My Garage: Ferrari F50

When a company with a history as glorious as Ferrari's celebrates 50 years of producing cars, the end result is bound to be really special. The mid engined 4.7 litre natually aspirated 60 valve V12 engine made the Ferrari F50 a really special car. It looked the part as well with its massive rear spoiler and the show matched the go - 520 PS gave it massive grunt and the car boasted F1 derived front and rear suspension as well.

Of the 349 that were made, 4 people ordered it in silver and another 4 in black. Why oh why?

Would I buy one: Of course not, given the ridiculously large spoiler, I'd probably reverse it into a stationary elephant or a tree.

Would I drive one: As long as it isnt in silver or black, I'll take it for a spin.

My Garage : New Volkswagen Beetle

The automotive sequel to the best selling Volkswagen Beetle, this new Volkswagen Beetle had some massive shoes to fill but rather than sticking to its age old formula VW decided to change with the times and shifted to a front engined front wheel drive format. The simplicity of the original though was lost and though the car had loads of people booking it in hordes, primarily because of the nostalgia factor, mechanically the car had its own niggling issues which has kept it from attaining cult status.

Numerous versions with different engine options have been released to ensure that theres a Bug for everyone.

Would I buy one: Despite the tugs on the nostalgia strings, personally Ill take the new Fiat Abarth 500.

Would I drive one: It doesnt look manly enough, personally Ill take the new Fiat Abarth 500.

My Garage : Volkswagen Beetle

21 million. Thats the number of Volkswagen Beetle cars that have been manufactured between 1938 and 2003 which makes it the longest running and most manufactured automobile on a single design platform. Ever. Commissioned by the one and only Adolf Hitler, who wanted a basic peoples car that could transport a family, the Beetle went on to become a stupendous sales success in several countries across the world. India too has its own Beetle clubs and its not difficult to see why. They were simple but more importantly lovable cars.

And that is something not many car manufacturers understand.

Would I buy one: Cars like this need you to invest time and money. And they make people think youre as old as their grand dad.

Would I drive one: On sunday mornings, definitely yes.

My Garage : Abarth 500

The original Fiat 500, known to the world as the Topolino (or little mouse) was a popular small car (if you thought modern small cars were small you need to check out this car) that was made for almost two decades till the mid 50s. The decidedly larger new Fiat 500 was launched in 2007 and Fiat's performance division Abarth was not far behind with its 1.4 litre Abarth 500 being released a year later. With 133 hp, low ride suspension, 16 inch wheels and sporty interiors, the Abarth 500 is the most affordable version to have among the different variants that Abarth has churned out.

Oh and those racing stripes with matching side mirrors are pretty sweet.

Would I buy one: I'll take three. One in black (with red stripes). One in red (with white stripes). And one in white (with red stripes) .

Would I drive one: Hot hatch. Hot performance. Fiat. Ticks all my boxes.

My Garage : BMW X6

For all intents and purposes, this car should never have been given the approval for production. Never before has a car maker tried to combine the benefits of an SUV with the styling of a coupe. And there was a reason why nobody ever tried it. Its just plain wrong. The proportions are all over the place but at least BMW give you multiple engine options. This 2 tonne xDrive50i model features a 3.3 litre V8 with 407 PS and a top whack of 250 kmph.

You will need all that power to escape the eyes of people wondering who on earth is dumb enough to spend so much money on such an ugly car.

Would I buy one: No. I don't want to be disliked by all and sundry.

Would I drive one: No. Not even if it was my last day on earth.

My Garage : Audi Q7

Bollywood's reigning sweetheart on four wheels, the Q7 does boast of a quattro permanent four wheel drive system with a central differential lock and an adjustable-height air suspension which means it isn't just for the poser crowd. This 4.2 litre TDI with 322 hp is more than enough to speed away from the waiting paparazzi. The success of the Q7 has ensured that Audi has been able to extend the SUV range to the smaller Q5 and Q3.

My personal pick of the German SUV brigade.

Would I buy one: I'm no Bollywood star nor do I have political connections.

Would I drive one: Honestly I wouldn't mind. Throw in a Bollywood starlet and that becomes a yes ....

My Garage : Maserati Gran Turismo

The gorgeous Italian supermodel that shares its 4.2 litre V8 engine with Ferrari finds the picture perfect sweet spot between beauty and brawn. Numbers don't matter on a car that looks this good. An impressive feature list doesn't matter on a car that looks this good. In fact, your personal stock would go up if you are seeing driving around a car that looks this good. And isn't that what maters when you buy a car this expensive?

Just try to keep up with the classiness that the Maserati exudes.

Would I buy one: Its a car that oozes with elegance and sophistication. Just my type. I'll take one in black with red leather interiors.

Would I drive one: Yes. And enjoy the mammoth inflow of attention. The car is the star.

The Need for Speed

An open letter to dads, moms, brothers, sisters, cousins, aunts, uncles, grandparents, friends, colleagues, teachers, neighbours and all other well wishers.


A couple of incidents over the last few days have prompted me to write this letter which I hope will help you understand me and my passion better. It all started when I overheard a conversation in office (I know, I know. One shouldnt eavesdrop but its not like I can block my ears with my fingers or stuff them with cotton each time someone speaks) in which a colleague was discussing driving down from Bangalore to Pune in his car. During the course of the conversation he casually mentioned that he was not comfortable doing speeds above 100 kmph which according to him were dangerous and that no one should be doing those speeds on Indian roads.

The second thing which prompted me to jot this down was an email forward which contained the following image.

