extremely aggressive esp. large cargo trucks and vehicles whose agenda was to run us off the road instead of get to their destination. Talk about priorities. At 1 such naakabandi, the cops flagged us down and we dutifully did a turn around and met them. They spoke to us in broken Hindi and much Tamil. In the midst of this confusing exchange and more of their fascination than intended checks, a truck came hurtling toward us with zero regard for our parked bike and the barricades. I stared in horror muttering to myself that the truck needed to slow down at which point Abeer titled the bike (us still saddled on it). The truck grazed us, threw me off the bike and scratched a bit of the bike’s sides coming to a screeching halt. Dusting myself off and seething with rage, I screamed and banged on the driver’s door asking him to step out so I could apparently paste him into one of their famous chatnis. The cops looked worried and Abeer announced the driver’s impending demise at my hands. Everyone profusely apologized and asked us to continue and have a safe trip. Ppfffffft. Other incidents included Vivek dozing off a few times on the bike. All of us watched in amusement and concern has he navigated in waves and yo-yoed through the highway under a heat wave thanks to him donning an all leather Cramster jacket with 48 hours of no sleep. Ultimately, he just gave up, parked the bike at the next structure that doubled as a shelter and passed out on the ground. We made good of that situation by clicking some embarrassing pics of him :D Christina and I also stopped to help a rather large lady who was riding pillion and had fallen off rather brazenly at the corner off the road. Her spouse had tried to negotiate the edge of the road while a nasty bus hogged their space. The sides of the road had a sharp curvaceous drop, which could prove lethal at certain speeds. I revived her, helped her breathe, she appeared to be in shock but not seriously wounded save for a nasty one on her leg. We managed to flag down an SUV and put her in the back of it (we had to lift her) and be on our ways. I was glad to have been there to stop and help her cz it looked like no one stopped except when I did. 

The trip was ill-timed aka the heat was getting to us all but the bravest was Sriram who was the calmest most positive of us all. Abeer and I were seasoned travelers so we just coped as best we could. That included a few verbal spats, tons of making up and generally making sure we both made it through this exhaustive, incident-riddled day. We made a stop at Tranquebar (Tharangambadi) – supposedly a Dutch town. I was tad disappointed to see a miniscule stretch of what appeared to be a once upon a time town; wearing a deserted look and not matching my impression of a Dutch Pondicherry. Either way we were out of time and I’m grateful to the boys for indulging a stop there to satiate my curiosity beneath the monstrosity of gear and exasperation. We took a round of the beach and the exterior of the touristic fort and took off just as quickly. 

By early evening, we realized we couldn’t make our intended destination of Rameshwaram and instead opted for a nearby coastal town. The quest for that town included mind-blowing sunsets, quickly descending darkness and a 100% confirmation of getting lost on unlit roads that narrowed further and further with increased unpredictability of hitting cattle, folks, bad speed bumpers and anything that considered itself nocturnal. Everyone was maintaining a cool exterior yet battling major exhaustion or a minor degree of annoyance. We stopped at a menial coffee stop along the way and got our phones out. Called hotels along the entire stretch. Budgeting went out of the window and everyone wanted a room with a hot shower and guaranteed air-conditioning. We finally hit luck at a nearby town called Pattukotai where we settled on a passable hotel after scouting through a maze of traffic and 3 rejected hotels. Here everyone was out to get to the bottom of our pockets what with all our bikes and gear and a desperate cry for rest. 

Long showers, freezing rooms and a feast of meal after, everyone agreed that 5am would be the wakeup call and we would take off to make up for this day’s delay. Arun and Christina were needlessly sun burnt and far drearier than us given that their bike broke down countless times and a sweatshirt and scarf was all they had to protect themselves. Hats off to their patience and endurance to continue on. 

