Divine warnings

People often seem to think there is a link between climate change *cough global warming cough* and pretty much anything modern humans do. I do too. Something is messing about with the planet's weather and I guess it is time to invite Hardy Boys and Scooby Doo to find out exactly what's fooling around with the weather.

I have known this to be true ever since I owned by first bicycle at the tender old age of 6 (of course, I owned a cycle even before that, but I was never responsible for its upkeep, or rather, maintenance in running condition. Admittedly, I admit I might have been responsible for the disintegration of quite a few of my earlier cycles, but again, such an admission would be tantamount to digression from the topic, so I withdraw said admission.)

In the late 1980s and early 1990s, climate change was the product of insane disaster mongers who claimed to think weather patterns were changing. The topic wasn't even fashionable! In such an environment, how did I, at the tender age of 6-7, realise something's wrong with the weather? I may not have termed the phenomenon as climate change or even global warming. I suppose in my fertile mind, it was more of global warning (scratch that, divine warning is a closer fit). 

Had someone asked me to define what this divine warning is, I might have said its God's way of saying I should not waste water by unnecessarily washing myself or my bike. Allow me to explain.

I have been jinxed with the rains since that age. It would pour cats and dogs each and every time I wash my vehicle. Without fail. The day I decide to restore the colour of my cycle/car/bike back to the colour its maker had bestowed on it, it would rain. No ordinary wetting of the land, mind you. It would be torrential. I would normally choose a day that is bright and sunny to perform said ritual. No matter how sunny the day begins, the moment I finish washing and drying and decide to take my gleaming ride out to air, clouds would rumble in and it would pour. I learnt then that this is a divine warning. As I grew older, I began to think the rains were merely an acknowledgement of me being active. A divine celebration of sorts. So I thought maybe this is a message from God that I should be lazy and outsourced my washing activities. That didn't help either. The vehicle would be wet and dirty by the time I got back from the garage after a good scrub down.

Around 2000, I learnt that the best form of defence is offense, so I began washing my bike even more frequently, in fact, at one stage, it was a continuous process. I would wash, it would rain and I would wash again and it would rain again...you get the drift. The resultant flooding drowned large parts of Meena Estate, which I refuse to be held responsible for.

At wit's end, I decided to flee the country. Maybe going to a country where it rains for 2 or 3 days in a year would break the jinx. So I went to Dubai. My calculation was correct and the jinx with the rains had been broken. My incessant washing did not turn Dubai into a fertile region. However, there was another problem. Just like the suits at CO2 Inc., discovered it isn't so much as global warming but climate change, I discovered my jinx was never with the rain, it was with nature. In Dubai, there would be sand storms. I would wash my car and the next day it would be covered in dust as if someone had emptied the contents of their vacuum cleaner on my car. The dust bowl that is the Arabian Desert would let out an almighty belch and attempt to convert the city of Dubai back into the desert from which it arose. It was horrible. It would lie waiting for me to part with Dh 25 for a car wash. And then pounce.

I realised then that it there is no point fighting nature and gave up all hope of ever having a clean vehicle. Keeping it clean and admiring it for the few hours it remained clean was all I could do.

Having failed with the rains and dust, I decided I might as well go to a place where it rains more often than it shines and moved to the UK. True to its reputation, it would chuck it down each time I washed, but that's alright, I knew it was coming and more or less got used to a dirty vehicle. Nature had decided to test me and I had failed. I had given up.

Just when I soulfully decided to get used to the notion of a perpetual dirty vehicle, I decided that for one last time, I would pay to have my scooter washed. I paid the money and took possession of a gleaming scooter and looked up and lo and behold! No clouds. In fact, it has been 2 weeks now and it hasn't rained. In all my time in the UK, it hasn't been rain free for 2 weeks in a row. Nature is cruel, I tell you, she's just taunting me with that can of wax to shine my scooter before she chucks it down again, but I'm going to be one step ahead of the game. I am never going to wash or wax my scooter again; maybe it will never rain in the UK again...

Standing still

I've been having quite a commute for the past couple of months. 40 miles. Each way. Good news is that the Sun seems to have been fairly frightened by my threats to take legal action against it and its cronies, the British government and nature, so its been more regular in its daily duties. As an added bonus to appease my fury, its even thrown in a fair deal of warmth as part of the package. So riding has been enjoyable, but for the miserable network of inter-connected potholes that we in London call roads (more on the roads later).