I am a biker. To me its more than just 4 simple words. It means that I enjoy riding my bike and not just for reasons of convenience (easier parking, wriggling past stationary cars at each of our by now accepted traffic jams, the ability to offer a lift to a pretty colleague without having to worry about you boss & teammates piling on like they would if you had a car etc: ). It means that I sometimes just need a break from the stressful corporate life that I lead and a long distance solo bike ride is the one medicine that has never failed me to date. It means that I enjoy the occassional pulling away from a traffic light as if my life depended on it. It means that at times I do ride at speeds of close to a 100 kmph, if not more, within city limits. Now before you start shaking your head in disapproval while reinforcing your perception that combining youngsters (I'll take that as a compliment, thank you) with bikes is a bad idea, hear me out.

I am a responsible biker. To me its more than just 5 simple words.

It means that over the last few years, while other were out buying clothes and shoes at the latest season sale or treating themselves to a new mobile phone, I didn't. Instead I have been saving money to buy my riding gear which now includes a KBC helmet, a DSG jacket, Cramster full gauntlet gloves, Cramster knee guards and Alpinestar SMX 2 boots. Now while these names may not mean anything to you, what I can tell you is that I have spent in excess of Rs 25,000 of my

own money on riding gear over the last few years and I haven't just bought them as a style statement or to put up pictures on Facebook only to be dump them in a cupboard after a week. With the exception of the knee guards (which are too impractical for daily use) I wear all my other riding gear every time I take my bike out. Is it difficult walking around a mall carrying your jacket and helmet in one hand while carefully carrying all your friends shopping (if our friend is a girl) in the other? Yes, it is. But its a difficulty I'm willing to live with.

(Im quoting from a previous well received post of mine on safety gear) - This is not to say that wearing riding gear will save someone in every instance. The fact is they do make a massive difference between a one way trip and a two way trip to the hospital.

It means that in the 9 years of riding my bike with over 70,000 kms under my belt that has mercifully included only 2 minor spills and a trip to the racetrack in Madras, I am fully aware of my limits and my limitations on a bike. I know how long I can ride my bike while being able to concentrate fully and when I need to take a break and for how long I need to take a break. I know that dogs, drunkards, kids and just about anything else can suddenly decide to run across the otherwise empty road and I am prepared. I know that the bus in front of me might just decide to stop and pick up passengers in the middle of the road and I am prepared. I know that the poser on the bike next to me thinks that he needs to prove his prowess on two wheels and when the signal turns green he will ride recklessly to prove something to himself and I am prepared. I know that the driver in front of me is new to tackling Indian roads and that he / she just might panic and make a hasty move and I am prepared. I know that people, in all their infinite wisdom, try crossing our roads while traffic is moving at a fair clip and I am prepared. I know that if I get knocked down by a speeding car that has just jumped a signal and crashes into me, I will be the one who gets hurt and I am prepared.

So yes, I do occassionally ride fast but I do so responsibly and fully aware of the consequences. I do not do so if I have a friend with me on my bike because I take extra precautions when someone else's well being is in my hands. I do it because the road in front of me is empty and I do not see any potential risks as I continuously scan the road. I do it because I know that I am in full control at all points in time & that I will back off the moment I sense danger. I do it because those 30 seconds of riding fast makes me feel more alive than I have all week.

Everyone who is riding fast is not a menace. Please do try and understand.

Yours truly,

A responsible biker

My Garage : Lamborghini Countach 5000 QV

Honestly, I have never been a fan of its predecesor, the Miura which is widely hailed as one of the most beautiful cars of all time. The Countach though was the first real Lamborghini to grab my attention. Blame the scissor doors and the razor sharp styling that looked like it could cut any object into a million pieces. Just 676 of the 5000 QV (quattrovalvole) were built which featured a 5.2 litre engine that had four valves per cylinder (hence the name) with 455 bhp on tap with a top speed of 295 kmph.

The car to have on your wall as a kid growing up in the 80s.

Would I buy one: I would need super human powers to be able to reverse this car, given the near lack of rear visibility from the drivers seat. And no, I dont have super human powers ....

Would I drive one: As long as I dont have to reverse the car, I most definitely would.

My Garage : Dodge Viper GTS Coupe

Within the first 6 years of production, Dodge sold a rather incredible 10000 Vipers, proving what a runaway hit it was. 3 years after its launch Dodge released this updated Viper which produced 450 bhp from its monster 8 litre V10 engine. The insane performance (0-60 mph (97 km/h): 4.0 secs and 0-100 mph (160 km/h): 8.6 secs with a top speed of 298 kmph) was coupled with ridiculously poor brakes (even after the addition of ABS) which made it one hair raisingly terrifying car.

(A scary overdose of) power to the people!

Would I buy one: No. I have too many things to complete on my list of Things to do before I reach the better place.

Would I drive one: Yes. But given the atrocious braking, I will be driving it very slowly. Im too young to be standing in line at the Pearly Gates.

My Garage : Subaru Impreza WRX

To casual motorsports fans, the word rallying is associated with the Subaru Impreza in its trademark blue and and yellow paint scheme. Bug eyed it may be but there was no arguing with the turbo charged 227 hp 2.5 litre engine. Critics of the styling eventually had their way and the car was released with updated styling in 2004 but this one is beautiful in its own way. This WRX version had wider wheels with lower profile tires, better suspension bits and larger brakes.

And yes, the gold alloy are delicious.

Would I buy one: For the legacy and the pedigree, yes. With the rallying stickering added on of course.

Would I drive one: Tackling Bangalores monster roads will be a walk in the park with this.