Pattukotai to Dhanushkodi/Day 2: EVERYONE missed their alarms and we all got ready and out by 8:30 am. Noone objected given that rested souls and bodies were priority. Everyone was far more fresh, relaxed and ready to take on the next leg of the journey. We had to cover Pamban Bridge, Dhanushkodi and make it to Kadaikudi. We could not afford to miss our destination on this day given all of us had scheduled flights back home. After a hearty south Indian breakfast, we took off. The heat settled in quickly. We didn’t mandate following each other so everyone had their own pace and made their own hydration stops (many of them together). We bonded far better today than we did the previous day; grabbed some simple meals and targeted our main sight point. Along the way, other riding groups met us and soon everyone was headed to the same destination. We made it at mid noon to Pamban Bridge – by far our longest stop. Took pics and videos and got some clarity that Pamban was the bridge below where we stood.  It had one of the oldest running railway lines in the country and a breathtaking view of the Indian Ocean. Fishing villages lined the entire coast with impeccable cleanliness. The water was turquoise blue with confusing waves of emerald green. The clarity was breathtaking and we could see all the way to the bed of the ocean. We waited for the 2nd couple to catch up and thereafter took off. 

From there it was a short but rather crowded route to Dhanushkodi. We had spent 2 days in gear with no respite from the heat. Hadn’t stopped and enjoyed any place really and that was especially getting to me – just getting from point to point with the destination making no point. At Dhanushkodi, the entire stretch of Ram Setu was interesting and surreal. I had only read about it in school or visualized it in its various presentations online. I was HERE now; well with what appeared to be half the country taking advantage of a long weekend. If yesterday was hot, today was the surface of the sun (metaphorically speaking). We found a fish food shack at the tip of Ram Setu, set up our bikes among many other motorcycles that had made their way there and collapsed. More than happy to strip ourselves off our gear and settled in for one of the most memorable meals on a banana leaf. We had rice, rasam and delicious local fish (I didn’t manage to get any names and even Sriram was unable to decipher what the chef mentioned). An encore of the fish continued across the table along with tons of hydration. Here I have to state that our Hydration packs were the best investment and total lifesavers. We purchased one from Decathlon so this wasn’t the biker’s backpack version. Our jugaad was to put it in Abeer’s spine guard pocket and both of us could use it. We debated a while about heading to the beach and taking a dip. Its sad that we couldn’t. The jeep drivers were trying to rip us off and after a point, owing to the massive crowd turnover and 100s headed their way, they had to shut down entry to the beach for a while. We contemplated leaving our bikes unattended. Any other day would have been fine but all our bags and gear and valuables among 100s of thronging visitors forced us to consider turning back and make peace with a glimpse from a distance. 

We loaded up and headed back along the snake traffic to Pamban Bridge. Thereon, the ride was comparatively smoother and the quality highways helped us enjoy a bit of the ride. We all made hydration and ice cream stops, chatted and bonded better, exchanged notes etc. Reached Karaikudi rather late and again settled in to a mansion all to ourselves – literally. It was an old Chettinad style mansion called Shanmuga Vilas: an over 100-year-old property that was bought off the 1st owner and refurbished by an architect. It was converted into a homestay for travelers and we had the whole place to ourselves. We spent the evening cooling off, showers, hydration, exploring the mansion (large terraces, separate kitchens and purposeful rooms with adjoining rooms and staff). The place was humble yet magnificent with a boisterous caretaker who was eager to share the stories of the mansion and its history. We decided to ride down a bit of the stretch to a recommended seafood restaurant.

Once at the restaurant, I think we (ok let’s be honest – more like I) appeared to have just gotten off a rescue boat from drought and famine riddled south Sudan. I ate like it was the last meal I was ever gonna relish. Crabs, prawns, squids, local fish, rice, mutton, appams…. Everything made it to the table. The pricing here was so phenomenal that you would shed a tear about spending a bomb. I knew I was asking for monumental trouble from my tummy but given how this trip was going, I decided gastric debauchery be it. But as a potent traveler, a good bed and a great bathroom are your best friends. I have established I have a massive pet peeve of bathrooms. When I find even a half-decent one, I just let my stomach run off course. 

We roamed about a bit, chatted at length and shared 1 thing in common – heat stroke and exhaustion. Come to think of it the last few days, all of us had barely spoken. We had done so in bits and pieces but none of us had the energy to really invest in our camaraderie. This was one of my major takeaways from this trip – don’t rush through for the heck of it. It didn’t make sense to drain yourself out on a ‘vacation’ and then reminisce of doing it again so you cover what you deliberately missed. Thereafter, AC rooms and our heavy heads made for happy matrimonial that night. 

