Riding into the sunset

In the 1970s and 80s, my father was one of the few people in our town to be riding a Royal Enfield Bullet. The classic thumping sound of the approaching vehicle would typically have me scampering, especially because I would mostly be doing things he had forbidden me from doing. There was a rush of fear of being reprimanded, and the excitement of having broken the rules. Some days I was caught, others not. Until we got a car in the 90s, this was our go-to vehicle. My parents tell me that one evening, they set out to watch a movie, and on their way, my mother had labour pains, and they rode to the hospital instead of the cinema. And I came into this world later that night, in the same hospital that they worked at all their lives. “Your sister was much less troublesome, from her birth, up until this day,” my mother would sometimes say, with a wry smile. Do I sense disappointment in them in the way I turned out, I sometimes wonder.

“It takes courage to grow up and become who you really are.” — E.E. Cummings

“Oh, you keep talking about it. Let’s just go book one right away,” my dad said, about a month ago. I had been telling them occasionally, that I wish to buy a motorcycle and ride it long distances. I stopped riding one more than 15 years ago, when I moved to hand-me-down cars from my father. Of late though, there has been this itch. There’s a difference between riding and driving a car. While both require tremendous concentration, inside a car, it’s like watching a movie. The windshield is like a frame of sorts. Riding a motorcycle is a different experience. You’re right amidst the action, the wind blowing in your face bringing along with it dust, grime & heat. You’re in the movie itself. I’ve done some really long rides, during a time when there were no cellphones. And the only map we had was folded neatly and stuffed into our pocket. I’ve been longing to get back that experience. And so that day, without thinking much more, my dad and I went and booked a Royal Enfield.

“Do you know what this man did? When he was three, he hid the keys somewhere. And no matter how much we persuaded him, he wouldn’t tell us where. From then on, I had to use the duplicate key, which I fortunately had safely put away. The original was never to be found, until this day.” My dad was narrating this to my neighbour, a few days ago, when they were both chatting from across the gate. Dad was showing him the motorcycle that I had just collected the previous day, as the chrome gleamed in the evening sunlight. “I want to try it out too,” I heard him saying to our neighbour, and I must admit that it surprised me. My dad doesn’t come across some someone who is easily excitable.

The following day was a Sunday, and I asked my dad to come along for a spin. Once we reached the highway, I handed over the motorcycle to him and moved to ride pillion with him. He gingerly picked up the machine from its standing position; I could sense that he was unsure. He tried to swing his leg up once, and stopped half way. Then, on his second try, he managed and sat on the saddle. As he rode slowly, he fumbled with the gears. When a vehicle approached, there was a palpable sense of uncertainty and nervousness as he rode. “It needs some getting used to pa,” I told him.

About 10 minutes later, he started to turnaround. When I asked him to ride some more, he said he had had enough. I made sure to take back ridership before we entered the town. “It is heavy, I hope you will manage. I guess I’ve lost my strength with age. Ride safe and enjoy it while you can” he said, his voice trailing off and I observed that his face did not reflect any emotion, except he was looking into the horizon, as the sun was setting.

“A motorcycle functions entirely in accordance with the laws of reason, and a study of the art of motorcycle maintenance is really a miniature study of the art of rationality itself.”

– Robert M. Pirsig

When I went to bed that night, I wondered how he must have felt. If he did feel anything, his face didn’t show it. I for one, felt happy and sad at the same time. I was happy about the ride itself. I’ve ridden the motorcycle a crazy lot, and I see myself doing a lot more of it in the years to come. Yet, this will undoubtedly be one of my most cherished rides, and something I hope to remember until my dying day.

Ma

Please allow me to introduce my favourite person to you. She is just about the nicest creatures I’ve known. Pa isn’t too bad. (Don’t tell him I said that about him). He’s a good man, really. Over years, our relationship has evolved. Among other things, it has mellowed now.

They’ve both retired after a hectic life as doctors and it is nice to see them relax and do their thing. Pa tends to be a lot more worried, almost paranoid about things, as much as he likes to travel. Ma is of a cooler temperament, one must say. They’ve recently been to London and Edinburgh, and from there, to the US to be my sister. Ma had worked in Edinburgh for a year. This was close to 3 decades ago. For sometime now, she has wanted to go back and meet the friends she made during her stay.

She sent me this note (edited) on email. It says a lot about her.