My Garage : Ferrari 458 Italia

The best thing that one can say about the Pininfarina styling of the Ferrari 458 Italia is that it isnt as ugly as the Ferrari Enzo. The rest of the car is brilliant, 562 HP from the 4.5 litre V8 engine will leave no room for complaints. Add to that a dual clutch 7 speed gearbox, E-Diff and F1 based traction control along with ABS. Interestingly, Michael Schumacher played a role in developing the interiors of the 458 Italia which is almost as fast as the Enzo around the track.

Is it just me or does it look like a car the Joker should drive?

Would I buy one: I wouldnt want to constantly justify the shark looking monster in my garage. Even if it is a rear mid engined V8, rear wheel drive sportscar from Ferrari.

Would I drive one: It is a rear mid engined V8, rear wheel drive sportscar from Ferrari. Obvious yes.

My Garage : Enzo Ferrari

0-96 kmph in 3.4 secs. 6.0 litre V12 Engine with 660 hp. Top speed of 350 kmph. Base price of $670,000. And no, that wasnt a typo. Named after the founder of the legendary company, the mid engined Enzo Ferrari was loaded with Formula One technology such as carbon fibre reinforced ceramic composite disc brakes, a carbon fibre body and a F1 style transmission that takes just 150 milliseconds between shifts.

Too bad Ferrari forgot to hire a designer during development of the Enzo.

Would I buy one: No. It might be a Ferrari but its an ugly Ferrari. Which is plain wrong.

Would I drive one: On all the F1 tracks, yes. On public roads, no. Did I mention its an ugly Ferrari?

Choices

If you're lucky, you encounter those rare fleeting moments when life as you know it changes. No longer do you wake up every morning looking at the world through the same rose tinted eyes and chasing the same dreams. Your point of reference while looking at the world in the larger scheme of things has moved overnight and even though you see the same person in the mirror you know that inside you're a different man. For some people, the birth of a child is one such life altering event. When you cradle God's most beautiful creation in your arms, the cranky bosses, omni present EMI's and worries about the future are but a distant memory. Some experience the depths of disillusionment, others the heights of ecstasy, some gut wrenching sorrow and others soul fulfilling peace. To each his own but there are people unfortunate enough to sail through life without experiencing these as yet unnamed moments in life.

A few weeks back I dropped into the Ducati showroom here in Bangalore since a couple of friends (including one who owned a Ducati which justified the visit) were heading there. Now I've always liked Ducatis, there is something about Italians and automobiles (ahem I am a Fiat fan as well) that just seems so right. In fact, money no bar the one bike I would buy without batting an eyelid would be the Aprilia RSV4. Which is also Italian. Back to Ducati though, my first big bike experience was on the Ducati Multistrada 620, an excellent real world bike that you could actually use on a daily basis without having to worry about whether you've covered all your important relatives in your will. But my fascination for Ducati began only when I laid my eyes on the 1198SP in the Ducati showroom.

Sigh!

Now I like to think of myself as not being a shallow man and I am more than acutely aware of the fact that beauty is definitely skin deep. Especially when it comes to automobiles and women. But the 1198SP mercilessly takes all my principles and flings them unceremoniously out the window. It is a work of art. Forget paintings from Indian artists. Buy one of these and park it in your living room instead. It makes me go weak in the knees. It makes me want to examine my bank account and look at EMI options even though I know I cannot afford it. 15 years from now I will still not be able to afford it. Unless I decide to remain a bachelor and live on fruits and cereal and avoid all forms of shopping. It makes me confused. If I ever did manage to save up enough to be able to afford it, would I buy it in black or red? It worries me. Would I ever be able to handle the insane power? It makes me jealous of the people who can afford it. It makes me angry that the people who can afford it will rarely use it. It invokes primal passion. And for that I am grateful.

I re-rechristened my home loan savings account. A few months ago I renamed it the Aprilia RSV4 fund. Then I called it the Ducati 1198SP fund. Sorry Aprilia. Its still a whole million rupees more expensive that the RSV4, which is itself expensive. And it means I'm going to have to choose between buying a flat and a bike. The fact that I'm seriously deciding between the two ensures that the visit to the showroom was one of those special moments in life.

And so life was split into the pre 1198SP and the post 1198SP eras as I dreamt of winning the lottery & marrying the daughter of a stinking rich industrialist. Until I stumbled upon a very special thread on a very busy day. It was one of those I'm so freakin loaded with work that I dont even have time to get off my seat days that seem to dog the best of us. After a couple of hours of typing away at a customer response document that didn't really change the world all that much, I decided to take a 3 minute break and browse a bit. Suddenly I was engrossed in the captivating tale of the resurrection and metamorphosis of an old (1972 to be precise) and dilapidated Royal Enfield Bullet into a gorgeous cafe racer.

Before

The riveting story was set in Chandigarh and the author had thankfully shared a load of pictures which showed the hard work that went into making one beautiful old school charmer. Several years ago I actually considered buying myself a Bullet but I realised I wasn't ready for the constant care and affection that it would require. Demand seems a more appropriate word. And I had actually done quite a bit of research on cafe racers and modifying the potentially incoming Bullet into one but common sense overruled the heart at that point of time.

Now however things are different. Ever since I stumbled upon the thread, Ive been checking different cafe racers and have been searching for the perfect paint combination that is signature Neil. I've been quietly looking up prices of second hand Bullets. So what if the Bullet wont have a pillion seat after it goes under the scalpel? It isn't going to break the bank but I will have to save up for it for a while. Since its a Bullet, its not going to be rushing anywhere in a tearing hurry so I don't have to worry about keeping my limbs intact. It will also bring a smile to my face every time I take her out for a spin. A cafe racer for Sunday morning rides seems to be just the sort of indulgence that would make me a very content man indeed. But I wasn't entirely convinced.