Karakudi to Edayanchavadi/Day 3: The last day was bitter sweet. Suddenly it was all coming to a vrooming end. We all had breakfast, saddled up and took-off. The heat was terrible but surprisingly bearable this day. I wasn’t sure it was the rest that was helping us cope or the heat itself had dialed it down a notch. We made periodic hydration stop. Our perennial Buddha on this trip (Sriram) offered to ride slowly with Arun-Christina while Vivek and us could zip back to Pondicherry. We had flights back at twilight and if we continued at the same pace as last 2 days there was a chance at missing our flights. We rode hard and fast and did a good distance through morning and noon. Made it by early evening to Edayanchavadi. We wanted to wait for Sriram and the lot for our bikes and to bid each other farewell until next time. Packed and looking for a bus to Chennai airport, it was getting dark; just then Sriram pulled in. I was super glad we got to connect and return our bikes properly. Said our goodbyes and Sriram stayed till we boarded a semi-crowded AC bus. It was all WORTH IT. 

No place on board, 3 of us plonked our luggage on the floor and passed out on it. We reached the sleepy airport rather early… a few hours prior to take off. Tried super hard to catch a few winks but just nothing worked. Tired, grumpy and just eager to get out, we finally flew back and straight to work. How we got through the day NO ONE KNOWS. But we did and reminisced about it all. 

What I learnt through this trip:

• Make sure who you ride with because it defines the nature and attitude of the trip. Last thing one wants is chaos and tension. I was lucky to have the best folks on this trip

• Always assess the weather and terrain. Nothing really wrong but the rides could have been more enjoyable on a relaxed pace and in cooler forgivable climate

• Avoid long weekends. A whole Indian state can make its way ANYWHERE. Karma usually ensures where you are, all Indians are. 

• Stop, breathe and soak in the place. Don’t always be in a rush to complete a “task”. It’s a bloody ride, not a checklist. Note to future self.

• Signing out here! :)

Bonnie and Quest

I can’t recall the exact date and time I walked into Shaman Triumph but it was 2 years ago and there was something about the Bonneville that clicked. This click refrained from going off when I voraciously visited other superbike showrooms and never looked back at them (names withheld for fear of digital lynching).Everyone has that dream material acquisition of sorts. They have a visual inspired or plagiarized from some source; working its way through their grey matter, inducing endless sleepless nights and undergoing extensive customization, finally evolving into that 1 obsessive dream that won’t leave even with numerous attempts to shake it off. That is precisely the Bonneville for me. It wasn’t a Triumph so much as THE Bonneville for me.

I’ve been around bikes quite a bit. No, I didn’t start riding on a farm when I was 5. I didn’t get any motor hand-me-downs, no one in my family is a former legendary racer and neither was I inspired by pre/current MotoGp professionals. I loved bikes. Plain and simple. I loved how open and freeing they were. Someone I dated in the past took me around on his Avenger followed by his RE Bullet 350. Back then, RE still made ‘em bulls like they were meant to be: raw and sturdy. Owning one was like modern day Triumph ownership: exclusive and with a slight snob value. Sadly, that is not the case now (digital lynching alert). The closest I came to calling a set of 2-wheels my source of everything rowdy were my cycles that Dad generously showered me with to play every ruffian game under the sun with the boys. The last pair of wheels owing to being unused for a few months was sold to an eager raddiwala; an act left unforgiven and looking for redemption.

We have “been there done that”. Abeer and I fed into our motorcycle instincts and bought a Classic 500cc – learnt an expensive lesson and sold it off. It seemed like the appropriate hierarchy to buy an Enfield, go nearly bankrupt whilst graduating to a premium segment of wheels. We replaced the bull with a Japanese beast – the Kawasaki Ninja ER6n. The understanding being we BOTH would pitch in 50:50. I was averse to the idea of sports bikes. Probably all those years my eyes were assaulted with ridiculous sounding AND looking Hayabusas and other massive ferringED versions cruising down Bandra and Andheri by lanes, really scarred me. While others marveled, I turned my head away for fear of witnessing atrocity of ill-articulated art or customizations. Combine that with some chocolate boy and NO HELMET and you have completely lost me. This was best compared to owning a St. Bernard or Siberian husky in Mumbai’s tropical climate. I could imagine Uday Chopra dhooming his way on what can only be explained as mechanical monstrosity.

