Woman and Machine

Call it peer pressure or the chance to play God, owning a bike as an 18 year old, college freshie, was an absolute thrill. I wanted a Harley Davidson, but my parents turned a deaf ear. "How can you get a bike for her when she is just starting college!? You bought me the Yamaha, only when I was in my final year", my brother protested. Thankfully, my parents chose to listen to my pleas instead. 

A Scooty Pep, was considered appropriate, for a young girl in 2005 and before my first semester of college ended, I was gifted a spanking new purple pair of wheels, that would forever change my life. There was some amount of hesitation initially, to let an untrained, overenthusiastic rider, travel 8.7kms back and forth from Sringar Colony in Saidapet to M.O.P Vaishnav College in Nungambakkam, especially during peak traffic hours. So, my father plonked himself behind me for 2 months. The minute he was convinced that I wouldn't kill anyone on the road, he let me take her (yes, my Scooty Pep obviously had to be a "her", a very pretty "her" at that) on my own.

I lost track of the number of minor mishaps I had, while riding. I didn't tell my parents, fearing they would ban me from taking her. But one morning, a huge Chennai MTC bus rammed me from behind just as I left home. The entire incident is still very blurry in my mind. I felt like Keanu Reeves from the Matrix. My bike flew from right under me and I was violently scrapping the tarred grey main road with the right side of my arm, face and leg. There was some crying and howling involved (from me of course), right before some helpful strangers gathered around me, lifted me up and took me to a local government hospital (which was close to the scene of the accident). I vaguely saw the worried look on my mother's face at the hospital, before throwing up and falling unconscious. When I regained consciousness, all I was worried about was the condition of my Pep. "Is she okay?", I asked my annoyed parents.

Of course, I got back on my Pep within a week (much to the horror of my parents). My college professors were also bewildered looking at my accident ravaged face. Bruises and cut marks were visible on the right side of my face, arm and leg. I still considered myself to be a pretty good rider. Pillion riders and my mother's house-maid strongly disagreed to this notion. "Please slow down", "Watch out for that man", "Stop right there young lady" and "Paapa romba speedle ottikire aama" (Baby, is driving too fast ma) were some of the mild complaints thrown both mine and my parents way, each time I took her out on the roads.

I was unperturbed. My love for riding and the independence it gave me, to go out anywhere, anyplace, anytime (before 8pm of course, I had curfews like any Chennai girl, who stayed with parents) gave me a kick like no other.

Then came 2012. The year which gave me the biggest riding shock. I had the most random accident, ironically on a road that I knew like the back of my hand. This accident too is quite hazy in my mind's eye. I dislocated my right shoulder. I had to undergo a pin-hole surgery and was bed-ridden for a good 2.5 months, with two metallic pins firmly lodged into my shoulder, to keep me company on warm summer nights. After one more month of vigorous physiotherapy, my right hand slowly began to resume to normalcy. I was allowed to swim and brisk walk as per doctors orders. After each swim, I could feel a million bees biting me viciously inside my swollen right arm. As for the walks, I hated them. From being an avid gym-goer, who had just reached her ideal body weight, I was once again looking like a ball of mush. I was feeling frustrated and helpless.

I had to part ways with my Pep. I looked at my battered helmet and knew that it had saved my life. Seven years later, I still miss my Pep and the feeling of having a pair of wheels under me. Each time a purple Pep whizzes past me on the roads, I feel a distinct pang in my heart. 

While Harley Davidsons and Bullets continue to capture my imagination and excite me, my soul forever belongs to a certain purple Scooty Pep. I miss washing her on the weekends, readying her for the fresh new week ahead. I miss dodging cows, people, autorickshaws, cyclists and cars. I miss
having a petrified pillion rider behind me. I miss taking off for the beach on a whim, with only my Pep to keep me company. Mostly, I just miss being a rider. There is no purer love in this world, than that of a woman and her machine.