But thank you to the gentleman who shared with the world his story of bringing new life into what would have otherwise turned into a pile of rust. Your laborious and inspiring journey was another of those special moments in my life that has given me hope.

After

I was searching for the perfect way to end this post and a couple of hours after I got done with the rest of the article, an old friend updated his FB status message with the following

"Over the sound of your alarm clock, your television, your cell phone, the mindless chatter of a meeting room, you hear a calling. It starts off as a whisper and then gets too loud to ignore. That's the call of the road. And there's only one way to respond. Royal Enfield."

Looks like I don't have to make that choice anymore. Sorry Ducati.

My Garage : Lamborghini Murciélago LP 670-4 SuperVeloce

It isnt the most exquisite of names. The Lamborghini Murciélago LP 670-4 SuperVeloce. But by God, it is beautiful. In case you're wondering what's with the name, the LP (Longitudinale Posteriore) indicates the engines orientation, the 670 denotes the output (661 bhp) and the SuperVeloce tag is courtesy the revised valve timings and upgraded intake and exhaust system coupled with the 100 kg reduction in weight achieved through the extensive use of carbon fibre. Which makes it blisteringly fast.

Mercifully Lamborghini hasnt forgotten the art of making beautiful cars.

Would I buy one: I would have to be a very rich man to afford one. But with 670 bhp available at at the flick of my foot, I would have to be stupid man not to buy one.

Would I drive one: It would probably scare me witless but I most definitely would. In the same shocking shade of green. To match the envy on the faces of everyone else.

My Garage : Ferrari F430

The last of the beautiful Ferraris, the F430 is a powerful reminder of the soul achingly jaw dropping cars that the Italian company can manufacture. Unfortunately modern Ferraris follow the unrighteous path of function over beauty, which means modern Ferraris no longer adorn the walls of teenagers around the world. The F430 still does though. With 490 bhp on tap from the glorious sounding 4.3 litre V8, the rear mid engined and rear wheel drive F430 with ABS was the stuff dreams are made of.People say they always remember their first Ferrari. This was my first Do - It - Yourself (DIY) kit and it was my first Ferrari. So what if it isnt in Ferrari red ....

Would I buy one: Abso-freakin-lutely! Still havent decided on the perfect colour though.

Would I drive one: Abso-freakin-lutely! To work. I have a feeling my day wont feel torrid after all when I walk up to the parking lot after 12 long hours spent in office ....

My Garage : Nissan Skyline GT-R R34

The original Godzilla was the first production car to lap the legendary Nürburgring in under eight minutes and has become a cult hit with the motorsports and tuning fraternities and not without reason. The fifth generation R34 Skyline GT-R boasted of a 2.6 litre inline 6 engine that made 276 bhp which was mated to a 6 speed manual box and coupled with Nissan's electronically cotrolled all wheel drive system that was specifically designed for road & track usage rater than off road use.

This model is the street tuner version of the R34 and fits perfectly into the underground street tuner mould. Perfect for the boy racer in you ....

Would I buy one: With a paint scheme like this probably not. I prefer sleeper monsters.

Would I drive one: What self-respecting fan of the Fast & the Furious series would say no? With the theme song of Tokyo Drift accompanying the snarl of the engine. On empty roads. At midnight.

She (Part IV)

We were at a Sunday brunch and the host had ensured that the drinks were plenty which predictably loosened tongues at the table. Jennifer had again drunk quite a bit more than what she usually did, an act that was becoming something of a regular feature, which meant she started mouthing off a couple of people at the table who she felt weren’t supporting her in her time of need.

Not wanting the scene to get uglier, I interrupted her and suggested I drop her back which is when she turned her ire on me. Nothing I had ever seen prepared me for the onslaught that battered my sense as she proceeded to rip me to shreds. I was at a complete loss for words as I was comprehensively overwhelmed and devastated by what she said. How could someone I had done so much for turn around and attack me with a vicious ferocity that was hidden deep under what I always thought was a calm and pleasant demeanor? I’ve had friends get angry and take out their frustration on me but nothing was ever said that couldn’t be mended over a hug and a drink. This was not the same. It was on a whole different plane altogether.

Even if things would ever get back to normal, I would always live with the knowledge that she would someday lose her temper again and that I just wasn’t cut out to handle it. I excused myself from the table and walked away with my head hung in shame even though I had done nothing to be ashamed of. The stark realization that I just wasn’t ready for a woman like her, and probably never would be, stung but it was a bitter pill that I knew I had to swallow for my own good. A sea of emotions threatened to engulf me as I realized she wasn’t coming after me to apologise for what she said. This wasn’t a movie. This was real life and about as real as it gets.

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I woke up with a start and wiped my face which was drenched in sweat. I looked around in the dark and realized that I was in the familiar confines of my bedroom. I got out of bed and took out my phone to dial Jennifer and see if we could sort things out but I couldn’t find her number. I scrolled through the messages but strangely there was nothing there either. I sat down and tried to make sense of the whole thing.

I looked around my table for the photo frame which had what the both of us felt was our best picture together but I couldn’t find it anywhere. All I could see were files of loan application forms from different banks for a Suzuki GSX 1000R. Confused I switched on my laptop and again all I could see were different folders filled with wallpapers, videos and price details of various superbikes available in India. I tried doing a Google search on Neil + Jennifer but all I got in return were linked in profiles. I shut down my laptop and I walked back to my bed in a daze and tried to return to sleep which predictably was not forthcoming.

