The unknown biker

Some things are meant to be experienced while others are meant to be known from the experiences of the people around us. Problems arise when an attempt is made to make this axiom dysfunctional, however adventurous the task might appear. As a student of an engineering college, I was as any other student driven by impulses. The heroic stunts performed by my colleagues mesmerised me and the applaud they received afterwards made me jealous quite a number of times. Such was my determination in those days that I diverted the money that was meant to pay my college fees to buy a new bike.

Dreams of me being hailed as the biker of my college started floating in the air around. Not many days were spent in realising the fact that the dreams that were floating would only move higher and higher and would never settle down to be realised in reality. A fall from the bike a couple of times left no spot on my body to be injured in the next fall and being the one who would accept realities if not immediately, atleast after a catastrophe, I stepped back and allowed the dream to remain as a dream. The dream continued to be in its sate only to be fulfilled a few days back, though in a way that would be acceptable only to the intelligentsia.

It was a long journey. Unknown was the time it would take for the destination to be reached. Unknown were the obstacles that I would be facing and unknown was I of any surprises that I would be presented with on my way. To see time passing by, I thought of recollecting my failed attempts during my college days to catch hold of something that I knew wasn’t in my reach. They did bring a smile on my face and made the otherwise long journey a bit shorter.

So lost I was in the deep thoughts that I could have helped a person reach the gateway to heaven had I not been reluctant enough to get lost deeper in the thoughts. A young man probably in his twenties was at the wheels of my bike with slight injuries afflicted upon him by the cruel ‘me’.  Even before I could apologise for the heinous act performed, my panic of being reprimanded was soothed by words of assurance from him that he was alright and nothing serious had taken place. I was amazed at his coolness for that was the only thing I could do. I offered assistance to take him to a nearby hospital but quick came the reply that these wounds were nothing when compared with those he suffered in the trials on his bike. These words forced me to go back to hose days once again but I resisted fearing another person falling at the wheels of my motorcycle. He asked if I could drop him at a nearby location. Why wouldn’t I when I would be getting eth chanced boast in front of others that a real biker had been lucky enough to be a pillion rider because of me!

This subinterval of the journey hadn’t lasted for than five minutes but still it had in it the charm an interaction should possess: the charm of silence. Such was my shyness to confront with strangers that a greater part of that little time was spent introducing myself. And then, I started making an unending list of the questions in my mind that I should be hurling at him- his interest- the cause, inspiration; his experiences, suggestions and everything else that could be asked. Before the train of thoughts could come to an end, a demand was made to stop and he got down.

For unknown reasons driven my unknown impulses, I queried, ’Anything to be said? ‘ with a  smile he said, ‘Hope that you be a good biker soon ‘ and then  he got onto his bike that was parked beside the tea stall, started it and moved in the direction of the setting sun with the golden rays illuminating his style and glamour as a biker.

( Image Credit: Image redrawn from here )