Cars and bikes. Love affairs with them are an essential part of growing up…perhaps even a part of staying young. Strangely I have in my list of affairs two or three lists. One, the vehicles that my father owned and the bikes that he bought me. Two, the motorcycles and cars that I bought on my own steam. And some vehicles that I never owned, but they became part of my life.

The first bike (though purists will object to my calling it a bike) that I ever rode was a Vespa.

I was still in school…just about 14 years of age. Dad had called some people home for drinks. Most of them landed up in their official Jeeps and Station Wagons but one gentleman, Dad’s Man Friday I think, landed up on the scooter. Suddenly as the evening clinked its way into good cheer, someone asked for something that wasn’t there at home, but was available in Himayatnagar that was close to home. Everyone was a couple of drinks down and though there were no breathalyzers and drunken driving checks in those days, the people were reluctant to take the initiative and hop across to the shop, especially the Man Friday.

Suddenly he spotted me playing around near his parked scooter and he asked my father if he could suggest that I go across on it to buy what was needed. Dad asked me if I could handle it and I said yes!

I had never ridden a scooter, only seen people doing so. I took the proffered keys, and after some fumbling around finding the slot for them, kick started my way to my first ride ever. I remember it was late evening and the roads were light and I managed to use only two of the three gears that the Vespa had. And then at the shop, I had to ask another customer for help to start it again for my return journey. But I managed to reach home without a problem and delivered the parcel. No one commented, no one cheered and my riding skills were taken for granted. Only I know how I felt that night when I retired to my room. The thrill I experienced that night was much more than the one I experienced when a few months later I sneaked in my first kiss. But that’s another story.

Needless to say my campaign to get my parents to buy me a bike started in real earnest only after that scooter ride. And my parents were not very interested in pampering me in this connection. A few weeks later Dad told me that when I had money of my own I could buy myself a bike, but not before and not on his account.

A mere student, I had no source of income and I realized that this was a clever way of shutting me up. But God, or providence, had other plans. Just a few weeks after the climax of my campaign, we went to the Secunderabad Club for the monthly Tombola.

As children we were not allowed to play but my mother was in the habit of buying more coupons than she could handle. And invariably us kids would do the ticking off on the extra coupons. As fate would have it the coupon I was ticking off won that night and we came home with a cash prize of Rs. 1500/-.

At home, just before going to bed I staked my claim for the money won. Forget club rules Dad, I win by Family Rules I suggested. He told me to go to bed and promised he’d give my claim a thought.

The next morning he announced that in all fairness, 50% of the prize money should be given to me. Rs. 750/-. I immediately announced that I would buy myself a bike with that money.

To cut a long story short I did manage to buy myself a BSA 5HP 1942 model bike for Rs. 1500/- with the rest of the money being ‘loaned’ to me by my mother. But yes, the BSA was my first love of my biking life.

Single seats. No shock absorbers. It was a back breaker but man, was it powerful. Even today my classmates from HPS remember that when ISC results were announced, about ten of us got on to the bike and rode around in a kind of victory celebration.

Two other interesting anecdotes involve dogs, especially ferocious dogs who would normally run after other bikes but stood away from this one as if in respect to it size and power. One was at Aloke Gupta’s house with the infamous Pasha. And the other incident was a Naseer Yar Jung’s house (now Country Club) while zipping across to meet Aamer and Saad bin Jung.

But sadly, when I went off to college my parents decided that enough was enough, and sold off the bike to a colleague. When I came back for the holidays I was told that the only bike I could aspire for was a bicycle.

I sulked, I shouted, I cried…but to no avail. I was soon back at college with a Raleigh Cycle. We did have some fun times with that cycle…everything from Mahabalipuram Trips to midnight soirees in Madras but a cycle is a meek hero for an adventure tale.

So I skip to my third year at college when I managed to convince my parents that I should be given a motor cycle. And thus a Nellore born JAWA 1969 model was procured for the princely sum of 4200 rupees. And I took it to college.

And that’s where life changed. You see, while I was fairly proficient in maintaining my bike, some of the bigger jobs had to be done by the mechanic, mainly because of the tools I did not have in Madras. So there was this motor cycle mechanic in one of the lanes opposite Stella Maris College who used to be my ‘man’. And he had a Coimbatore ‘rich man’s kid’ as another customer.

What this guy did was to get himself high rise handlebars and painted his silencers matt black after chopping off the ends. And then he went home.

Only to be thrown out of the house and told to come back only when he had brought his bike to normal. As things went we met at the mechanics and he suggested an exchange. My original silencers and handle bar for his ‘souped up’ versions. I said yes.

And then on one of my trips to Hyderabad, I went across to my friend Ram Prasad’s factory in Sanatnagar and fabricated for myself a whole new front end with twin barrels, one for the speedometer and one for the key.

The bike was loud. I guess it kind of matched my personality in those days. And soon it had a reputation. Its roar and well tuned back beats could be heard echoing in the Banjara Hills area late at night. And many times my father got calls about it.

