Dark Races: The Brighter Side

Last night changed it all. The smoke screen of self-satisfaction spread out. The fog surrounding types of races cleared. I realised that I was not a museum specimen in the university- there are other rabid racers as well. I discovered that my Discover isn't the quickest kid on the block. The dynamics of the official (yet illegal) races were experienced first-hand. And that- on the top of a more powerful engine, a full fuel tank and a healthy braking mechanism- you need to be smart. Last night, I learned a lot. A lot.

Before I narrate yesterday’s chain of events, here’s a brief backy (background). I was invited by Anshuman Sir (In-charge-Arifin) for his wedding reception at Hotel Swosti Plaza for the evening. I started scouting for supporters to shoulder the sum of the ceremonial souvenir. Rohan (of 1st Race, 1st Post fame) was willing. We synced to meet at Big B, Patia at 5.15 PM. When he wasn’t there on schedule, I called him up to offer pick-and-drop services. When I covered the distance of 500 mts in 20 secs from Big B to Campus 1, I clearly shocked him into a volley of compliments. ‘What? Do you travel at ‘c’?’ ‘What?’ ‘C= speed of light’ ‘Naah! It’s just… you know… chalo.’ Spirits rose. Good Evening.

Later, at the party venue, I filled myself with every delicacy available- coriander soup, Dahi-Vada, Gup-Chups, steamed rice, noodles, Manchurian knobs, live sabzi, Paneer Pasand, Kesar ice-cream and Aquafina. I was looking forward to a blissful nap and a hectic morning. In the middle of all this socializing, two anti-socialists made their entry- Trinoy Hazarika and Shoaib Khan- Rohan’s friends, my students. Most teachers get away with bragging. But I grant my kids a good deal of FoS- Freedom of Speech. So, when I was rattling off my tales of conquests over Pulsars, Shoaib’s pride was hurt. Any 150 cc fan/owner would have been. With the legacy of being a born Cuttack-y (one who can cut corners and be cocky), he was adamant to have a contest. No amount of warning, coaxing or dissuading by Rohan or Trinoy could budge this 6’6’’ lanky giant to retract his challenge. It was settled. Four People. Three bikes. Two racers. One goal. Zero tolerance.

“Ho Jaye” is a phrase of religious importance to a racer. It is like everything is on stake- wife, kids, life, weeds and your daily quota of gutka. We came out of the serene, social settings of Shaadi into the wild, wacky and wicked world of wheels. Since Rohan had some partying left in him, the race was shortened from Type-I (Distance) to Type II (Drag). Two variants are common to both- Traffic (Rush Hour) and Free (Midnight). The clock showed 2250 hrs. Shoaib was astride a well-maintained 2002 black Pulsar 150 DTSi. I had my trusted Discover 125 DTSi. This was injustice. Still… Trinoy aka Troy gave the Get Set Go for a false start. A lady had emerged from the hotel with a wobbly kid in tow. Civilians form the bulk of the casualty list in heats like this. Restart. The moment it was GO, fact and fiction fused into illegal street racing. Roar.

People dressed elegantly for a wedding function jerked their heads, stepped back and clutched their kids as two bolts of black howled past them. Legally: we should have gone towards Jaydev Vihar, done a U-turn near Pal Heights and completed the lap skirting Nalco square to return to Swosti Plaza. I went for it. The smarter ass took a detour and saved 3.7 gms of adrenaline. I refused to cooperate and stalled near the CCD exchange. Few secs later he rode in- all smiles. I threw up my hands and followed to overtake him at the finishing line. Chaos.

Columbus could not have been more excited on discovering Amrika than this kid who was on Cloud Nineteen for finishing second in a botched race. ‘You’re done, Sir’ ‘Comprehensively defeated’ ‘Accept it, Sir’. Slow down, chum ! Point One: The route was misunderstood. Point Two: I called off the race. Point Three: I overtook you at the D-Line. ‘No way.’ ‘ I did it! I did it.’ ‘Pulsar rocks.’ Troy tried to cool him down to consciousness. But the chants continued. ‘120 kmph, I touched it.’ ‘I ran out of fuel, yet I win.’ ‘Victory is sweet.’ I proposed another race. While they went to procure fuel, I started thinking. The max I can touch is 95-100. Plus there is no traffic to trap him. Heck! How am I gonna win this race? Shoot.

Rohan was called upon to make Race 2 happen. This time, it was to take place on the main road. No confusions. CCD exchange to Nalco square and back to the zebra crossing infront of Liquid. 11.10 PM. The traffic was a minimal 70 vehicles per minute. 3 lanes to zip through. There was a chill in the air in addition to one in the spines of Rohan and Troy who had figured out that things were getting ugly. I flipped my helmet’s visor open and gloved up. The superior CC smiled silently beside me. Race 2- GO! He surged ahead confidently on his 5-speed transmission to his max. I tailed him till Nalco square where I took the inner edge while turning and gained distance. Gotcha.

My bike shook under the demand for more power. I led him till RCM opening. He crossed me and danced ahead till Police Ground gates. I ducked to cut air resistance and stayed on the pole till Fortune Towers. He followed suit and left me behind to cross CCD in celebration. Hands in air, off the throttle. I was yet to give up. I maintained my posture to finish 2 secs ahead of him. My turn to celebrate, buddy! Judges declared me the champ. Shoaib won’t relent. ‘Sir, you know I was ahead.’ ‘Tell them how I overtook you.’ ‘I lost because I freed the accelerator.’ While starting, I had grumbled- ‘Yaar, this is not fair’ My worthy opponent had predicted ‘Ho sakta hai, aap jeet jao.’ Thanks.

For this fox called Shoaib, grapes aren’t just sour; they are genetically manipulated as well. He was offered a race on a later date on equal machines. ‘No way.’ ‘Tonight shall decide the better rider’ ‘Right here! Right Now!’ I agreed in spite of my misgivings about the equations. I agreed, but I asked for a Pulsar. Replying to his taunt about the better rider, I said ‘It’s all Pulsar’s weight. No credit to you.’ He fell for it and offered to switch bikes. Rohan had grown pessimistic beyond the remotest black hole and won’t agree to another round. I then took a test-ride of the powerhouse Pulsar and came to the start-line. Rohan kept saying- ‘Don’t take it personally, Guys.’ ‘ Come back alive’ ‘You don’t have to do this’. Reluctantly, he handed me my helmet. 5… 4… 3… Twoooo. ONE !

Pulsar 150- I have rode but never raced on it. I kept him at a distance of 25 mts at all times till Nalco square where I lost him. I could now enjoy the sight of the speedometer hitting 115. My, my !! I bowed my way to victory and glory. He homed 30 secs later having lost power while turning. Race 3 in my favor again. This time his protests were weaker. How long could he keep his brain and blood on boil? This night was etched in the history of culpable suicide. The tremors of speeding beyond 90 on Discover. The blurring of vision due to the wind-induced tears in your eyes. The clouding of mind with the dark premonitions of loss of life. Avoid it or Avail it- Decide.

Epilogue: Troy has initiated his quest for the perfectly matching pair of bikes. Rohan is deeply depressed and disturbed; he intends to leave for Amrika to seek spiritual solace. Shoaib is planning to take Excitement Management Therapy. I? Will continue to blog… Ciao for Now.