The pieces just didn’t fit in together. How could I have deleted her number? Why didn’t I have any messages from her on my phone? Surely I couldn’t have deleted all traces of her from my life. Even if that was possible, why couldn’t I find anything on her on the internet? What was happening? Was it all even real? Eventually I realized the truth and fell asleep from sheer exhaustion. She was the best and the worst thing to have never happened to me. And not one person on this planet knew her.

She (Part III)

We took things very slowly for the first couple of months. We were both aware that we came from different places and had different upbringings and consequently different lifestyles; we viewed things from very different perspectives and yet when we were together none of it mattered. All the troubles and worries of my work life seemed to fade away into oblivion when I was with her. It didn’t matter where we were; on a Sunday morning bike ride or a walk on Marine Drive in the middle of night or just sitting on her balcony sipping coffee and watching the rain, every moment with her was memorable and often at the end of the night I just lay in my bed thinking of all the time we spent together that day before falling asleep with a smile on my face.

I was distinctly aware that my expenses had gone up quite a bit but I didn’t want to be the guy who didn’t split the bill when he took a lady out for dinner. Sometimes we went to places that I frequented which meant getting a ton of stares and people occasionally coming up to her and asking if she was an actress. To whom she would reply in such a perfect south Indian accent that no one would suspect a thing. Often we went to places which were more to her liking, hardly anyone disturbed us in such joints. Just a few of our friends knew that we were meeting each other once or twice a week but as the saying goes, all good things must come to an end.

It all started when a suspicious tabloid reporter spotted us at a couple of restaurants and tipped the waiter who spilt the beans. One fine morning, I was woken up from my sleep by my usually nocturnal roommate who kicked me out of bed and shoved the tabloid section in my face. Well, there I was sitting at a table with India’s leading lady in a photo which actually made me look quite good. The write-up though was less flattering as they had employed their journalists who were more suited to writing fiction and made me look like some glory hunting gold digging nobody. I wanted to take the rest of the week off and go hide in a cave till everyone forgot about me but Jennifer’s publicist called me before I could pack my bags and disappear for a few days.

‘Let’s make the most of this opportunity and bring you out in the open’, he said as he did he best to convince me to see the brighter side of things. My parents were predictably shocked since I hadn’t really told them the name of the girl who was spending time with me and like all middle class Indian parents they too thought that all actresses did was dance in skimpy outfits and sleep around. The guys at the office proved what jerks they always have been by pestering me with questions on how she was in bed. My phone kept ringing all day as journalists kept calling me for quotes. I was in way over my head.

Mr. Publicist insisted that I be seen with Jennifer for all big promotion events from then on and I’m not sure how but he managed to ensure that there was a photographer waiting for us every time we went out for dinner. Overnight I had become one half of India’s most captivating love story with everyone and their grandmothers wanting to know what was happening. I could no longer go to my favourite bakery for some tea and egg puffs without people asking me a 101 questions. I couldn’t walk down the street without someone or the other pointing at me as they passed by. I’m not really sure how celebrities handle the fame. I guess, they need to get the attention to continue to remain famous. Me, I’m just an ordinary bloke.

I realized that just as I wanted her to be a part of my admittedly ordinary life and circle of friends, she too wanted me by her side for events that were important to her. I started joining her for red carpet events, film premiers, launch shoots and pretty soon I was a known face on the film party circuit. It was a world I had read about in newspapers and magazines and one that I never expected to be a part of. Everyone was friendly and welcoming but there was always that nagging feeling that I just didn’t fit in. When every guy at the table talked about buying a new SUV or picking up a new flat, there was a level of awkwardness when I mentioned that I still rode a bike and stayed in a rented flat with two other guys.

Sometimes I really wished that I could just spend a Friday night sitting with my friends and discussing, as always, how much life sucked because of the 2 evil W’s that middle class Indian men cannot run away from – Women and Work. Of course I was seeing a lot less of my friends these days since Jennifer had to be seen at all the social dos and I couldn’t afford to not be there lest the gossip mills get into overdrive.

Some of my long time buddies were understanding and were ready to meet up whenever I had a free weekend which was when Jennifer was out of town on work. Others weren’t so and honestly I don’t blame them. I was caught in a veritable no-man’s land and there just didn’t seem to be any simple solution to keep everyone happy. Which had me asking myself some tough questions – Was I really happy? Life wasn’t as simple as being transported to another world when you were with someone, was it? Did I fit into her world and she into mine? Were we just being blind to what was staring us in the face?

As I dealt with these doubts, Jennifer’s movie career had hit something of a rough patch as movie offers stopped coming in. India’s fickle audiences had seemingly had enough of their golden girl and were clamouring for a change and there was no dearth of actresses to take her place at the top of the movie industry. She was obviously upset about the whole thing and became a little difficult to deal with on occasion and I did my best to cheer her up. Elvis Costello’s timeless classic She became a song which I played over and over again each night and it almost seemed as though Elvis had managed to pull the words straight out of my heart and showcase them to the world. All this was until the day she showed what I now know to be her true colours.

She (Part II)

Friday. 18:45. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out. No pressure whatsoever. Its ok Neil, it’s not like you haven’t gone out for dinner with a smart attractive woman before. Nice and easy. Just be yourself and everything will be fine. What could go wrong? The worst thing I could do was make a royal arse out of myself which wouldn’t really matter since no one believed that I was going out for dinner with a big movie star in the first place. My roommate popped his head into my room to see why I was talking to myself before I chased him away.