The ER6n is a naked sports ‘tourer’. An initial test ride on a busy SV Road at peak hours was a bad yet informative idea. I felt like I had climbed a mountain and my beloved was doing breaststroke. The view from ‘atop’ wasn’t appealing given that EVERYONE was staring at us. I was just missing a tank top, 2 layers of makeup, low rise peekaboo denim and oodles of misplaced attitude to go with my sudden ascent. Abeer was inversely… excited. We rode a tuned bike and the power was something I wasn’t used to and felt was unnecessary. To keep it short I didn’t like it and wasn’t quite open to buying one. Secretly, I hoped he would consider and help me realize my dream of the Bonnie. In the end, we bought the ER6n cuz I knew how much he adored that bike and as of 3 months now with it, I LOVE THAT BEAST. Like marriage, I didn’t want anyone to pitch in for my Bonnie without offering to do it themselves. It was never to come out of undeserved coaxing, plaguing or begging. It was too pious for me to have any story but a good one.

My lust for the Bonneville didn’t die there. As much as I grew to love the ER6n and appreciate its reliability and torque, my restlessness for the Bonnie grew like a juvenile denied toys while his/her sibling got one. This ‘toy’ was ‘shared’ with me and we had ‘joint playtimes’ but there was something I needed to call my own. Female bikers have been around for a while. However, social media presence and publicity boost has made them and their stories more accessible and visual in recent years. Seeing them on 650cc+ machines is not only inspiring but also empowering. At 1^st I was proud and in awe. Tis’ true we don’t need to gender-define this activity. However, truth is women on bikes (an avenue ruled primarily by the opposite sex) is a refreshing breath of O₂. When I say that I mean in gear and in motion. NOT in bare or no clothes and posing on the machine like flowers fallen from the tree under which the bike was parked. This constant bombardment of women doing what was initially a fantasy thrill in my head without the fuel injection to make it a reality, was becoming an incurable itch. Combine that with a well-versed and equally encouraging boyfriend and you know that YOU MUST RIDE.

I love riding pillion. It’ll always be a part of me – sitting behind the man I love and traveling places together, fighting, struggling, riding, smiling, loving, cheering and what not all in X cubic meters of space. All relationships should be tested like this. You can’t leave each other, hence, you must endure and love each other and find middle ground in difficult times. I would go as far as to say Abeer’s and my stints with and on the bike (no pun intended) have made us stronger, closer and more in ‘tune’ with each other. The bike was like a 1 room home where we had to express and experience a plethora of all that goes on between 2 people in love.

During all the above randomness that veered from the actual purpose of the blogpost but was intended to emotionally draw the reader into my world, the Bonnie made guest appearances. We showed up at Triumph showrooms pan India. Every time I looked at the bikes, I behaved like I was seeing ‘em for the 1^st time. I yearned to take them out but did not have a license nor the proper skills to handle a bike of such proportions. I would nod and remain fixated on the Bonnie in the midst of the bike catalogue sermon from showroom sales force. Few marveled at a female rider showing so much interest and the sheer grit to own one of these classics. I would smile and make it amply clear I was a WIP; secretly wishing I could vroom out on the classic in pure Desi attitude… then descend back on earth. We would take the bike out for a spin and I was transfixed reminding myself that it’s JUST a test ride lest I have the urge to steal it and hide in some village in remote India. Whom am I kidding, that bike would stand out like sore eyes. *hmmmppfff*. Once attempted to take a friend’s SE Bonnie out in Goa and the result was a giggly mess.

