Rogue Ride

Bonjour everyone!

After a really long time huh! I know I know the boards and all. Now that they are over here’s a new story.

Long time ago there was a kingdom ruled by all the women. Wow! that would’ve been so cool. But no. Today, I have a story where I learn how to drive a bike through my own ventures. Let’s put the seat belts on and drive through it.

Last monsoon I went to my grandparents for the vacation. Though I had ridden the bike with my uncle sitting at the back it was a long time ago and the thought of being cinematic and on fleek pinned in my head I had to make it happen.

As a preface, my grandparents live in a beautiful village and there, driving from the age of 9 is most common thing. Not that I promote driving underage, it was just me being 17 and already feeling 18. I am the eldest and the only girl grandchild hence, they are very protective and also extremely loving. First born pros I guess!? Followed by some cons.

“Mama just explain it to me how does this work. I’ll learn immediately.” Urging my uncle after a tiresome day was no piece of cake. After days, my grandma gave me a green signal. “Tanu, you are smart enough why don’t you figure it out yourself? Practice here in the maidan (open ground in front of the house). Why do you have to wait for him?”

And so I did! With the amazing anonymous teacher on the Youtube my bike learning quest began. My first drive, with infinite failed attempts, was in the 20m radius. It was a bit hard due to the grainy surface and short distance but somehow I was able to ride in concentric circles without stopping. Here comes the next part where I wanted to experience the buttery roads and enjoy the breeze with a song being played in the background. Well it was not as filmy as it sounds.

My parents came one fine weekend to take me back to Pune. That night I kept thinking how incomplete it felt to not complete the task I had undertaken. So I decided to do whatever I could to reach the final line.

That day was like the usual. The daily chores were in process. My grandfather was meditating, my grandma was cooking while my mother helped her wash utensils. My uncle and father went out to buy some fresh vegetables from the market after denying my request to take me for the ride.

I saw the perfect moment and there I was starting the bike to my secret adventure. I told my mom I’ll be just round the corner and left. Little did I know that ‘round the corner’ was going to be soaked in mud and drenched in water till ankles. How was I supposed to turn on this messy 0.5m wide path? 

After multiple tries of not falling, half tilted, I struggled to straightened the bike with all my might. I put the stand on and here I was: with no cell phone, couldn’t go back for the fear of being scolded and stuck in this shamble, infinite (as it felt) puddle. My heart thudded out loud. I calmed myself and finally got the courage to gently accelerate and move forward. As I surpassed the hurdle, the thorny acacia nilotica (babul) trees welcomed me by scratching both my arms and legs. I continued and ended into another calf length muddy trench. My mind went numb as the bike won’t start and was covered in filthy mud. My pants looked wretched and all I could see were the red, outrageous faces. I felt dumb at the point coming so long in the middle of nowhere. I looked down and thought, “well now that I am already doomed at least I shall complete what I started.” 

(Google images resembling the actual place)

Once again, I sat on the bike and tried kick starting it. After 10min of shear leg work voila! It was a success. I raced and the mud spatter stained my jacket from the back. I then moved forward whilst trying to balance on the extreme rocky road. And finally there it was the silky smooth most awaited route. I took a long breath and the ‘Ilahi’ song played out loud in my head. I felt like the main character in a movie. The people on the streets, with tied sugarcane lumps on the back of their bike, rode by staring. 2 km in, I saw another bike follow me with some distant cries. I stopped as the man in shorts and a white undershirt (banyan) approached. “You idiot! Do you have any idea what you have done? You could’ve hurt yourself perhaps broken a bone or two. You can’t even change the gears well. Turn around right now!” (trust me it sounded really scary in marathi) he said pointing at the direction of home. There was my grandpa, following me in the mid village, all burning in rage.

He had heard the bike accelerate loudly and came out running few minutes later once I had left. He had searched all the possible places, asked my mother who had denied knowing my location. She might’ve not heard while washing the utensils.

We reached home and that was the 1^st and I hope the last time I got scolded by him. Even my mother wasn’t spared. It was funny how we both giggled with a side eye look. My grandma too was oblivious to the drama. I did feel sorry for I had left him all worried. My father also showed his deep concerns with a shock on his face when he got to know.

I then had a talk with my mother who was not at all mad at me. She told her slice of the story: How, out of being protective, even she wasn’t allowed to learn the bike instead her younger brother was. But the passionate and the dashing woman she is, she bought a bike and learnt to drive it all by herself in the city.

Had they helped and taught me I wouldn’t have gone down the rogue route. Well that day all of us got a dose: One shouldn’t be restricted to a great extent and one should be safe and not go adventuring with no safety measures.

 Here’s how I learnt riding a bike. Anyone down for Kashmir to Kanyakumari biking? I hope to go someday. Let me know in the comments below how it was and any similar story of yours. See you on the roads!