My Yezdi My Love

The number 23 flashed through my head as the dim streetlights sped past me, my bike making the sole Thud Thud sound on this lonely stretch of road.. 23 Kilometres was the longest I had ridden my Yezdi before I ran out of petrol last month , .I had filled the Petrol yesterday at the old pump near college, with the last 40 rupees in my pocket (Yeah petrol was cheap those days) and, unless Ali Bhai, the mechanic whom I worked for extended me another hundred tomorrow, I was broke. I had ridden atleast ten kilometres since then, and if my calculations were correct, the bike should stall within the next ten kilometres. I had no problems pushing the old beauty to Bhais mechanic shop where it belonged, but for the beautiful co passenger sitting behind me..
I was the broke, part time mechanic who had somehow passed his boards and was offered a spot at a prestigious city college, mostly due to the fantastic work he had done on the Principals car. She was the city Police Commisioners daughter, a beauty behind whom half the college was nuts but none dared to approach. I was a scrawny , lanky , half bearded dude who spent his days with carburettors and exhaust pipes, dreaming of someday owning a garage or at least being able to afford the next meal. She was the buxom beauty who excelled at Classical dance and was the shoo in for College Queen , and she ate at those fancy hotels in the city centre, places which always intimidated me. There had always been times when our paths had crossed in college, but I tried to be invisible as much as I could. Not that i wasn’t attracted to her.. Just that i had seen enough rich girl- poor boy love stories to know that there was not always going to be a happy ending.. So i concentrated on my bikes and my books, working at Ali Bhais and eating under the streetlamps, sometimes sleeping there too, dreaming what it would be like to eat a full meal at those fancy hotels or holding hands with the beautiful Commisioners daughter.. These dreams sometimes ended with me getting pasted by the Commisioner, thus the not-so-happy –ending analogy.
But things had changed dramatically today. First, Alibhai had allowed me to take a second spin on a customers Yezdi, the only bike other than a Bajaj Chetak and a Royal Enfield Bulllet that dominated the Indian roads those days. I had worked on the faulty clutch/kickstarter system for weeks, and Alibhai said i could take her for a spin, as long as he spotted it in the garage tomorrow morning and I filled the petrol . I had ridden it to college and had been the envy of half the guys, most of whom came to college on bicycles. Then , the Principals old Ambassador had its clutch acting clunky again, and I had to stay back fixing it. And, on the way back home, I found her standing in the bus stop, clutching her bag and looking at the lonely road, hoping for a city bus. She didn’t know that buses didn’t ply past 7 on this road No Volvo or Metro services those days So i turned the ignition off and stared ahead, my mind making calculations like a general in a war. Will I be able to drop her home without the bike stalling? Can I get her something to eat with the Four rupees inside my longbottoms back pocket? Did I still smell of grease? Sometimes, God puts crazy ideas into your head and then pushes you off the cliff, with you desperately flapping your wings and hoping to fly. Today God was staring down at me on my Yezdi and smiling…
She refused to look at me first, staring intently at the empty road ahead, looking at the occasional Ambassador car or bullock cart that passed. I honked, not that it was necessary since my bike was making enough noise. Finally I mustered enough courage from a hithertho unknown place and spoke my very first words to her “ Hey, you need a drop home or something?” She ignored me,as expected. I stood there, not knowing what to do next… In the movies the girl usually hops right behind you or her size 7 sandals leave an impression on your face. But the girl completely ignoring you was something the screenwriters were yet to comprehend. I didn’t want to be pushy, yet I didn’t want to leave her alone at that place either. That’s when I heard the unmistakable rumble of the jeep and looked around just in time to see the typical green jeep with a beacon at the top, classic sign of trouble (police).. I was about to kickstart the Yezdi when I felt a soft hand on my shoulder and a gentle tilt to the right, meaning someone was sitting behind me. “GandhiNagar, 4th Street”, said the gentle voice, and I had to look at the rearview mirror twice to make sure I was not dreaming. The Commisioners daughter was sitting behind me!! MOA!!! I kicked hard, and the trustworthy Yezdi roared to life, and thus began the longest, most beautiful and most memorable journey of my life.
So Here I was, counting off the kilometres and praying for the bike not to stall, when the first droplets of rain started to hit me, and I looked up at the sky to see a starless black sky with thunder in the background. I looked up at the heavens and asked God the only question I wanted to “Really Dude, Today of all days?” The Yezdi was known to have a manufacturing issue with water getting into the spark plug those days, and people generally avoided riding them in the rain. But when God decides to test you, he goes out of his way to make it as difficult as possible. Then I felt her hand go around my flat tummy and her head against my back, and I looked up again and smiled at the Big Man… “Sorry Dude, my bad”… God does work in mysterious ways.
I turned into Gandhinagar and looked at the fuel indicator, which was stubbornly trying to go below the Empty sign on the left.. Four more streets!!!! Come on Yezdi please.. I felt the thump reducing in intensity and the engine a bit sluggish, tell tale signs that the beast was out of fuel and needed to rest. The rain drops were splattering against the street, creating arrows of light as the Yezdi lit them up. 4th Cross only had a couple of houses those days, and you didn’t need to be a detective to figure out that the big bungalow at the end belonged to the Commisioner. I pulled into the third gear and helt a final thump, meaning that the bike was now running on empty and was practically rolling down the road due to its own speed. I brought the bike to a halt at the wrought iron gate, stubbornly refusing to look at the front door of the house, where a pot bellied man with a large moustache was staring at the road, his eyes seemingly spitting fire. She got down, muttered a silent “thanks”,and ran towards her house, partly due to the rain and partly to show her dad that she got away from the biker dude as soon as she could. I kicked the starter again, expecting no response, but the Yezdi thudded into life, and I shifted to first to get the hell out of there (there must be some residual petrol left in the valves). The bike stalled 50 feet later, just after I had turned away from her street and out of sight. I got down, and started to push the old beast, not wondering about the ten kilometres to Alibhais garage or the rain that was drenching every part of my body. My thoughts were filled with those wonderful moments when the girl of my dreams sat behind me on my bike and gave me moments to cherish for the rest of my life.
Epilogue :The Jawa Yezdi motorcycle company was situated in the princely state of Mysore and rolled out some good bikes before the plant shut down in the Early 90s.. I bought one of the last Yezdis ever to roll out, with my first salary as a foreman in a manufacturing plant, along with a generous loan from Alibhai, of course. I went to work in his garage for a long time after my regular work at the plant, mostly for free for all the things he had done for me. Alibhai died of lung cancer some years later, leaving the garage and all his earthly belongings to me, his prodigy. I set up my own small manufacturing plant a few years later, starting from Alibhais garage. Today, we are a major Auto components manufacturer and ABN components (named after Alibhai, me and my wife) is now a global player.
The Commisoners daughter (Naina), who I thought had seen me as a one time drop home, came to see me a few days after that rainy ride and told me she always had feelings for me. We dated for two years before I mustered the courage to ask her dad her hand in marriage. To my surprise, he didn’t shoot me but just patted me on my back and told me to take good care of her. Naina later told me that she and her dad watched as a scrawny young boy pushed his bike through a rain drenched street, his face lit up like a Diwali lamp.
Also that Yezdi bike which saved me all those years ago.. I bought it a couple of years back from a doctor, who had kept it in mint condition. Our kids wonder why me and Naina always spend our Valentines day riding a rusty old bike through the streets of Gandhinagar…..