A bulk of said commute is on the motorway/highway. This is where I usually have the most fun. As I buzz along happily at 65-70 mph, I have time to sit back, take in the scenery, observe the sights and sounds of life in the fast lane. From trucks laden with freight to cars laden with kids (I'm not quite decided on which type of cargo is more difficult to handle - goods or kids, but that's not my problem is it?), there is one thing in common. They're all in a tearing hurry, looking highly purposeful and generally giving me the impression they're trying to get to some place. But that's probably just me.

The readers of this blog are all astute folks and would have by now raised a very pertinent question. If I was hurtling along at a not so sedate pace of 70 mph, how is it that I'm able to see all these things? Do I have hidden super powers that I didn't have before? Has the power of a highly sharpened vision been hard coded into my DNA and is that surfacing now? None of the above. My only response to these questions would be to refer said astute readers to a good friend of mine Mr. A. Einstein. He was a popular lad, so I don't think he needs much of an introduction.

When normal folks like me have a theory, its promptly dismissed as rubbish, mallarky, bulls*it or variants thereof. But when A. Einstein proposes a theory, the world listens. In this instance, I am talking about the blokes theory on relativity@@.

It's like this: while I'm buzzing along at 70 mph, the rest of the world seems to be thundering along at 80-85 mph. That leaves me with a feeling of standing still in a fast moving world and that is what leads to profound thoughts such as the ones described above. Make no mistake, this relativity is a rather tricky customer. On more than one occasion, I've felt that I'm literally standing still. Had I been in a car as opposed to a bike, I would be forgiven for taking my seat belt off, opening the door and stepping out to catch a breath of air, only to realise I'm still moving at a rate of knots that is extremely unhealthy to skin, bones and internal organs.

Looking at all these folks race down the motorway makes me think about what the hurry is? Isn't the journey as important as the destination? Since when did getting to a place become such a chore? I've always enjoyed taking the long route home. Slowing down and taking in the scenery rejuvenates me and recharges me. I arrive feeling fresh and ready to take on the day between the time I park and reach the office, after that, all bets are off! There have been several times when I wanted to flag down a car or two and ask them where the fire is and why they're in such a hurry, but have controlled myself for fear of being run over, if not accidentally, on purpose.

In any case, the moment traffic slows to a crawl at one of London's infamous jams, it's me who is the subject of relativity, for I would be scurrying down the road much faster than any other vehicle!

@@ I am a poor student of commerce, so I have readers, God and A Einstein (not necessarily in that order) to kindly forgive me if I have gotten the theory of relativity all wrong.

Falcon to Burger...an Autograph

The stable of vehicles in our household has been reasonably varied.

Falcon (reg number unknown)

This was the first scooter my father bought. I have very few memories of this scoot, for I either did not exist when we owned this or I was too small to remember. Fond recollections by my father indicate this scoot was fast, had a massive premium and he sold it for a price higher than the price he bought it for (possibly the only automobile less than 50 years old that appreciated!). Oh yes and he also had his first accident by being over confident. Apparently he managed to break a cast iron handlebar in 2!

Avanti Kelvinator (TNN 7511)

 

Fondly called "Street Hawk" by my father's students, this was also a 'robust' scooter, which meant it was made of iron, weighed around 2 and half tons and with its 150cc engine, it was about as nimble as a tortise on steroids. This was also most likely the scooter that instilled in me the love of touring on a two wheeler. We'd go on long (around 80 km in a day and that is long on that scoot!) rides around Nilgiris during the holidays. The mother would have to go to work and once she leaves, the father, the two sisters and I would pile onto the scooter along with a packed lunch and take off. Considering the vehicle is only expected to carry 2 people, it had well, 2 seats! People who are keen observers, eagle eyed and all that will observe that said two seater carried 4 people plus lunch for 4 hungry souls! As you might imagine, comfort was often spartan. The seating arrangement would always have me seated on stuffed cushion between the front and rear seats or standing in the front.

In hindsight, I guess it's not the most comfortable method of travelling, however, back then it was exhilerating and exciting. The only thing one had to keep in mind while sitting between seats was to ensure you stayed well away from the grip on the spring loaded front seat, for any sudden pothole could have castrating effects on one.

