Episode 159 : The bird shall fly again

"How are you feeling?"
"It feels like someone put a metal clamp around my head and is tightening it slowly."

'Do you know Kannada?' the driver of the tempo asked me.

'I don't know Kannada' I replied in Kannada, one of the few phrases I know to say in the language. 'Only Hindi and Tamil' I added in English.

The man didn't say anything for sometime. After the song ended, he rummaged through some tapes and played one containing... hits of Himesh Reshammiya. The driver is a man with good intentions, I thought to myself. But I don't quite fancy HR's nasal singing.

The sky slowly darkened as the Maddur landscape went past us at a sedate 50kmph.

"Go ahead; we will catch up with you. And don't think of anything."

I contemplated the future. Everything can be set right, but can everything be fixed? A ride plan for mid-June, one for August and one for December. They all appeared to mock me.

Almost two years ago I ran over a dead dog, slipped on the road and broke my jaw and some teeth. A few days before that year ended, I gathered all courage in me and took the bike out again. Alone, for one cannot fight demons in one's mind with an army.

As I sat in the tempo, I doubted if I had it in me to do it again.

"Tell me if it hurts."
"Oww!"

A bike went past me, the rider's right hand giving me a thumbs-up. I returned the gesture, but my mind was not in it. Two more bikes went by after some time; the riders must have ended their pit stop at Coffee Day, I thought.

The more I thought about it, the stronger emotional trauma seemed to get. And every time a rider went past, waving his hand, a fresh set of tears rolled down my cheeks. Something I cherished appeared to slip from my grasp, and I couldn't help grieving its imminent loss.

These rides were my means of escape from life and the thorns that it threw in my path. It opened up a world I never realised existed, a world where everyone knew my name. I couldn't see any rhyme or reason why it was snatched from me in that one instant. I could go around in a car, but don't these happen to cars as well? Will life be the same?

When I think about it now, I could have prevented it in many ways. I could have ridden at a lower speed and not give in to regular bursts of high speed. I could have checked the bike more thoroughly when I had the chance. I could have been more patient. I could have been luckier...

"You are lucky to come out of a crash like that."

They say lightning never strikes at the same place twice. I thought bad luck does not strike the same person so quickly in succession. Or does it?

"I kept thinking for most part of the way that I should have gotten the bike fixed instead of joining the ride."

But I didn't see any reason to turn back. Even when I flipped after scraping my brake pedal while taking a curve a little too quickly. A palm-sized depression on the tank and a dented front mudguard, the only thought I had was that the paint job hardly lasted a month.

"What happened to your bike? We saw the rear wheel slide."
"The tyre came off its rim."

That is what I saw after I picked myself off the road. They say it is a case of tyre-burst. At high speeds, there is virtually nothing one can do but jump off the bike and hope for the best. All I did was to try and steer the bike away from the middle of the road. At least that's what I remember.

That, and my pillion lying a few feet away from me. For the second time in as many days.

It could have happened anywhere, anytime. At the start of the ride back home or while going down the hills. Or any of the rides I undertook alone. Perhaps I am luckier than I think...

"The chassis is bent at the neck; the front fork is broken; the rear swing arm will be bent; the disk plate could be bent. The cost at maximum retail price will be almost that of a new bike. Sometimes it is not even worth fixing it."

I got a ride home after we left the bike at a garage. A slight wobble made the hairs on the back of my neck stand. Am I going to fall again?

When I went to sleep, I was sure I wouldn't be able to tour on a bike again. I began to form a contingency plan. I could bring the ever-faithful Splendor that's idling in Madras. I could pay the tax for Karnataka or get it re-registered. I could bid good-bye to touring, to the club, to the gregarious pals I made in the last two years, to happiness...

A few days ago, I felt I ought to buy a new helmet as the present one was a little old and endured a few minor falls.

'I want a helmet that can withstand a high-speed crash.' These words were said to a storekeeper over a year ago.

The riding jacket and pants, the gloves and the helmet took the blow, leaving behind a few bruises, a sore body and a fractured confidence. I got my money's worth, but I cannot help thinking it happened a little too soon.

"Why does he need an MRI? They will find only half a brain and we all know about that anyway."

I woke up in the morning, the headache still lingering. I spent the day answering calls, making calls, seeing what could be done with the bike and consulting a doctor.

That's when I realised. I cannot let go.

"As a boxer, Mohammad Ali was hit a lot. Repeated blows to the head can get dangerous. He never learnt. Neither are you, even though it is not the same."

I am glad I still have a little in me to fight back- rides can always be re-planned.

Garud shall rise like a phoenix and fly again.