A Motorcycle in Mahim

Let’s take a drive. It’s been a long day at work, and it’s time to head home from Mahindra Towers in Worli, back to Bandra. Like always, I’m taking my 2004 Honda Hero Splendor Plus motorcycle, and it’s quite the adventure.

First gear doesn’t last long on my bike. The revs climb up quickly, so that I top it out within a few seconds of taking off from an intersection. It’s then time to switch into second. I pull the throttle back until the last moment, so that I can use the high range to maximize my take-off speed, then drop it out, switch into second, and pick the acceleration up at a good cycle speed.

So, I’m at the top of first.

With my right hand, I let the throttle forward. Quickly enough to take the pressure off of the engine, but not so quick as to sink it down. A quick release of the throttle makes it all too jumpy. With my left hand, I pull in the clutch. This disengages the throttle from the gearbox, so I can select second. It’s also a wet clutch, so I can ride it unlike in a car. With the throttle off, and the clutch pulled in, I can switch. I use my left foot for that. Kind of like kicking a horse with the back of your boot, I push my heel down on the gearbox mechanism. The bike makes a perfect clunk sound, as the gear is selected. I feel the clunk with my foot, and it feels perfect. Now the process reverses itself. I slowly let the clutch out with my left hand, while I pull back on the throttle. As the clutch gets engaged again, the throttle should be revving the engine enough to that it all fits together perfectly. If the clutch is released too quickly, the motor will die. If I let it out too slowly, the revs get too high, and it gets jumpy again. It also sounds bad, and I lose speed so that when I finally enter second, I’m in the low range, and it takes time to get back up to speed. But, this time is perfect.

It all happens by the time you finish this sentence. My hands and feet work perfectly in synchrony. I let the engine moan louder and louder, until the rise in pitch stops. When it whines at a constant rate, I go up to the next gear, and the pitch drops. Then it slowly climbs back up. Deep mmmmm transforming into a high mmmmm. Pause. Then, another deep mmmmm climbing. I can make it sing, deep to high, deep to high, until we’re both roaring at top speed on top gear.

This is, of course, the ideal way to take off from an intersection. However, the ideal is rarely reached in India. Most of the time, there is another bike six inches in front of you, six inches behind you, and two to your sides, about six inches away. Without the absolute freedom to take off like you want, you’re regulated to the whims of your fellow bikers.

Green light

Okay, let’s go. About 20 bikes suddenly roar into motion, all taking off next to each other. I do as well, just behind a Bajaj Platina. My eyes are fixed on his taillight, ultimately aware of his speed. If he speeds up, so do I. I don’t want some other idiot to squeeze in between us. If he slows down, he’ll probably slam on his brakes. That’s how people do it here. So I have to be ready for a skidding stop at all times.

I’m barely paying attention to the motorcycles beside me. Hopefully they won’t lean into me. I hope we have that mutual understanding that I won’t steer into them if they don’t steer into me. As I’m fixed on the bike in front of me, I notice the bike to my right is backing off, slowing down. He’s wearing a pink shirt and shiny black slacks, and his black, crooked helmet is missing a visor.

What am I doing? Focus on the road, Michael.

He backs behind me, and he falls into the category of all vehicles behind me: they can kiss my tailpipe. The chaos in front of me is as much as I can handle. If you’re behind me, you can adapt to my speed and direction. Honk all you want.

Once he’s behind me, I veer off to the right, and pass the Bajaj. I get honked at by the crooked black helmet, which I expected. I also get honked at by the Bajaj guy. I don’t get that at all, but I keep going. There’s a little open ahead of me, and I prefer that to tailing someone. When you’re tailing someone, you can’t see the road in front of you. In Bombay, that’s very dangerous. There are holes in the road that are sometimes half a foot deep. Some potholes have been “fixed”, but are actually inverted potholes with a pile of asphalt on the road. The guy in front of you may see it coming, and veer away, but you’re left with two feet left, no room to turn, and you hit it hard. It can be very, very bad news. It’s important to be riding where you can see the road in front of you.

I get to fourth gear, with some open road, and some of the stress goes down. I have some room to avoid potholes and manhole covers. But unfortunately, the road is only half the danger on the ride back home.

