Saturday, December 22, 2007

Red Phoenix Harley




Lost in translation, I waited patiently outside the door searching for the lost spark. And there, at the distance I see, flanked at both sides with a Nissan Altima and a Mushtang was an old man on a red Harley. He looks inside the hood of both the cars and smirked, as if he’d just looked inside their normal skulls instead of their hoods. As the Mushtang revved up at first gear, once the driver saw, red hitting on the perpendicular light, the ‘Nam veteran just waited patiently. Whilst the mind war was going cold at that instant of 2 seconds, the Nissan guy being smart rather than a coward, gave up without a fight just to save his dignity. Green it was, and a lion’s roar scored loud from the Harley and the veteran’s head scarf just flew of momentum like the sword of the closed Samurai. The Mushtang just couldn’t keep up with the Harley and lost all self respect of its V6.

Seconds later, I dreamt of owning a Harley in the future, and of course I was wearing the usual formals going to the Univ as the ‘Harley Proff’. ‘Dream on’ I told to myself and soon got back to my day dreaming. I don’t know how long I was dreaming, but several minutes later, the Harley veteran came to the door step. I noticed that he had one leg shorter than his other, from his padded right shoe. A friendly tweak of self appreciation was all I had to use and there he was narrating his experience in ‘Nam. With all the interesting stories of valor in sparkling English, turning out to be the spark, temptation crept to my tongue and I asked, ‘What’s the price of ur Harley?’ and even before I can shut my mouth, I blurted, ‘Can I try it?’ The next second seemed like eons to me.

A gentle smirk, as if he was thinking, “U Desi’s……” and then he replied, ‘No you can’t try it….’ Well, though the answer was obvious, I felt a li’l depressed of the lost opportunity, and he continued, ‘It’s 35 grand. But I’ll sell it for 70 grand coz I built it with my own hands. That’s my job. And again, No you can’t try it’. The denial repeated, felt like a slap. Anger reddened in my face and my mind spat ‘Why the hell didn’t he fight in Hamburg Hill and die?’ Guess I reddened so immense, that this guy with his limping short feet backed off, both hands waving as if pushing the air between us and said, ‘WOHH son! Don’t give me that face. Here, if you insist on it, here’s the key. Just make sure you don’t end up dropping it’ and he offered me his keys. Hell Dumbstruck was I. What else would you do? I was awed by his guts in giving his 35 grand self built, baby, into the hands of a total stranger, half his age, zero experience on Harleys and who moments ago thought he was dead.

Took me moments to realize that I wasn’t dreaming and I did in fact have an opportunity to try a Harley. Gone were the days of Bullet and Rajdhoot. A face filled with a child’s happiness, I took the keys, and then with the broadest smile of gratitude, I asked, ‘U sure?’ He just nodded just making the situation much more affable instead of speaking the affirmation. As I walked to the Red and Fiery Harley, I was in a situation where a million questions started running into my mind. The most important was, ‘Man, this is no OCC on TV. This is real. Can I balance, the wide front shocks? What if I drop it?’ But the body had its own mind and I managed to lift my right leg, and throw it overboard the leather cushion and the perspective I got from that seat is simply engraving. A full scan of the handsome beast, and finally confirming its glory, I managed to kick start Mr. Ableson and ‘Ah!!! What a feeling’, as I revved up the engine. All my 24 years of glorious self confidence felt like dirt in front of its thunder.

A feel of the clutch and the click of first gear (more of the gun sound you get in movies), and a slow start, made me believe that I was actually driving a Harley. Slowly I lifted both my feet off the ground and shifted to second gear and with full admiration of the vehicle, I roared 10 feet. It is not even close to difficulty level 1 in balancing the bike. It wasn’t heavy, and it was immensely satisfying. With at most respect for the veteran who offered me a try on his baby, I slowed the beast to a stop and slanted it to its parking stand. He never asked me, ‘why I stopped so soon or was I feeling scared?’ He just smiled as if he understood me, and came towards me. He patted my back with his shaky leather cut-gloved hands, smiled again, and as I got down it with full gratitude, he just heaved his heavy left foot over it from the other side and then wore his cap. From its looks, it was as if he was a pilot rather than a private. But it ain’t time to be judgmental about his position in war. Once more, he revved, looked at me and smiled and roared back on the road. His scarf once again looked like the sword of the closed Samurai. I asked for a spark and he gave me fire. I thought heroes are only in movies. But it wasn’t the case today. I did feel like meeting a true hero. Like a kid I say, ‘He was my hero’. As I watched him leave, I noticed his number plate and it had the words ‘PHOENIX’ as the city name. “A RED Harley from PHOENIX”. What else can I say????? (The next time I see him and get a ride. I'll definitely take a pic of me on teh phoenix and shall upload it. And the Harley in the pic was exactly how it looked)

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