So it's been two months since I came back to Chennai. I'm employed now but thankfully in such a place that nourishes and motivates me. I really like the profession, the place and the people. So instead of embarking on a journey of professionalism, formal suits, fake smiles and omnipresent boredom, this place hands me short adventure packages disguised as projects and encourages me to think (laterally, linearly, spherico-rhomboidically and hyperbolic-geometrically). I enjoy working in this 'wonder la' office.
I travel to my office oft times by train. But sometimes I ride my dad's Kawasaki Bajaj Boxer (note: with a registartion number - 8994) to reach the spot. This bike is at least 10 years old but somehow manages to look rickety and ancient, worse than the ones you might find in the rat bikes section of Oley's scoot-a-rama, thanks to the wonderful care and maintenance bestowed on it. The bike's horn, front brake, indicators and headlights are absolutely non-functional. But what we want is for it to run. And that it does, if with an occasional whimpering (because of an anemic engine) and regular bumps (because of a pot-bellied tyre). It has managed to shame, stain, dishonour and ridicule me in many major, moderate and minor roads of Chennai with a sense of timing that'll make Charlie Chaplin feel insecure.
Let me site a classic example. Once when I finished being the Master of Ceremony for one of our department activities in MCC, I was surrounded by some good hearts who generously congratulated me. Acting modest, I congratulated them in return for being such a wonderful audience and making the show interactive. Proceeding thus our little mutual admiration club reached the exit. I waved at my friends who were crossing the road to catch a train and kick-started my Boxer 8994. Making a U-turn I turned the bike around my friends simultaneously waving at them (yet managing to maintain a modest body posture!!). When this U-turn victory waving parade got over, I got stuck behind a bus and applied brakes. And the rebellious boxer let out a voluminous groan - Crrreeeeeeeeeekkkk! Poised at the brink of modesty now, I looked around at my friends (with an apologetically embarrassed look). Half of them feigned not knowing me, while the rest were reeling with laughter. That was your best joke, though it didn't come on stage, their eyes said. With an awkward it-happens look, I shifted gears and dragged the wretched dilapidation back home.
The moody bike's mischief reached a new level yesterday when after office I wrestled with it for close to an hour trying all sorts of bike wizardry to start it. There was one bike-aware soul who took pity on me and helped me for half an hour but the stubborn brat 8994 did not budge. So I left it at that and went back home thinking hard on how I can teach a lesson to this bullishly adamant piece of contraption. I came back to office today but couldn't look at Mr.8994 till 3pm. When I went and finally kicked the starting lever, the bike jumped to life instantly. Dear oh dear! I've seen humans stabbing you one day and smiling at you the next but this machinery seems to be the mother of all things brutus.
Nevertheless, I guess 8994 teda hai, par mera hai!
With this, Shyam's legend of associating himself with fumbling and misbehaving whimsical machinery continues... Et tu boxer!
