Skip to main content

The Bicycle Diaries - Part I

Chennai has turned out to be most difficult to travel in, especially for a non- Tamilian like me. The public transport system is not really bad. There are loads of buses, and quite frequent too. But sometimes the destinations are written only in the local language. And if you ask for bus routes, using as much sign language as you can manage, one gets a queer 'all buses go there' answer. The auto-rikshaw guys here have made quite a name for themselves for their knavish tendencies. As I was forewarned, I avoid taking an auto as far as possible. So, invariably I end up walking most of the time. But walking has its limits. So me and my friends from Delhi (we are all here for the summer) try to borrow a bicycle whenever possible. Our bicycle rides have been quite eventful.

Kanishk* was riding his bike late at night. It was past 1 am. He and his friends had just been to the Besant Nagar Beach. He had been dreading the ride back through the dark and desolate road from IMSc (where his friends were staying) to his hostel room in IIT-M.

He cursed his friends under his breath for getting him so late. He cursed Aditya* out loud.

But at least he had his bicycle. He had bought it for 400 bks, second hand. He could make it back to his room in 15 minutes or less, if he hurried. He pedalled hard, thinking about all the stupid Tamilians he had met during this short trip. Why the hell could they not speak Hindi? Its our National Language, after all...

(Kanishk by the way is highly racist and swears upon the superiorty of North Indians).

He cursed the Tamilians under his breath. He cursed the Madras auto drivers out loud.

Just a few minutes now, he thought. Swerving past a pothole, and cursing the Chennai roads and the municipal corporation, he caught sight of a pack of dogs eyeing him icily. Shivers ran up his spine. God they were right in the middle of this hell-hole. "Damn these madrasi dogs. I will just shoot past them" , he thought.

He pedalled harder. The dogs started to growl. (They smelled a racist coward) The growls grew louder and Kanishk's pedalling faster.

As soon as he crossed them and heaved a sigh of relief, the dogs charged as a whole, with frightfully loud barks. Kanishk panicked.

He cursed the madrasi bicycle for not being fast enough. The dogs were catching up. He started to scream. At the dogs. Hoping that it would frighten them away. It only made them wilder. He screamed harder. Looking over the shoulder all this while. Suddenly, he saw the dogs slowing down and dispersing. "Stupid cowardly madrasi dogs", he thought.

As he turned his head, he realized he was hurtling towards a Tata Sumo. It was too late. He crashed into it head on. His bike lay twisted and he lay battered on the bonnet. Before you get any ideas, I must assert here that the Sumo was stationary. There was no one in it. No one visible for miles, at that ungodly hour.

Kanishk
took time to collect his thoughts and senses and assess injuries. He saw that the bike was a mess, and he could not ride it anymore. Nor could he carry it as he had injured his leg sometime during that spectacular fall. And he half expected some madrasi robber to jump out of the darkness. At that moment, he lost it all and started cursing everyone he knew. Out loud.

Someone apparently had heard him. There was movement in the shadows. Kanishk was scared. Has his worst nightmare come true? A madrasi stepped out. He took the scene in with a glance. He said something in Tamil, with only the word 'auto' discernible. Kanishk (already on alert, what with 'auto' being mentioned) thinks how can I ever find an auto in this hell-hole so late at night. Meanwhile, the madrasi was making wild gesticulations and pointing to his house.

Kanishk
followed him, with some trepidation and some pain, and found that the madrasi owned an auto-rikshaw. The madrasi helped Kanishk put the bike in and dropped him to his hostel. Since Kanishk did not have change for the fare, the madrasi refused to take anything at all and left Kanishk mouthing no curses at all - for the first time that night.

Kanishk was last heard singing praises of all Tamilians and has developed a keen interest in learning their language. He paid the auto guy the next day.

* The names have been retained as original to reaffirm identity.
;)

Comments

  1. lovely dude!
    amazing .. the account itself is humorous but the narration is superb .. as the madrasi would say .. love you da! ;) (btw dont get weird notions)
    Keep writing!
    Funk Maadi!

    ReplyDelete
  2. found out abt dis from avinash checked with indignation but the narration made me go nuts so dropped the idea of quoting your diary ;)
    gud work and with that changi exaggeration constant shooting up u myt jus get some work in a rajni muvi...

    Addition:
    I had asked him his name went to pay and found out no one lives at that place by his name and no1 even knows about any auto...

    ReplyDelete
  3. pretty humourous..has changi written all over it..hope kanishk has finally got around to accepting tamilians as a superior race..;)
    keep writing..!

    ReplyDelete
  4. it mite be an angel then...who came to ur rescue kanishk...god's angel whos actual purpose was to make u realise Tamilian power... :P

    ReplyDelete
  5. Still don't like 'em !
    Also, been 3 years but this post still cracks me up ! :P

    ReplyDelete
  6. Lover boy!! Why you don't write anymore?

    ReplyDelete
  7. Super adi! You story telling is simple, yet good vocabulary, neither complex nor too bland. Keep it up bud 👏

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Feedback

Popular posts from this blog

The Sutra to the Perfect Gift

Glenn had his birthday coming up. I called up everyone to seek ideas for an appropriate gift. In vain. "He has everything!" was one exasperated opinion. Some thought out of the box and came up with really practical gifts like skate-boards. I gave up and went straight to the mall with Arjun , hoping to spot something. At the mall, we hacked around for the 'right' gift. Although books were ruled out initially, we gravitated to the book store as a last resort. After sifting through countless books, we were still clueless. I had quite a reputation to maintain in office. After buying many 'right' gifts, I could not afford to lose the plot now. While selecting a gift, there are three things I look for: - Would s/he like it? - Would it be a talking point? - Would it cost within 800 bucks (our usual budget)? So I sat down and went back to the basics. What would Glenn like? What would all men like? Well, that wasn't a possible gift. So, what else? While I was thi

RAGe

I plan to re-vitalize the underground movie club I helped set up in my company this January. RAGe (Roshan, Aravind/Aditya, Glenn entertainment) provided an excel sheet with the movies set for 'release' every Friday. The sheet had details about the movies like the running time, size, quality, parental guidance (eg- Naomi Watts goes nude 45 minutes into the movie, so be sure to shoo your parents away round about that time), awards or nominations won. There was also a link to a one-page review of each movie we covered. RAGe started off really well, but lost steam as time wore on. The company's annual day, pressure at work, lack of feedback and appreciation for our work were the chief culprits. Reproduced below is the first review I wrote for RAGe. Its on one of my favourite movies, Thank You for Smoking: Thank You for Smoking Cast: Aaron Eckhart, Katie Holmes Director: Jason Reitman Review: Aditya Changavalli Don’t hide the truth, just filter it. I’ve got a confession to make.

What NOT to do this Valentine's Day

An expert is a person who has made all the mistakes that can be made in a very narrow field. - Niels Bohr I consider myself an expert in matters of the heart. I have given loads of people advice in all kinds of different situations. It’s another matter that most of them never actually used my advice, so there is no way of knowing how effective it is. But, I have surely made all the mistakes that can be made (and some more) in this not-so-narrow field. I will not bore you with the common amateur mistakes. Here is an example of me going overboard with the ‘being different’ mantra. I bet you never thought of this way to court a girl’s attentions. A few Valentine’s days back, I sent a mail to a friend I had a crush on and wanted to impress after an evening walk with her. Hi, As we were talking the other evening, you mentioned how guys are essentially the ‘same’; in the sense that ALL of them view girls as sex objects. When I heard it, I had trouble accepting it. So, I decided