When I was finishing with school I had one desire and one desire only. To own a motor cycle. But alas my parents were very clear that it was neither in their budget nor in their plans. I begged, I pleaded. I sulked, I screamed. But to no avail.

The only ray of hope was that in a moment of weakness my father said that if I could earn even half the cost of the motorcycle he would chip in with the rest. But seriously, back in those days, the very idea of a sixteen year old kid earning money was alien and eminently laughable. So I saw the offer as a ray of hope that had no chance of lighting up my life.

A few dats later my parents announced that they were going to the Secunderabad Club for an evening of Tombola. Us kids had two options – stay at home and get bored or accompany the parents to the club and get bored. Needless to say we chose the latter.

The evening started normally enough. Mom and Dad picked up their tickets and proceeded to miss the house valiantly. Once by just two numbers and once with one. For the last house Mom decided to buy a whole sheet of Tombola tickets. I was by this time falling asleep. I didn’t like the game and in any case I was not allowed to play it as per Club Rules.

Till this day I cannot explain why I did what I did but I offered Mom to tick a couple of her tickets. She was grateful and accepted my help immediately.

To cut a long story short one of the tickets I was ticking won the bumper house that evening. Unfortunately so did several other tickets. So the prize money was whittled down to Rs. 750/-. Of course that was a huge sum in those days.

Dad and Mom had drinks to celebrate. And we were fed ice creams. And then we went home.

It was only the next morning at the breakfast table did it strike me to ask my parents – “Since it is technically my ticket that won the money, isn’t it fair that the money be treated as my earning?”

My father smiled benignly and carried on with his coffee. My mother ruffled my hair and smiled that typical Happy Mom smile. And no one said anything.

That was frustrating. I waited till everyone at home got on with their day to day lives and then embarked on a research trip. Which motor cycle could I buy if I had Rs, 1500/- ? 750 being my ‘earnings’ and the balance being Dad’s share.

I found that I had a choice of classic motor cycles. Matchless. AJS. BSA. I went and seriously confronted my parents. My Dad after some argument and debate was finally convinced and agreed but on one condition.

There was a gentleman in his office who was a motor cycle aficionado. He had to certify whichever bike I was planning to buy and my budget was strictly Rs. 1500/-.

At the end this gentleman sold me one of his bikes for Rs. 1500/- and made a little boy’s dream come true.

The bike was a 1942 model BSA 500 cc one. Its RC Book certified that it was part of the British Army and was assigned to a Captain serving in Arabia.

The bike had a unique air filtration system to handle the sand which seemed to be perfect for our local conditions. It was painted a rich military green. And had thump that put all other bike sounds to shame.

It took me a while to master the bike, but master it I did. And I had a great time riding it around town. Errr…did I forget to tell you that the bike had no shock absorbers. And that the pillion sat on a small bench type seat perched on the rear mudguard?

I remember I went with my sister to a relative’s wedding at Shanker Mutt. As we were leaving the relative gave us a few packets of sweets to carry back home. I was thrilled. And in anticipation of the feast that awaited me I rode home fairly fast and without much comversation.

We reached home and I was in for a shock. While my sister was safe and on the pillion, she had been so shaken by the ride that without realising it, she had let the packets go. So we partied with curd rice and went to bed.

On the day our ISC results were announced about ten of us got onto the bike and it took us around school and finally to Piush Bahl’s house without even taking a deep breath.

It sure was a powerful bike and I had fun with its four stroke majesty. Alas very soon it was time for me to go to college. And Dad was very clear that the only bike I could take to college was my bicycle.

The bike was left in Hyderabad and one day while I was away at College in Chennai, Dad decided to sell it. He got the sum of Rs. 1500/- for the bike and he was happy.

It was only in my second year that I could convince my parents that I deserved a bike and Dad was sweet enough to sponsor a 1969 model Jawa. Ar 250 cc it had half the power of my BSA but my pillion riders were very grateful for the comfort that this modern bike provided.

I had a lot of fun with the BSA and the Jawa. But then those are other stories.

Strangely enough I do not have even one picture of the bikes. The BSA we never shot, and the Jawa photograph is in Texas USA with my cousin who has been promising to scan it for me for years…

But here is a picture I downloaded from the net. This is what my BSA looked like…