The other interesting thing about the bike was that it often used to start and slip into a unique reverse gear. It came to a stage that my slipping into reverse gear on a Jawa became an exhibition item.

This bike travelled with me to Nagpur where again, when I was not around, my parents sold it because they were concerned about the damage I was causing to my back.

I was bikeless for a few years after that. Except for a horrible yellow Vespa that my friend Indru Advani lent me for a few weeks. And then my friend Saeed Ansari decided to relocate to Hyderabad from Munnar where he had as part of his job, bought himself a brand new Bullet.

Saeed and his wife were looking for accommodation and so was I, and we landed up taking a house on rent in Nagarjuna Hills…and what a lovely time we had.

But soon after he found a chance to move to the US and I got a job in Bombay and so we gave up the house. The bi-product of these career decisions was that Saeed agreed to sell me the Bullet in installments.

How, within a few months I got a call asking me to settle the balance in one go because his wife was also moving to the US is as they say, another crazy story with my boss emerging as a life saver, but that again is another story.

The Bullet was a mad episode in my life and involved me with absolutely hilarious moments like riding down Marine Drive with a 5 foot teddy bear on my pillion and being featured on a local paper’s news…and having a few accidents simply because I had this habit of sleeping off while riding if I was tired, which was often, given the nature of my job.

So this very meticulous Parsi from Colaba bought my bike after a particularly bad accident and I thought I should listen to the signals and desist from riding a two wheeler again.

Two other bikes engaged me in the interim. And made significant impacts on my life.

The first was a Rajdoot GTS bike which was popularly known as Bobby Motorcycle. I never owned it but this really puny machine was something I rode for quite a few months courtesy of my dear friend Ashok Kumar Harkara who used to work in the same office I did, albeit in the travel wing.

The amount of long distance Client Servicing I have done on that bike was worth it only because Mama, as he is universally known, would allow me to use his bike if I had a date. And that became another sight to behold…me the giant on this miniature bike with a large sized lady to boot. Fun times.

When I reached Chennai after marriage, my terms of employment allowed me a car but due to some complication the car took some time before being allotted to me. This was the time when another dear friend Matthew Augustine would be bullied into lending me his horrendous green color Lambretta which was also office property.

This scooty became for almost three months my ‘get to know my wife’ vehicle. Except that on the Lambretta, conversation becomes one sided. I would speak into the wind and wonder why she was not getting it. And she who had not heard a word I had said would wonder what was irritating me about her silence. But damned if we didn’t develop a soft spot for that Lamby.

I have, over the years. ridden other bikes. A few Triumphs borrowed from friends and mechanics. The original bunch of 125cc two strokes like the Ind Suzuki. The whole range of the Kinetic Hondas and Activas. Including for long drives in Germany, a Yamaha 750cc gearless scooter. A TVS Fiero that I rode around in Kurnool. Even a Honda 1000cc tourer that belongs to my friend Anup “Vicky’ Randhawa who even today says that I am the only one he allowed to ride the Sunbeam Motorcycle he had during school.

And that brings me to a funny story.

When many years ago, my parents were abroad, my sister and I were invited for a wedding at Shankar Mutt. The car had gone to the Mechanic’s for some repair and I had my bike. When I suggested that we attend the wedding on the BSA my sister threw a fit and refused. I asked Anup for his Sunbeam which was in much better condition than my bike and was infinitely more comfortable, he agreed without a problem.

So my sister and I arrive at this wedding, make more of an impact than the groom, have dinner, say hello to the whole ging-bang…and just as we are leaving one of the aunts hands over to my sister the traditional ‘Taamboolam’.

In the packet were the customary coconut, the bananas, the betel nuts and some sweets and savories. I was thrilled, because the sweet served that day was one of my favorites. I was looking forward to going home and pigging on the goodies.

It was late night and quite cold. My sister wrapped her silk saree around herself, held onto the goodie bag and we drove off into the night. Within seconds I could hear over the classy beat of the shaft driven Sunbeam, the quiet chatter of my sister’s teeth. I slowed down as much as I could but I don’t think it made a difference.

When we reached Banjara Hills and home, my sister got off the bike very gingerly. She was actually frozen in a kind of limbo and was having trouble unfolding her arms and even unwrapping her saree.

We went in, and I asked her to pass me the ‘taamboolam’ because I was all set for a round of sweets before hitting the bed. With great difficulty she moved her hands enough to hand me the packet.

The moment I saw it I knew there was something wrong. It was less than half its original size.

Within a moment we discovered that the bike ride was so bumpy and her body so numb, that almost everything from the packet spilled out and she didn’t even know.

What was left, was the paan and some supari. Everything including the mandatory blouse piece had been air dropped between Shanker Mutt and Banjara Hills. I have always wondered who found the booty. Who ate the sweet? And who got a new blouse?