Aside from physical visits and the torture of having my new office located next to Shaman Triumph in Mumbai, I became a huntress online. Every social media feed that lured and satiated my frenzy became prey. I pictured what I eventually wanted my bike to look like. I was clear in its concepts and needs; not wanting it to look like the showroom’s accessories catalogue had purposefully sneezed all over my bike – something that appears to be an epidemic with Indian bike owners. Laugh or scorn if you will but that’s sad and true. This was evident when I had multiple bouts of going on OLX, Quikr and a plethora of pre-owned superbike forums. I was subjected to motivation and demotivation of the same feelings that had settled with idea of purchasing the Bonneville. Folks not only misspelt the bike’s name and model, the reasons for selling appalled the liver out of me. Add to that the insult of reading endless lists of accessories slapped on the poor bike for no fault of its classic beauty – that too in terrible English but with swelling pride. I had many who were selling cuz they were headed “ebrOd”, 2 owners were distracted with a car cuz they refused to wear helmets and safety gear, and the rest were mainly untouched vehicles as a result of indispensable cash overflow or the need to upgrade to a sports version. Good for me but bad for the bikes in question – Why? I’m an emotional creature. When I think of the Bonnie, my immediate thought veers to me handing it down some 20-30 years to a worthy adversary or equally insane mini me. There is an attachment to it. I would think of the Bonnie as I would of my 2 incomparably useless feline rulers at home who ascended the throne to royalty moment they set their demanding paws in my territory; but I love them fiercely and cannot do without them at all.

In my quest to learn the right way, I invested in a preowned yet impeccably new Honda Maestro scooter. Abeer spent every minute teaching me to ride. The father was offended since it had been his dream/wish to buy me a 2-wheeler through college and my initial working years. Company transport or the nightmare of having all my offices in the worst lanes of Andheri East made this is a defunct idea. I was, needless to say, demotivated and adamant not to own anything since I was convinced it would guzzle fuel or have me killed. Now the urge was back but with a different purpose; hence, the arrival of the scooter. I spent hours perfecting my riding on it but continued to remain nerved by Mumbai’s merciless and homicidal traffic. Abeer was strict and then pure nasty strict (his version of saving my life). We fought and made up a zillion times in the course of these lessons. At the time, I yo-yoed between wanting, wishing and actually planning for a Bonnie. I was unsure of my own intent – at one point deciding that maybe I was being a spoilt brat and this wasn’t for me. It’ll die a natural death. These things DON’T DIE. They are like roaches roaming and taking shelter in hidden corners of your white matter so that the grey cells can’t find em.

I got into gear; went through a nightmare to sort my license and decided I’m buying the Bonnie. Preowned and make it my own. I had 3 rescued stray cats, one preowned scooter… so maybe I was meant to buy a preowned motorcycle too. The only perk being I was arrogantly jumping straight to a ~800cc machine. I prepared myself for that. I had no time to waste and no patience in reserve either. We settled on 2 Bonnevilles and 1 Street 750 as a backup– given that preowned bikes have an issue with upfront payment. Just as we were about to close in on our decision, my Abeer, the inside man at Triumph (by then he had changed jobs and had Triumph as a corp comm client – seriously the IRONY), informed me that new bikes were in the pipeline and they were all BONNEVILLES. I felt so cheated. Here I was on the brink of a much-procrastinated decision and he just ruined it by telling me about new Bonnies. I feverishly followed the launch of the bikes overseas and instantly fell flat, tongue and eyes out. In the ensuing months, the bikes launched one after the other, we bought the ER6n and I realized how monumentally underpaid I was or overpriced the superbike market had come to become. I was lost. I learned my riding on the ER6n which wasn’t a wise idea given I am too short for that beast and my feet barely touched the ground. Nonetheless, with Abeer’s and the brother’s help I managed to learn the basics on the Kawasaki but didn’t gain much concentration or ease of ride.

