Most pleasures are foregone with the passage of time. What gives that special adrenalin rush today is replaced tomorrow. Sometimes voluntarily and sometimes involuntarily. I completely acknowledge that this is the most boring way to open an essay on the topic of pleasure. But I cannot but help sigh at those little somethings I’ve lost as time galloped past me, and all that bottled up negativity may be the cause of this poor start, which I humbly request my reader to excuse me for.
Thanks to the end of my dependency, I have blessed myself with something that in effect is more detrimental, than developmental. I even feel a pang of guilt about referring to it as a necessary evil, because it in fact is not so necessary after all. Well all this build up is not to unravel some 9th wonder of the world. Nine, being the choice because that would make it more wondrous than the 8th , which is in effect is superlative to the 7th. To break the suspense, the object of all this melodrama is my newly acquired vahana, Sanskrit for vehicle. Duh!!! The build up was not worth it. Was it? And to top the disappointment let me clarify that I’m not even referring to a snazzy Lexus or a breathtaking 400c.c bike. Beginnings are humble they say, and mine completely adheres to the law (for once!), but that does not have any effect in terms of camouflaging my pride. Well if my sweet Ganheshji could so proudly flaunt his little mouse, I think nothing in the world can snatch me of my right in being pompous about my Black(and ttchch..slightly dented already!!!) Honda activa.
Well, now that the protagonist of my story has been successfully launched, I can move on to how I nearly I ran, or rather rode into a whizzing auto. And you, dear reader, must appreciate my humility in admitting that the fault was completely mine. But behind this averted catastrophe is a story of the past.
The past – when I was still a pedestrian, who had to wait at the zebra crossings to cross the road, the one who had to often slip into the role of a self assumed traffic police to make it alive to the other side of the road. The times when I could stop open mouthed and wide eyed at a woman with appalling make – up or stare fondly at the doggie at the window of a plush car, or gape at the sky wondering if it would rain today, or indulge in a conversation with my alter ego, or stop and stare at the display window of a shop that had branches almost in every city, was in the least a special attraction, yet for no reason excited me to know that it was going to come up in my neighbourhood, or to stand and smell the scent of the roses in the garlands in the flower market, or to swear loudly in English that was never understood by some vagabond who passed a remark that I assumed had to be lewd or just to watch the faces of the other pedestrians and commuters twitch with expression as they engaged in a conversation either with themselves or with the invisible person over the wires or the wireless blue tooth(wonder what made it a tooth and that too blue!!) of the cell phone. Walking gave me a part of the day with myself. To come to terms with my day that was closing in. It allowed me to look around and absorb a part of the world I lived in.
I still have not outgrown that habit, which is the reason for the possible collision. A house had been decked with lighting- a decorated drive way- a playing band. A wedding? An engagement? A party? What was it? I had to know, and in all my inquisitivity about what was happening or going to happen in the life a stranger, I was blissfully unaware of the auto honking at me, trying to distract me from my distraction. And so it had happened.
But this does not mean that all is lost. I enjoy scooting around the city on two wheels. I love the wind on my skin. I love the symbol affixed on my vehicle that announces that I’m a lawyer. I love being able to reach my work place without incurring the wrath and curse of the auto wallahs. There are many things I love, yet many others I’ve lost.
Thanks to the end of my dependency, I have blessed myself with something that in effect is more detrimental, than developmental. I even feel a pang of guilt about referring to it as a necessary evil, because it in fact is not so necessary after all. Well all this build up is not to unravel some 9th wonder of the world. Nine, being the choice because that would make it more wondrous than the 8th , which is in effect is superlative to the 7th. To break the suspense, the object of all this melodrama is my newly acquired vahana, Sanskrit for vehicle. Duh!!! The build up was not worth it. Was it? And to top the disappointment let me clarify that I’m not even referring to a snazzy Lexus or a breathtaking 400c.c bike. Beginnings are humble they say, and mine completely adheres to the law (for once!), but that does not have any effect in terms of camouflaging my pride. Well if my sweet Ganheshji could so proudly flaunt his little mouse, I think nothing in the world can snatch me of my right in being pompous about my Black(and ttchch..slightly dented already!!!) Honda activa.
Well, now that the protagonist of my story has been successfully launched, I can move on to how I nearly I ran, or rather rode into a whizzing auto. And you, dear reader, must appreciate my humility in admitting that the fault was completely mine. But behind this averted catastrophe is a story of the past.
The past – when I was still a pedestrian, who had to wait at the zebra crossings to cross the road, the one who had to often slip into the role of a self assumed traffic police to make it alive to the other side of the road. The times when I could stop open mouthed and wide eyed at a woman with appalling make – up or stare fondly at the doggie at the window of a plush car, or gape at the sky wondering if it would rain today, or indulge in a conversation with my alter ego, or stop and stare at the display window of a shop that had branches almost in every city, was in the least a special attraction, yet for no reason excited me to know that it was going to come up in my neighbourhood, or to stand and smell the scent of the roses in the garlands in the flower market, or to swear loudly in English that was never understood by some vagabond who passed a remark that I assumed had to be lewd or just to watch the faces of the other pedestrians and commuters twitch with expression as they engaged in a conversation either with themselves or with the invisible person over the wires or the wireless blue tooth(wonder what made it a tooth and that too blue!!) of the cell phone. Walking gave me a part of the day with myself. To come to terms with my day that was closing in. It allowed me to look around and absorb a part of the world I lived in.
I still have not outgrown that habit, which is the reason for the possible collision. A house had been decked with lighting- a decorated drive way- a playing band. A wedding? An engagement? A party? What was it? I had to know, and in all my inquisitivity about what was happening or going to happen in the life a stranger, I was blissfully unaware of the auto honking at me, trying to distract me from my distraction. And so it had happened.
But this does not mean that all is lost. I enjoy scooting around the city on two wheels. I love the wind on my skin. I love the symbol affixed on my vehicle that announces that I’m a lawyer. I love being able to reach my work place without incurring the wrath and curse of the auto wallahs. There are many things I love, yet many others I’ve lost.
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