This was on our way to San Diego. We were in line for security check. The procedure is different in each airport. Here one had to remove foot wear as well. While one person told me I need not remove them, just a little away I was asked to remove them. Already am anxious and there is the difficulty in trying to understand their pronunciation. To my anxiety, my bag was kept aside. A lady opened the bag after scanning with a detector she was holding and picked the objects that one is not supposed to carry in the cabin. Scrutiny was thorough. She then placed all the items, may be 4, inside a plastic bag and returned saying “All yours.” I was so relieved that my articles were not thrown away. When I mentioned this to Nithya, she said the items were returned only because they conformed to the specifications to be met  with and not as any special favour shown to me.😊

Nithya, incidentally, is my sister. Life is beautiful.

 

You did it

My father and I share an interesting relationship. As a child, I do not remember much of him, except for his stern looks when I would do something that I wasn’t supposed to. Given the number of times I was guilty of that, I am not surprised about the stern look as a predominant memory. As I grew up, things got even more difficult. I was turning out to be the problem child. While the things I was interested in changed with time, the one constant was my strong affinity to indulge in activities that put him off. Be it staying up late at night or watching one movie too many, not coming home during the semester breaks or just binge drinking, I found just about every way to displease him. It continues even as an adult, be it the divorce or more recently, my refusing to participate in a family vacation. The only difference is that he seems to have found ways not to react.

Another and related memory for me is that he wouldn’t appreciate me. “Don’t be too proud”, and “You can do better than that”, are two messages that I would receive from him time and again. The latter being well deserved, and the former, more a cautionary note. I sometimes think that he may have held the belief that appreciating his children would put them at the risk of becoming vain. Perhaps it is culturally influenced, and as a grown up, I look back and I am able to understand him very well. I am also grateful to him & my mother for bringing me up the way they did. I ought to write more about them, I remind myself.

So, when six months into my stint at EZV, I got an unprecedented raise in my salary, the first thing I wanted to do was to let my father know. It was unprecedented, because it was done exclusively for me, before my completing a year, which is when these things happen. And I remember some people telling me that it had never happened before. I was of course excited, and perhaps mildly surprised at myself. However, I made a request to Chitra – that while I was grateful, the raise itself wasn’t so important for me. I requested her for a letter of appreciation, and she readily obliged. The only reason that I had wanted it was to show it to my father.

It has been ten years now, and it is now time for me to be doing the appreciation. With several young, energetic and committed people giving it their all, I sometimes rue at my inability to be so generous with praise. Partly, it is because I am just not mindful of the fundamental need that most people have – a pat on the back. However, I also think I may be a tough taskmaster, and my benchmarks are usually high, sometimes perhaps unreasonably so. This is only with me, of course. Chitra still is the one to quickly recognise promise, and acknowledge it publicly, even though her own benchmarks are no less. Over time, it has become a part of EZV itself. I am grateful to be working in an organisation that is quick & generous to acknowledge and even reward contributions from people. While it in itself is a wonderful thing, I am also grateful that it reminds me of what I ought to do better – be less grudging and more generous with praise.

through the eyes of an old man

Pa is a simple person – he minds his business, and likes things his way, mostly. So when he was finally cajoled into traveling to the USA, I was more excited than him. To me, it was seeing a part of the world that I had always wanted to – through his old and experienced eyes. i am posting one of the mails I got from him sometime ago.

—————

My dear son,

There are a few things striking about this country. They make life as easy as possible for themselves. All houses are built with wood or board- very little stone or concrete- so they are able to do it fast, as well as repairs and other maintenance work is made easy. surprising thing is how even heavy items like air-conditioners, fans, chimneys gold firm on these. For example, yesterday the man had to cut pieces of the board making up the kitchen partition to look for the rat. He did it so easily with nice tools, protected himself well with gloves, knee caps, cut the board, attended to the problem, and fixed back the board. Only some plastering and painting has to be done over it and you can hardly make out it has been cut. After seeing this I realized that the wall, the ceiling have all been cut at several paces for various work.

Every aspect of life they try and make comfortable- many things are use and throw, many recycled, one can significantly reduce acquiring personal belongings. They don’t interfere with others, almost to the extent of being disconnected with the rest of the world. In some ways good, but makes one feel lonely. People in Austin seem warmer than bigger cities like New York. I have been wandering in my dhoti always, sometimes inviting a second curious glance.One does see beggars, asking for food or money, sad to see it happening in one of the so called affluent countries!

The other obvious thing is they are the greatest users and wasters of energy, both fossil fuel as well as electricity. So many dazzling lights on all the time, apartment lights are never switched off, every little thing is illuminated very bright and colourful. Millions of cars- hundreds of brands and thousands of models are running all the time. Ninety percent or more are used by single drivers. They don’t seem to be conscious of conservation at all.They will surely exhaust the reserves and suffer and make the rest of the world suffer. More later.

Love, Appa