A certain boost of ego and pride came about post a salary revision in June 2016 and I instantly thought NOW I can pick up anything. The StreetTwin 900cc Bonnie was on my radar. What absolute sweetness… almost made for me. Could smell doom following me but couldn’t imagine what could possibly go wrong. I set the date. July 1^st 2016, I was gonna book the ST in Pune under Abeer’s name. This came after a year of argument where I was adamant that the bike was to be mine aka under my name. A childish wish of having something on paper in my name was trumped with his rationale of saving a bunch of 1000s by purchasing from Pune – something we had done with our bikes so far. I made peace and pissed on the idea of the Bonnie being in my name. Turns out its possible to get it on your name with a lil here and there. As I waited, doom caught up and slapped a revised Maharashtra-only octroi and road tax on 2-wheelers. A 13% increase on premium CBU models meant a temperamental +1.5 lakhs at least. This whole journey had started to feel like the unleashed torque of a powerful bike behind an annoying truck crawling in front of you, hogging a whole lane and deliberately depriving you of open roads. Upset was a thing of the past and I was officially depressed. I knew that I was being a spoilt brat but this was a dream. Passing year after year with no consequence or conclusion. It was giving me mixed messages if I was ever meant to ride or own a bike or… The only person who absolutely understood my pain and didn’t undermined it was Abeer. It was absolutely his wish as mine to see me ride. By now Cyrus (his well-meaning Versys owning Bawa boss) could comprehend my feelings too. They sat pulling strings and working to make my dream come true. I was humbled and embarrassed that this had turned into a rescue operation lest I drop myself in some deep ravine out of misery over this.

On Thursday, 09 June 2016, we sat for breakfast at Starbucks. An exhaustive list of possibilities, some anger and oodles of disappointment hurled at the bloodsucking MH government had been spewed. I had, in desperation considered purchasing the ST from a chap from Kochi who bought but didn’t register the bike, the Delhi showroom who assured me a Delhi registration and absolutely no-issue warranty of sorts, the Kolkata showroom who confirmed that bongs were as pricey as MH govt. and that the manager was also a non-speaking Bongalee like me. What an adventure. I think INDIA got to know I needed a Bonneville almost like one gets priority bump up the organ transplant list. My love, Abeer, I think couldn’t see me disappointed anymore or my rather silent mode off late had given him the heebeedeejeebees. We opened OLX and solemnized that we would find a bonnie for me like a desperate homeless puppy with loads of potential waiting for me to notice and adopt it. We instantly laid eyes on a beautiful 2014 Bonneville SE purchased, refurbished and up for sale by a Bawa uncle. Instantly called him and set up a meeting the same evening. Abeer was already sold and just maintained that the meeting was a “formality” but subject to supportive echoes from Shaman Triumph, this was the girl I was to bring home. I spent the rest of my day building hope but not soaring too high lest I fall and crack a rib. Meanwhile Abeer was at Shaman Triumph for some routine work and called me with news of a beautiful burnt orange and black T100 standing there. I was least bothered since T100s were not my choice. Heating issues and extended wet weight had me not consider them. Upon repeated insistence, I headed to Shaman post-work with the understanding that Abeer and I were to hop on my trustee Maestro and meet Bawa uncle for his Bonnie. It was S.O.R.T.E.D.

I walked in and saw her. What a ginger delight. Was told this shiny chrome lassy was going for the same price as Bawa uncle’s offer. Holy smokes I was in a conundrum AGAIN. I blamed Abeer for this. Master of spirals and whirls. He showed me the ginger babe and said… “Nah, don’t get hung up on her. Have a look at the Bonnie SE.” Suddenly everyone there who recognized the suffering soul i.e. me, had an opinion on what to buy. Shubrata Marmar was incidentally present and literally looked me in the eye and said “Buy what YOU wanna buy. Don’t listen to anyone. It’s your purchase.” I left the showroom knowing all too well, THIS orangina was coming home. We met the amazing Bawa uncle, rode his bike, met equally interested parties who were at all the same places as us. Post the meeting, we sat down for a Parsi bhonu. As I wolfed down dhansaak, faarcha, eeda anne chawal under a dark cloud of decision making, I put my foot down and said THAT BURNT ORANGE BIKE IN THAT CONDITION AND FOR THAT PRICE WAS A STEAL. Any fool wouldn’t ignore that. Abeer asked me 100000 times if I was sure and I was bloody sure. That was that. Spoke to the manager of Shaman at an unearthly hour and literally insisted that he had my word, I was buying the Ginger. She was mine and not a fly was to buzz around her.

