On Humility

12 May 2009 | life, bullet, bike

For the first few days that you own a Bull, you’re on top of the world. You polish it till it gleams, you don’t allow anyone else near it, you wipe dirt off the silencer (while it’s still hot and burn your index & middle fingers); you know, the usual.

So this past Sunday saw me riding, decked out in all my finery, to the showroom to get my leg-guard fixed. There’s a red light up ahead with a few cars waiting. I downshift and slide into neutral and slowly cruise to a stop. The weather was a pleasant 38 degrees and the sun was just bright enough to glint off the shiny new paint on Agnieska (the bike, idiot!).

If you’ve taken care of your Bull you know that one of the the best things while stuck at a traffic light are the stares of envy you attract. There was the usual crowd - uncle-JI’s wishing they’d bought a Bull instead of those big, air-conditioned monstrosities on four wheels (Mercs they’re called, I believe), bored aunty-JI’s wondering what their hot yoga instructors were doing and Pinkis’ and Pappus’ picking their noses or drooling over Agsie (still talkin’ of the bike, moron!). Acknowledging my superstar status, I turned off the ignition, adjusted the mirrors and checked that my receding hairline hadn’t retreated any further overnight - all the while throwing quick glances at the traffic light (remember the ‘Magnum’ look in that Ben Stiller movie?).

And then it happened… the light turned GREEN.

With a lazy flick of my wrist, I turned on the ignition and pressed the electric starter - all the while glancing down arrogantly at the hoi polloi. There was a sound like a dog choking on a carrot. Unfazed, with the arrogant look still on my face, I pressed the starter again. This time the dog seemed to have swallowed a watermelon. With the sound of angry horns being honked by angrier drivers I turned to my reliable kick-start.

Kick One: Agsie burped…honking grows louder.

Kick Two: Agsie coughed…I can faintly make out references in punjabi to the female members of my clan.

Rolled Agsie forward and Kick Three: Familiar subdued thump…feel the power of the beast waking up. Shift 1-2-3 and I’m out of reach.

As I rolled away, spirits slightly dampened, I figured Agsie had taught me a valuable lesson in humility - the whole pride goes before a fall thing. No worries, I forgive all you car-driving, road-rage affected Dilli-wallahs. I ride a Bull, you’ll just spend the rest of your miserable lives wishing you could. Plus, when Royal Enfield take over the world, I’ll have you all executed… nasty @#$%@@$%#

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I Got Me A Bull

Concerned Chaddi-buddy: “Seriously, are you eff-ing crazy?”


On a Woman-Woman Relationship

Alright, all you perverts who’ve eagerly jumped onto this blog expecting a raunchy write-up, $@%#$% off. This is neither the time nor the place (we’ll talk about that over a drink or three some other time). Today I’m ranting about the hate/no-love-lost relationship that most women have with pretty much every other woman. Like all great writers, let moi dredge up an example from the ‘Sparkling Life of MySelf.’ In the red corner we have Agsie, a puny 182kg Bull(-et) who spends her days carrying me around the Kingdom of Nai Dilli @ a demure 40kph(speed thrills but kills). In the blue corner we have YUM-YUM, a vivacious 35kg(+10 - but you didn’t hear that from me) girl about whom I could write reams but I only refrain for fear that her pretty little head would bloat.