The Red Buses Driven by Satan

These old iron monsters are huge boxes of death. Packed with about 300 people, with bars instead of windows, and no brake lights or turn signals, the Best Bus of Bombay is the Moby Dick of the roads. I ride up behind one, and come to the choice: pass to the left or right? For a moment, I think of Robert Frost, and two roads diverged in a yellow wood. But then I laugh, because that’s way too beautiful for this situation. If I go to the left, we may drive up on a bus stop, and the bus could squeeze me in between it and the curb. It would involve a quick stop, and I would run into a crowd of people waiting for the bus. Then I’d have to wait for the bus to take off again, and face the same choice. No, left is only for a last resort, with my back up against the wall.

The better choice is right, but that’s dangerous too. It involves going into the fast lane, where anxious yuppies are flooring their Golfs, Jettas, and Skodas. They honk, but they also don’t really care about you. They’ll probably bump you, or at least make things very dangerous. You have to pick your speed way up, and veer right, into the river of speed and frustration. With one eye closed, I make it into the slip stream of a taxi.

Then the goddamn bus turns into the stream. It turns right before diving back left!

What the hell?! I scream. But I’m screaming into my helmet, which hurts my ears. More frustration. I finally pass the Red Bus driven by Satan, relieved at the pure evil I’ve left in my wake.

Then, I come up on another.

Shit.

The Rickshaws, a.k.a. the Mosquitoes of the Road

These little two-stroke bastards are not very big, but somehow they manage to block out all vision of the upcoming road, and they make themselves three lanes wide, because of their constant change of direction. They are also so loud that you can’t hear your own engine. With a bike that doesn’t have a rev indicator, that makes gear changing decisions very difficult. The good news is that ricks aren’t allowed in South Bombay. The beginning of my road home is just cars, bikes, and the Satan buses. However, once I cross Mahim creek (and the putrid smell of human effluence rising from the black water), these little mosquitoes come out en masse. They have no brake lights, and no turn signals, and the black canopy roof is tall enough to make seeing over or around the vehicle impossible.

Remember, riding behind somebody is dangerous, and ricks are the most manipulative at this. I ride up behind one, but it’s going quick enough to make passing useless: I shouldn’t get up to those kinds of speeds in the ‘burbs. So I’m riding in the wake. Suddenly, it veers hard right. By the time I can formulate a “What are you doing?” thought, I see a pile of concrete dried appear between his back tires. I lean to the left, and brake hard, I get a little off-balance for the moment, but I stick my right leg a little out, lean back to the right, and wiggle back to an upright position.

More anger builds up, then transforms to passive aggressivism. I speed back up to the rickshaw, and despite the danger, speed around him. I honk so he knows I’m coming to his right. He pulls off to the left a little. Once I’m around him, I pull in front of him, and slow down while going to the left and right back and forth. He can’t whip around me, so he slows down too.

“Yeah, how you like that?” I ask into my helmet.

I almost feel gratified, but there are seven more ricks in front of me, all waiting to lure me into potholes and speed bumps. These bloodsucking, three-wheeled, two-stroke mosquitoes are annoying to say the least, and I dearly wish I could just shoo them all off.

The Maverick Pedestrians

People on the side of the road normally stick to the far left or right of the road, and stay out of traffic. However, every once in a while, you’ll run into a maverick: a coolly strutting pedestrian clearly walking in the way of traffic. Because the left hand side of the road is motorcycle territory, this means you’re constantly on the look out for these daredevils. I pass another motorcycle, and see one coming up.

He’s dressed in a striped yellow and brown shirt, with a collar so wide it only fits in the 1970s. His slacks are black and shiny, and he’s walking with a swag in his gait, head held high. I honk to let him know I’m coming up.

He doesn’t scoot to the side.

I honk again, this time a little longer. Still, no movement. I’m forced to slow down, while other motorcycles pass me to my right. At this point, I’m too slow to just go around him. Another bike will hit me. I have to slow down to a stop behind this guy, and I honk loudly. After a few seconds, he gives a look over his shoulder, and steps slightly to the side. As I brush past him, he hits my mirror. I don’t feel bad, I just feel frustrated that my mirror is crooked now. I look back to him with an evil eye, and he just keeps looking ahead, no concern.

He’s crazy, I think. Back in first gear, I have to do the climb back to fourth on the far side of the road, so I can jump back into traffic.

After about 45 minutes, I make it back home. I slide into my parking spot in the garage under the apartment building, switch the neutral, and silence the engine. I dismount, and take off my helmet. My hair is sweaty, and the cool air feels good with the slight breeze. I leave my red motorcycle until the next morning, where we’ll roar through the chaotic streets again.