The following morning I spent 3 hrs at the RTO, got my learner’s license reissued and showed up in the most unruly manner to put down a booking amount as a sign of my commitment. Apparently, there were hawks swirling the place hoping for me to be a no-show. Little did they know me or my chase for one of these. Through this whole saga, Abeer kept in constant touch, called and assured me, his boss Cyrus also worked a little out of his “jurisdiction” to make things possible for me, Arash (Bawa #3) at the showroom seemed to connect with the wired up me and then there was me trying to catch up with me. Finally, things were falling in to place. Once Rajesh (manager Shaman Triumph) swiped the card for 50k, it all became too real. It hit me. I’m buying a Bonneville. I stared at her from a distance too afraid to touch her and eager to get to work lest I lose my only loan-paying gig.

Thereafter, loans, long waits, banking errors, the mother’s endless joy accompanied by even more endless sermons on shubh mahurats and finally the very disappointed and misjudging father were the norm. This wait was agonizing. We shamelessly dropped by and took her for a maiden spin like a kid in boarding school out on a break. She left gazers everywhere. I was afraid of this. I didn’t want people looking at me and the chrome and color on her was unavoidable. I slipped the news to few folks and held back tight in general. Well aware of my jinxing karma, I just held on to some realm of patience and sanity. After many issues and potential delays, she rolled out of the showroom with us on 20 June 2016. This date like Abeer’s bday and our anniversary will be etched in my memory. I entered Shaman with unexpected rolls of tears. It was awkward and my hands shook. After gaining some composure, fixing things, waxing and polishing her up and many queries later, we left around 12:30pm. Rode straight home to the ecstatic and vermillion wielding mother. Allowed her the luxury of putting her customary swastika and tying the mata ki chunni with the understanding its gonna come off soon. She took a pillion spin and her glee for me knew no bounds. This was pure happiness. Abeer was ecstatic and enjoying HIMSELF teasing me that he’s a Bonnie convert and the ER6n would be sold. We smiled and laughed like it was the perfect spring day. Too good to be true. From 2413 we clocked straight 2509 in one day. She endured heat, dust, rains and mud all in that one span of existence. Met Harshal who owns a Ducati Scrambler, played a prank on a fellow Bonnefied advocate Abhinav and generally abused our social media accounts with the latest addition to “our garage”. It was all in a Bonnie’s worth as we parked her late at night back into my garage. Soaked to the bone but content in every realm.

Today (21 June 2016) I did my maiden ride on Ginger. Abeer made it a point that I understand her as soon as possible and break into her by riding however slow at 1^st. Weight and the nervousness of a beauty being my learning platform stood temporarily in the way but that hasn’t deterred us any longer. Spun around my building with slopes and tiles and bumps and parking traffic. I was nervous but a babe humming under me with unleashed power under the garb of classy poise was an indescribable feeling (no pun intended). We’ve decided to take her to the beach and spin her about there while I get a good hang of her. I’ve already got eyes rolling, judgment spewing and eyebrows soaring as I respond to questions like ‘Did YOU buy her’ or ‘was that cost in LAKHS’ or ‘you work in underworld or something’ even worse ‘so it’s like an expensive bullet’ (the last one pisses me off). Worse still are the misconceptions that I either work in an overpaid job that gives me time off, I have too much family money or that I am borderline psychotic if I’m yet unmarried, not a mother but have chosen to empty all my savings on what is conceived a senseless impractical buy. They know nothing about me and I couldn’t care about knowing them. For now, I focus solely on 3 hot things: the man, the ER6n and the Bonnie. I was practically broke all month, to a point that I could not buy sweets or had to choose my commute to and from work, had completely shut down my social life but was rich in a way I could not describe. It just looks shiny and black and feeds a hunger inside that has been starving for way too long.

Next stop: A post on my journey so far on the Bonnie, her maiden ride outside Mumbai and a plethora of trips already lined up and yearning to be executed (#BiKronicles). This girl needs a badass image makeover.