I looked at myself in the mirror for what possibly was the hundredth time and carefully examined my cheeks for the slightest hint of facial hair. Nothing seemed to have grown in the five minutes since I had last checked myself. I still had a lot of time on my hands and decided to get ready early and wait downstairs rather than making her wait for me. The first impression you make is a lasting impression and this is something that is especially true when it comes to women. I put on a CD loud enough to ensure that I could hear it and sing along while showering which is something that does wonders for calming my nerves.

You better lose yourself in the music, the moment

You own it, you better never let it go

You only get one shot, do not miss your chance to blow

This opportunity comes once in a lifetime yo

The perfect song for the perfect occasion. Mr. Marshall Mathers was asking the right question - if you had one shot or one opportunity to seize everything you ever wanted in one moment would you capture it or just let it slip? Half way through my shower I decided that I wasn’t going to let this chance slip and decided to shave but I just couldn’t find my shaving kit anywhere. I didn’t bother to dry myself as I wrapped a towel around my waist and stepped into my room to locate my shaving kit. Still no luck.

I walked into the hall asking my roommate if he had seen my toiletries kit when I stopped in my tracks as I spotted Jennifer sitting on our sofa with a mile wide grin on her face as she looked at me standing in the middle of the hall, dripping wet with just a towel around my waist. An unfortunately pink towel that too. Which matched the colour of my cheeks as I turned around after mumbling an “Excuse me” much to the amusement of my roommates who by now had gotten over the shock of seeing Jennifer standing outside our door to pick me up.

I was certain they had a pretty good laugh about the pink towel scene. 5 minutes later I was ready and avoiding eye contact with my roommates, I left with Jennifer who thoughtfully, and much to my evident embarrassment, did remind me about the pink towel incident several times during our dinner at the rather plush restaurant we went to. Again I don’t have a clue about how time flew that evening and before I knew it, it was time to pay the cheque. Which to be honest was rather steep and several times more than what I usually paid for my usual Friday night outings with friends. Then again, my friends weren’t as funny or good looking as Jennifer. Plus they weren’t single. A small price to pay for scintillating company.

As I waited for her to return from the restroom before we left the restaurant, I caught a reflection of myself and paused to ponder. Maybe I was reading too much into the dinner, maybe she just thought of me as a friend, which surprisingly brought a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. Could it be that the usually poised and collected Neil was starting to like a girl? I dismissed the thought. It’s way too early for that & besides I still hadn’t seen any signs yet from her which should make me think that she was looking for anything more than a friend.

As we walked back to the car, my mind split into two warring factions yet again. She took the initiative and got your number and asked you out for dinner. Now it’s time for you to do something. She’s going to think that you’re too nice and that you’re not interested in her. Don’t be stupid, she likes your company and she could probably do with a friend. It’s not like the movie industry is filled with nice people. She hasn’t done the least thing to make you think otherwise. Don’t be a fool and spoil anything. As much as I didn’t want to, I knew I had to listen to the voice of reason.

“Are you in any hurry to get home?” I asked and did everything I could to stop my hand from smacking my forehead in disbelief.

“No, why?”

“I was thinking maybe we could go for a drive or something” I replied and this time I did everything I could to stop myself from hitting my head on the dashboard. What had come over me? Where was my voice of reason?

“Of course we can” she replied and flashed her winning smile that made me glad to have thrown the voice of reason out the window. She dropped me home at my gate a couple of hours later and before saying goodbye I asked her if I could call her. “Only if I don’t call you first” she said with a smile and drove off. Now I’m no expert but I think she was flirting with me. As I walked up the stairs, I knew my roommates would be awake and waiting to interrogate me. Predictably though they didn’t believe a word of what I said when I told them about what happened that evening.

She (Part I)

It is safe to say that every guy in India knows who she is and deep down, however many times they deny it, each one of them wishes that she in turn knows them. An extremely attractive young lady blessed with a smile that could make your heart melt in an instant, Jennifer made anything but a low profile entry into the hearts and minds of India by bludgeoning the established pecking order in the ever burgeoning movie industry by starring in one huge hit after the other. Every major company wanted her as their brand ambassador and with no known godfather or industry contacts to boast of, her rise to super-stardom was meteoric and at the same time puzzling to those who failed to realize that God given talent coupled with a unique look certainly can take you places in an industry obsessed with a casting couch.

And yet despite all her success, people knew next to nothing about her other than what stories the vivid imaginations of stoned and/or inebriated film journalists churned out in the tabloids. Truth be told, I’m not the biggest follower of the Indian movie industry and had only seen one of her critically acclaimed movies in which she did an excellent job of proving to the world that heroines in Indian movies need not be relegated to just looking pretty and playing dumb. Which was all I knew about her.

Life as I knew it, took an unexpected twist a couple of months ago when I dropped into a friend’s place for a dinner party of sorts to celebrate his first wedding anniversary. As fate would have it, I didn’t really know anyone else there and as I stood out there in the balcony waiting for dinner to get served, I was joined by a very familiar looking lady who as it turned out was an old school friend of the happily married first anniversary celebrating bride and happened to be in town and coincidentally didn’t know anyone else at the party either. For once I actually thoroughly enjoyed my conversation with a stranger and as I went to get her a drink I bumped into the host for the evening and asked him who the pretty girl on the balcony is.

“That’s a good one, man. You think I don’t know that you know who she is? I’m not as drunk as you think I am.”

