At the ripe young age of 66, I decided it was finally time to fulfil a lifelong dream—to own a 350 cc Royal Enfield Bullet. After all, age is just a number... although in my case, it was a rather large one.
Until then, my two-wheeled experience consisted entirely of scooters. In fact, I had ridden a motorcycle exactly once in my life during my first posting in Ambala Cantt. By 1991, had sold of the last of the Bajaj Scooters I owned, since then it's been only 4 wheelers. Even as I bought a Bullet, my confidence level was so low that I requested the showroom staff to deliver the bike to my home because I wasn't brave enough to ride it through the gladiatorial arena otherwise known as Pune traffic.
A few days later, I decided to impress my daughter by sending her a video of me majestically riding my Bullet. As I proudly removed the bike from its stand, the Bullet decided to demonstrate Newton's law of gravity and collapsed gracefully—on top of me.
There I was, pinned under nearly 200 kilograms of British-era engineering and Indian steel, wondering if this was how history would remember me. Somehow, with a burst of adrenaline and sheer embarrassment, I managed to lift the beast back onto its wheels—all by myself.
By the time my wife came downstairs to record the video, I was sweating as though I had just completed the Mumbai Marathon.
"What happened? Why are you sweating so much?" she asked.
"Oh... nothing... just warming up," I replied, conveniently omitting my wrestling match with the motorcycle.
A few days later, at the petrol pump, I confidently instructed the attendant, "Full tank... and add some oil as well."
The expression on his face was priceless—a mixture of pity, amusement, and concern. It was at that moment I realised I had publicly announced that I knew absolutely nothing about modern four-stroke motorcycles.
Then came the driving licence test, I had got a Learner Licence earlier. To qualify for my two-wheeler licence, I had to ride nearly 10 kilometres through Pune's chaotic traffic—a test of courage, reflexes, and faith. I arrived thinking the difficult part was over till the examiner pointed to a neatly painted figure of eight and said, "Ride inside that without touching the ground."
I couldn't help thinking, "Young man, if I can survive riding through Pune traffic and reach here in one piece, surely that should count as a doctorate in motorcycle handling!"
After 2 years of regular use especially while going for golf, the Bullet and I decided to part ways albeit with a heavy heart.
Looking back, although I enjoyed the thrill of riding the Bullet, I learned that chasing your dreams is wonderful—provided your dreams don't weigh 200 kilograms and if you have never really tried that out in younger days.
