Homecoming...

1. Bad habits die hard. Mine, refuse to die; even if my life is at stake. I don’t know when I’ll rectify myself; may be I should, after this incident. May be I should quit relishing the rush of excitement of leaving 140 4-wheelers behind. May be I should deprive myself of exhilaration of breaking my own records. May be I should. May be I should not. What say? Naah !

2. This thrill was thrust on me. Trust me. I was to catch the 1925 Bhubaneswar- Raipur Express for home on Sunday evening. This time ity was not a KIIT-station dash. I was in a village Mukundaspur 26 kms away from Bhubaneswar on the Konark route. I could have got here earlier but for a sermon-y which I had expected to be over by 6.15 PM. Similarly, my optimism had exceeded its limits of decency by assuming the 26-km stretch to be free of vehicular traffic. Sunday. Bhubaneswar-Konark-Puri highway. Empty? You must be nuts!

3. Nuts, I was. The session at the mosque dispersed at 6.26 PM. Some packing, transfers and farewells took up the next 9 mins. Take-off at 6.36 PM. Quit village periphery at 6.39 PM. Was I watching the watch? You bet, I was. Mainroad at 6.44 PM. Pipli at 6.47 PM. Then, Nimapara chowk (square) is traffic cop’s living nightmare. Sundays and holidays are hell. From a distance of 80 mts, I could see a choked stalemate. None of the aggressors was willing to yield. Guys, break up! A long coach was trying to turn towards BBSR and was holding up traffic on all three sides. What the hell!

4. Optimism. It sucks at times. Made liberal use of my horn to shoo the rustic cyclists, circled the bus and bullied the dumb bystanders to find an open NH-214 in front of me. Revving up, I cleared the remaining hurdles by alternating the high beam and the dipper. Adios Pipli. 6.52 PM. Thereafter it was weekend overtime for my nerves as I negotiated my way out of three car rallies and numerous bike clusters. All this in the face of a chilly wintry wind and blinding high-beams generously unleashed by mad buses and Goliath-like trucks.

5. I stopped patting myself once I passed Uttara; reason- it was 7 PM now. This was the deadline which I had set for myself to be in my friend’s office in Bhubaneswar to pick up my railway ticket and here was I- 11 kms away. I broke the safety limit of 60 and kissed 80. Something urged, ‘Better late than never’. I replied, ‘Better be there or you won’t have another ever.’ In fact my bro-in-law was the reason behind all this rush. He was at my home and I being his sole sala had to be there. That was the deal. Be there or be dead.

6. You know people have a knack for dumbness. I will give you instances. A: A middle-aged couple occupying 50% of our lane talking to some blokes on the road- forcing scores to bend around them, putting the oncoming traffic at peril. B: Brainless greengrocers who had set-up shop on the rise at the bend between the Dhauli Peace Pagoda square and the narrow Daya bridge. With prospective shoppers parking half on both sides, it Destination Disaster. C: And finally, the jaywalkers- along the entire stretch of road from 90N to Penguin Paradise.

7. Bhubaneswar is a planned city. It is a partial truth. To quantify ‘partial’, 25% would be too much. The tourist circuit adds to the woes of squeezed bridges, bombarded roads and squares like ants-junction. Ants are better organized. As I approached Bhubaneswar, bike-maniacs like me, made themselves visible. There was this Pulsar duo in hoods who were regularly hitting high-octane levels. We had a brief undeclared race from Krupajal Engg college to Ravi Talkies square. I had to beat them. It was my weakness. I can’t resist winning.

8. The mother of all traffic jams started at a point 1.2 kms from Ravi Talkies Square. Revelers who had been to Puri etc had decorated this zone with headlights, tail-lights, indicators, brake-lights and fountains of dust, smoke and dirt. Please forgive my lack of humility when I claim superiority in wriggling out of such apocalyptic evacuees’ crowd. I learnt a point (or was I just lucky?) that you get ahead fastest in a jam- on the right-side (given you are biking and there are no dividers). On several occasions, I sped forth on the illegal left-side too.

9. So, at 7.12 PM, I had broken free of all jams, squares, clusters and hold-ups. I evaded the traffic police on 4 occasions ( no offence) and avoided mowing pedestrians on 3 (they were either blind, deaf or plain stupid). I turned towards Rajmahal square at Kalpana and smiled and sighed to see the motor-mass ahead emptying at the green. But, I had to turn towards Bapuji Nagar to pick my dress-parcel.( Yup, I had some pending chores; normal Yaar!). 7.15 PM. I exited B-Nagar on the Sishu Bhavan road and rejoiced at the green for my channel. 7.16 PM. Hello, Bhubaneswar Railway Station.

10. Bad habits die hard. And so does bad luck. The parking lot attendant was enjoying a phone-chat and leisurely issued me the ticket. Plus, my ticket was not yet in my possession. I called up my friend who had it but could not bring it as there was no one else at the office ( Yeah, I was supposed to go there.. Sorry). So, after having lodged my bike deep in the parking lot and making my way to the station proper, I found that I had been graced with 10 extra minutes. About turn. Recover Bike. Rush to friend's office. Pick the ticket. ‘Is it necessary to travel like this?’ my friend provokes, handing the ticket. ‘Wrong question, ill-timed. Ciao’)

11. Rush Back. Park Again. Walk back. Board the train. 7.35 PM. Perfection and precision personified. Thanks to my friends who booked, printed and delivered the ticket for me. Thanks to the 140-odd cars for granting me the thrill of over-taking. Thanks to 80-something incoming monsters for training me in night-time war-period biking. Thanks, ye all hapless waiting holidayers for witnessing my ride-by. Thanks Pulsar OR 02 AL 6054 for racing with me in those conditions. Thanks, all cops for giving a biker what he deserves- a ‘What the hell is he up to?’ look! And thank you my readers, for making a mountain out of my molehill exploit. Take Care. Don’t Bike.