“Honest to God, I don’t know. I’ve been talking to her for a while now and she’s really swell. But I kinda didn’t get around to asking her her name. And why does she look so familiar?”

“You daft idiot! You really don’t know who she is? Guess what’s common between the 3 Khan’s of Bollywood?”

“Errrr, their last name begins with K and ends with N?”

“Moron! She was the lead heroine in each of their latest blockbuster releases. You, my friend, have been talking to THE Jennifer that India has been talking about for the last few months. Every guy in here, single or married has hit on her without any success and you apparently have something that none of the other guys in here don’t. Now be a good boy and have fun! I have to get back to my other guests”

With a pat on my back, he moved on to meeting and greeting the other guests and I walked back to the balcony with my usually indolent mind racing while trying to comprehend what I had just heard. Taking a deep breath, I shut out everything else and over the next couple of hours proceeded to talk and laugh about everything under the sun with a lady who didn’t even know my name.

As much as I didn’t want to accept it, it was eventually time to leave and as I walked her back to her car, I wondered over and over again whether I should ask her for her number. If it was any consolation, by now she at least knew my name and I hers but that was all that was exchanged in terms of an introduction. Well of course I should ask her for her number, said one side of my brain, when was the last time you actually had such a wonderful time? I was also distinctly aware of the other side of my brain that kept reminding me that even though Notting Hill was my favourite movie, it was after all a movie. Make believe. These things don’t happen in real life to ordinary people. For all I know, I could just have been a conversation partner for someone who was bored at a party and who met people smarter, funnier, better looking and wealthier than me every day.

This is it, take a chance, you idiot, screamed my mind as I shut her door with a smile and watched her car pull away. As I walked back to my bike, I turned around to see if she had stopped her car and had returned to get my number. Of course she hadn’t. That happens only in the movies. Predictably my roommates didn’t believe a word of what I said when I told them about my company for the evening.

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“You ******* ****! How did you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Now don’t play I don’t know what you’re talking about, you lucky ******! She called my wife and wanted your number and my better half has given it to her”

“Who?”

Of course I knew who he was talking about. Why else would my friend call me during trading hours to shower abuses on me when he could be making lakhs off the stock market instead?

“You ******* know who I am talking about. She’s going to call you. Soon. Looks like she fancies you. Not sure why. Thought she was the smart kind. Word of warning though, don’t get too involved. Remember she’s high class; you’re a commoner like all of us. She could dump you with the snap of her fingers and walk away with any of the big industrialists or movie stars who are vying for her attention. Just like that. And you’re the one that’s going to be nursing a broken heart. There’s a reason nice guys finish last mate. It’s because they attract the wrong sort of women. Have your fun but don’t get too involved.”

Not that he knew anything about women, he ended up marrying his college sweetheart and hence had no clue what women other than his wife think. But I had to admit, the part about being sensible about the whole thing did make a lot of errr sense.

She did call me later that day and after talking for a while asked me if we could meet up for dinner. Thankfully this time my brain decided not to play devil’s advocate and we agreed to catch up on Friday. Finalizing the location though, proved to be a bit of a bother because she wasn’t used to going to the places that I frequented and vice versa. I offered to pick her up but then I realized she probably wasn’t going to be too comfortable on the back seat of my bike and so we finally decided that she would pick me up by 8 in her car and dinner was to be at a place of her choice. Predictably my roommates didn’t believe a word of what I said when I told them about my plan for Friday evening.

Chapter 3 : The goldfish comes home

Need more sleep. Need more sleep. I fumbled around for my phone in the semi-darkness, reset the alarm and obeyed the strict instructions that were being relayed by my more than half asleep mind and gratefully traced my steps back into slumber land. Eventually though the realisation that we had to ride nearly 300 kays back to Bangalore in a big group with rain certain to partner us got me out of my near comatose state and on a mission to get the team ready to ride. We all had quite a distance to cover and proceeded to started packing as we knew this ISG2G was slowly winding down. Frankly as we sat down for our final meal together nobody would have said that we had met many of the other bikers less than 36 hours ago and had ridden with then only for a day. Which is what an ISG2G is all about.

The heavy downpour and the omnipresent humidity which refused to go away like a bad habit or a nagging ex girlfriend meant one thing - everyone was walking around all geared up except for their shoes which were still soaking wet. It is a little known fact that the Kerala Government was considering awarding our group a special green award due to the rain water harvesting activities carried out by our band of merry bikers but reversed their decision when they realised that some of us were from other states. Im not making this up!

Eventually we had to bid a fond farewell to the riders from the other cities as we realised that we were the last ones to leave. A not too perfect stomach for one of the riders and the distinct lack of understanding of how to read a clock for some of the other riders meant that we were delayed well beyond our planned departure time which resulted in slightly frayed nerves on the parts of all of us who were ready to roll.

All the annoyance and the soggy shoes were a distant memory as we were soon riding through the deep and dark forests with sunlight seductively peeping through the thick foliage. Again we were the recipients of thumbs ups and puzzled glances from the people we passed by who seemed to be in an even lazier mood as it was a Sunday.

The enchanted woods

The highlight of the ride though had to be riding past what seemed to be a late 50's Cadillac in a jaw droppingly stunning shade of green. We stopped for a quick photo break in the forest and while some of us tightened the fairings on our bikes, the cameras came out and plenty of passing shots were taken.

