The Spirit of an Era...

The 'Hamara Bajaj' era is finally at an end.

The trusty two wheeler of many an Indian household will finally be no more. It makes you wonder then if the world, or at the very least India, with its infinite small cities and towns, be a better place of dwelling without the old haggard fat bummed 2 wheeler... the old guard being edged out by the younger, sleeker and all rippling muscles, from tip to toe, motorbike. It makes you wonder, if the children of today, the teenagers of tomorrow, be better off without the tales of riding a scooter around town and then twisting it one way and then another, just to get it to start...of zipping and zapping across the hustle and bustle of the city or town, take your pick, giving the till then little evolved motorbikes a run for their money...? Perhaps yes, perhaps no... but whichever way one decides to tip it would be a while before anyone of us can forget the times of hum do humare do on the ever faithful, though jarringly disobedient at times, hamara Bajaj... the iconic image of a resurgent 'Bharat' on its way up... to showcase to the world its pool of talent. That era, is finally at an end.

It was rather weird the first time I sat myself on a Bajaj.. a Chetak, it was a pale olive green or grey, with two separate seats.. the rider's a squeaky bicycle seat, only a lot larger, all for him (i say him, for girls rarely, if ever, rode a scooter all by themselves in those days... it was either a Kinetic Luna or a Scooty for them) a space under the handlebars to keep your legs, an extra helmet, a shopping bag or whatever else you can think of... how silly, as though I were perched atop the passenger seat of a cycle riksha instead and the spare wheel stuck at the back purported to act as a backrest for the one riding pillion. I remember how darned uncomfortable it made me feel and to add to this was the technique of changing gears which called for twisting your wrist and perhaps a good part of the arm as well, to unimaginable angles...

This first experience was weird, tinged with a bit of excitement, as most first experiences are... for it resulted in a spectacle most scooterist may not have seen in all their years of scootering around - a scooter wheelie. Fair to say it wasn't much of a sight for me... for I was on it and near buckled under... and it happened too soon... giving my friend the owner's son... a fright... my second, which followed soon after the first was even more terrifying for it came riding pillion to one of my cronies hell bent on terrorizing the splendours and cd 100s of the time... with his thirst for nerve wracking speed through the crowded and congested streets of central Calcutta...

These are a few of the many moments that have remained with me over all these years... and even though.. I wasn't and am not even now, as fond of a scooter as I am of a motorbike... being associated with the latter for the larger part of my teenage and youth, at some odd level.. somehow it makes me sad that the omnipresent Hamara Bajaj... of my childhood and years of growing up... is fading into the background for all time to come...

Contemplations of a sleepy mind....

Well...well..well...yea I know that's 3 wells... might as well... there yet another...jump into one and search for a lost treasure or something...what?.... anyway....so here I was up like an owl...contemplating an early morning jog...when out of nowhere the phone started ringing.... 7 in the morning isn't really unearthly or ungodly either......so it wasn't the kinda shock i had hoped it would be.... as I gaped at the ringing instrument .... and wondered ...whether I oughta pick it up...or let it be....strangely enough just as i decided on the latter the blasted thing seemed to ring even more incessantly... ...so somewhat irritated and a bit quizzed, coz bleary eyed that I was I couldn't recognise the number, I answered the call... and here's the interesting bit....

Caller : 'Sirji where should I put up your tent..?'
I : 'Tent what tent...!!??'
C : 'The tent for your daughter's marraige..!!'

Now... at this point i was really befuddled and not to mention a bit irked as well...I mean its not too often that you are given a rude jolt like this at unungodly hours of the day....

So...here is how the conversation wore on...

I : 'My daughter..?? Are you drunk...old man?'
C : 'Your daughter's marraige sir... I will come and have a few pegs with you...if you wish...
but what about the tent?'
I : 'What about it..?'
C : 'Where should I bring it ...?'

I have to tell you that my patience with this persistent...insistent...call him whatever you may, was wearing thin...and I mean really thin.....and frankly I just didn't care anymore where the man wanted to bring the tent to...where he would put it up...and who'll foot the bill... after all it was bad enough being told that you had a daughter...and that she was getting married....but on top of that to be informed of tasks such as putting up tents and the like and being treated as if you were three times the age you really were.... was as much as one can take at seven in the morning...which is time to laze in bed and catch the fleeting sleep...for a few extra minutes....before screaming out in insane delirium...

So I told the chap that he had the wrong number and promptly hung up.... but like all unrelenting souls of this world.... he had what one could term an indomitable spirit.... he immediately called me again and more of the same rubbish followed... and after the sequence of wrong number - hang-up - call back had repeated a considerable number of times... the chap finally relented having seemingly been convinced that I neither had a daughter...nor one of a suitable marrying age... or perhaps he found some other number and some other unsuspecting poor soul to bug...and trouble...either way to my infinite happiness and relief he left me well alone after that....