Thoughts about owning a Royal Enfield

It’s more or less like getting engaged to get married (no offence). Counting days to be together with a soul mate full of lust disguised as love and love in the form of lust.(18 months, they say) Making her yours, after a long wait, all the time getting frustrated because she is not with you, but deep within the four walls of the mind, it echo’s; “She is yours and yours only, custom made from your backbone”

You face the same questions from your peers, over and over; “did you get to test-drive?” What colour, what Reg: number? Are you prepared for this? All you can do is sit there and smile, excited at the same time worried.

Finally on the date of the delivery, you shiver, your hands are cold but the flame in your heart will help you to keep your cool.

Your hand automatically moves in an instinct, to twist the keys to turn her on, she is all yours, you know that and you will take your time to examine the beauty, to stare for the first-time into those rear-view mirrors. “Objects in mirror are closer than what it appears”, true to the core. You are made for each other.

Wink at yourself in the mirror and your image winks back at you; it’s the soul of the machine responding to your desire for intense passion. Press the start button and she bursts into laughter of ravenousness.

Thug thug thug thug thug… goes the sound of her heart beat, take some time to listen and appreciate the music. When you ride or rather make love in the highway, both your heartbeats becomes a symphony, a duet of love.

You will be alone in the highway while the rest of the plastic bikers will eat your dust, because when the machine and the man becomes one, they rarely seem to notice anything else.

Away from the long straight highway, In the country road, you will never feel like moving fast, you will move in a rhythm, letting others get a glimpse of her elegance. You nod or smile at those eyes staring at the two of you with a class that you acquire due to her acquaintance.

It will be a happy love story till the end of time. Even your progeny will speak of your glory as a rider. The machine will be a token of grandeur passed on to them, which they will accept with respect.

PS: I am sick of hearing about this 18 month long booking period for a bullet classic. I grew up seeing Achan and bro getting vehicles within two days… lol. What guarantee that I be alive after 18months… WTF.

An aspiring Teacher, I am.

I had this strange dream recently where I was seated in a tightly packed lecture hall, when a fat bearded man with clear signs of baldness got upon the podium. His arrival was accompanied with applause, even from the dignitaries in the front row. He was dressed in a turtleneck, Harris Tweed jacket, khakis, and collegiate cordovan loafers like Dan Brown. He had a scarf around his neck additionally.

Silence spread as he stretched his hands like Christ the Redeemer statue. He started speaking in a voice that echoed from the walls of that large room.

“We are going on a journey together, you and I."

"Today"! (in a soft whisper)

“All you eager young minds on the very cusp of adulthood (laughing), I shall be your consort, your guide, your chaperone into the heart of modern communication. Welcome to Digital media 1.01. “

I woke up at the sound of the alarm clock and came back to the normal world. I do not wish to interpret the dream, but the recollection of this delusion of mine has prompted me to write this.

There are a lot of popular jokes about attending lectures just for the sake for attendance, powerful sarcasm to the classes that can put you to sleep. There are teachers who seem to sing a lullaby that can send you to a state of deep slumber, letting you dream of the lions of Africa or rather think of being in any hell other than the class room. Like the famous lines “Better dwell in the midst of alarms, than reign in this horrible place.”(William Cowper)

We all know that this is not true. Teaching is the best profession in the world. In ancient India, the teaching class were the priests who were on the top of the organised society, powerful enough to influence the decisions of the Kings. They believed that the Mother who is regarded as the living goddess shows you who your father is; the Father will then take you to a Guru or a teacher, who shows you who the God is. This is the divinity associated with the teaching job.

They are the ones who literally command; “let there be light”, showing us the truth that sets us free. They point us towards knowledge, the real God. They are probably our first heroes who do incredible things that make us a fan, like Albus Dumbledore from Harry Potter who utters the “lumos” spell to illuminate everything.

As an aspiring teacher myself, I was always fascinated by their ways. The best of them ruled the podium in the classrooms and huge lecture classes with their voices echoing in my mind. Like great artists performing on a stage, captivating the listeners with their awesomeness. They are true storytellers who poured ideas and inspiration into my empty mind.

In the Primary school, teachers play the role of a protective guardian who picks you up and dust you when you fall down, wiping your tears with the end of the Sari, telling you that there is no shame in tears, but never shed them for the silliest of things. They become our icons in high school and friends in the college. Obviously there are exceptions, there are teachers who could make your life a living hell, but now when I look at it from a safe distance, far away from the reach of an educational institution, I realize that I have only gained from what I have got from my teachers.