Notice the ever so subtle yellow tank bag

This is also where I realised that I had a passenger. I spotted a beetle that had clung onto my saddle bag and since he wasn't going to split the cost of the petrol and not wanting to incur the wrath of forest officials who could claim that I was smuggling wildlife out of the state, I ensured he didnt play any further part in my road trip by shooing him away.

Cheapskate didn't even pay for the lift

The forest patrol had something to say about our photography and sent us packing but a little ahead we paused for a minute to say hi to a van full of excited young men who were more than a little happy to see us riding such distances with full riding gear. The tiger conservation police pulled up almost immediately (they actually came out of nowhere) and we ran or rather rode for our lives without pausing anywhere else until we were safely out of tiger country. We halted a few more times to get pictures of us riding but the wow factor from the pictures was missing. Until we reached our first sunflower field.

Not to be sexist or anything but one would normally expect a bunch of girls to go bonkers on seeing a field full of flowers in full bloom. "Awww cho chweet" "Isn’t it beautiful" "If only these sunflowers were pink in colour" are some of the comments you would expect to hear if you were in a bus full of pretty, (notice the comma) dumb women and stopped at one such field. So you can understand my rather noticeable surprise to see a dozen guys going ga ga over a glorious sunflowers field and my shock when I see them taking their bikes to get themselves photographed in the middle of these lovely flowers. Well if you can’t beat them join them.

I was intrigued by this one flower that for some strange reason broke the norm and was facing the opposite direction of all the other flowers in the field.

Dare to be different

As the not so often quoted quote goes - Still waters run deep and the flowers apparently had had enough of intruders stomping in and taking cheesy photographs of themselves. At first I thought it was just my imagination but my worst fears were realised as the flowers began taking their revenge on all humans who dared to enter the forbidden land (Yes I have read too much of Dr Who in my childhood...)

One of our riders screaming for help as the flowers make a meal of his soon to be missing feet

Things got crazy out there and after dragging our by now feetless biker we were running for our lives which is when I woke up with a start and found that the guys were still snapping pictures in girly poses while I had dozed off for a bit.

Run for your life!

Our plans of reaching Bangalore before dusk seemed had by now gone for a toss and we were back on the road after having packed up our rain gear. Treacherous does not begin to describe the conditions as strong gusts of wind battered us mercilessly as we struggled to keep our bikes in check. Some of us were hesitant to overtake trucks lest the strong winds push us towards the vehicle we were overtaking half way through the move. Seriously. It was almost like dancing with a very noticeably unwilling and unhappy partner to what used to be your favourite song and however nicely you smile and whatever cheesy compliments you whisper into her ear, she will still make you struggle on the dance floor.

A couple of breaks later we were on our way to Mysore and rather annoyingly bright sunshine and strong drizzles took turns playing peek a boo and I had to keep putting on my raincoat and removing it and then putting it on and then removing it at every break.

Lunch was a deliciously spicy biriyani at a roadside dhaba that was sure to wreak havoc on our stomachs the next morning but frankly we didn’t care considering it was already 4 o’clock. We tried our hand at a mini videologue of our trip between mouthfuls of food and glasses of lassi, safe to say our attention was more on the food than what we were saying into the camera. Our departure was delayed rather amusingly by this kitten which refused to move out from under our vehicles. Revving up my bike only served to move the kitten to the next one and each time we gently pushed it away it came scurrying back to what it thought was a safe haven. I suggested flinging it away into the unknown but my suggestion wasn’t met with approving glances. What? I’m a dog person.

Progress was smooth and as dusk fell we stopped at a coffee shop for one last break of sorts. No one was really eager to leave as we had the painful Mysore Bangalore Sunday evening traffic to contend with and our new Honda CBR (and its owner) came in for some serious attention from a Gujarati family that included an uncle who was once a bike nut, an aunty who was surprised to see us biking for such distances and their daughters who showered all their attention on our Mr CBR. All of us were predictably green with envy until we heard the prettiest of the girls refer to our friend as 'Uncle'. Major Ouch!

I'm sitting at the wheel

I got a green light

Not afraid of nothin' cuz heart and soul

I'm built for life

So let the engine roar

Push the pedal down

I want the white lines on the highway

To lead me out of town

Chorus:

I'm rolling on and on and on

Who knows where i'm goin'?

Life is an open road - it's the best story never told

It's an endless sky – it's the deepest sea

Life is an open road to me

(Open Road, Bryan Adams)

As we got set to ride back, the lyrics from Bryan Adams' song came rushing back to me. Traffic was terrible and uneventful as we finally reached the toll gates that signalled the beginning of the NICE. After one final round of confusion, we finally parted ways and I was cruising at around 80 when I spotted some rapidly incoming headlights in my rear view mirror and I heard the rest of the gang overtake me, some of them with a war cry that would have made any red Indian proud. The madness that grips Bangalore bikers while they are on the NICE road on the return journey from any G2G had struck again. Eventualy I reached home, exhausted and worn out from the lack of proper sleep and the distinct spike in the activities for the weekend. I switched on my laptop and checked my office emails, Monday sure was going to be a long and lousy day.

Livin' easy

Lovin' free

Season ticket on a one way ride

Askin' nothin'

Leave me be

Takin' everythin' in my stride

Don't need reason

Don't need rhyme

Ain't nothin' that I'd rather do

Goin' down

Party time

My friends are gonna be there too

I'm on the highway to hell

On the highway to hell

(Highway to hell, AC/DC)

There was only one song that the goldfish needed to listen to before popping into his aquarium on Monday morning. The goldfish knew he probably would swim mindlessly in circles for the next few months until the next big ride or the next ISG2G. And till then he had the memories.