Bajaj Chetak (TN 43 4911)

This is the one I learned to ride in and did quite a bit of to-ing and fro-ing between Ooty and Coimbatore. I'd learned to ride in the school campus, a fact which drivers of all school vehicles were aware of and would promptly get off the road when they saw me approaching. This one had a single long seat, but alas, we had grown by then and one 3 of us could fit on the scooter at a time. This was also the one that almost ended my young life in the persuit of a lousy figure of 8.

Hero Puch (TN 37 Q 1736)

This was one puny 65cc moped, but it could scream like a banshee and still manage a respectable 50kmph if you contorted yourself like an escape artist and made yourself invisible to the wind. Even this has taken me on a trip from Coimbatore to Ooty, although it took a painful 3.5 hours and required at times a one human power in addition to the 4 horses that powered it. In my defense, this was a hand-me-down, I would never down grade from a 150cc scooter to a moped off my own free will.

Bajaj Spirit (KA 03 Y something)

Yet another hand me down from the sister (does anyone else notice a trend here?). Performance wise not to dissimilar to the Puch, but looked way better.

Bajaj Legend (TN 33 L 4177)

Ah, my first true "non hand-me-down". I was the second owner having it bought it when it had done only 3,000kms. In the 12 months I used it, it did a further 13,000. Faithfully accompanying me on trips all over the place, from Tiruppur to Siruvani to Mettur to Ooty. It was supremely comfortable and if you threatened it enough, it would get to 80kmph and stay there. Touted as the first 4 stroke scooter in the world, it gave excellent fuel economy. Its still in the family and happily ferries me whenever I go to India.

Bajaj Caliber (TN 38 P 19xx)

Yep, we were a bajaj family through and through. My first motorcycle. All the more special because I saved up and bought it with my own cash. For the one year I had it, this was my pride and joy, faithfully ferrying me on pointless trips upto Ooty, and around Coimbatore district and the jewel in the crown, a trip from Coimbatore to Chennai, a distance of 600kms that took me 14 hours on miserable, potholed roads!

By now folks must be wondering why I'm having this Autograph moment with past two wheelers. Here's the deal, there is a new addition to the brood:

Suzuki Burgman 400 (FH 06 TZP)

The newest acquisition is a 400cc brute and is quite the looker. It has been affectionately called a 'luxo-scoot' by fans.

It is supremely comfortable and I am totally in louve with it.

In order to provide the uninitiated a simple to understand perspective of the awesomeness of this bike (yes, sisters of mine, I am referring to you), here are a few quick stats:

	Avanti Kelvinator	Bajaj Chetak	Hero Puch	Bajaj Spirit	Bajaj Legend	Bajaj Caliber	Suzuki Burgman
Displacement	150cc	150cc	65cc	80cc	150cc	110cc	400cc
Power	5bhp	7bhp	4 bhp	5 bhp	9 bhp	9 bhp	32bhp
Top speed	60 kpmh	70 kpmh	50 kmph	60 kpmh	80 kpmh	85 kmph	150 kmph
0-40 kmph	Long enough	< 1 min	>1 min	>1 min	6 sec	6 sec	3 sec
0-100 kmph	100? You've got to be kidding me	100? You've got to be kidding me	100? You've got to be kidding me	100? You've got to be kidding me	100? You've got to be kidding me	100? You've got to be kidding me	8 sec

Motorbiking evokes memories and dreams of sunny skies and warm weather. Imagine how happy I was when the forecasters at BBC said the worst of the horrible weather has now passed and residents of this damp and dreary country can now look forward to temperatures that are going to be positive in the coming weeks and months. It was on that high note that I stepped into the dealership with a spring in my step and took delivery of the Burger. The weather was bitterly cold, but between the heated grips and excellent weather protection, I got home with only slightly numb finger tips. I was eagerly looking forward to a ride to the office the next day, for my office for the day was a good 20 miles from home. Having woken up bright eyed and bushy tailed the next day, imagine my chagrin when what I saw outside was this:

 

and this
not a pretty sight I tell you, not a pretty sight. I'm now waiting for the big thaw before this baby can stretch its legs.