|| Tin-pot ||
Dr. Arunshankar’s English
version of
my Marathi short story
॥ टिनपाट ॥
“Congratulations, Nanivadekar Sir … … hearty congratulations,” bellowed
my school buddy Pradeep Deodhar, a Bullet[1] expert par excellence,
mouthing a whole pedha.[2]
The year was 2012, the month August, and the date 19th. Pradeep, I
myself, a few curious customers and my wife, Indiraji,[3] were gathered around my
new Bullet Electra.[4]
Indiraji is a true Hyderabadi [5] specimen, within and
without. When she is cooking biryani,[6] the flavors of cardomon,
cloves and other spices are bound to waft throughout our lane, from one end to
the other. All her thoughts, feelings and actions, including affectionate
blows, are firm and strong. Why else would my kids, and … well … … I too …, fall in line without a squabble?
Our Indiraji is a macho inside out … Her first ever record was to take
birth as a ten-and-a-half-pound baby,
that too after confining her mother to bed for the last two months of pregnancy!
Sometimes I hackle her, teasingly, “Had there been tummy-lifting Olympic contests,
like weight-lifting ones, your mother would have remained an unbeaten world
champion to this day !!!”
Following the local custom, Pradeep garlanded the shining bike … and
broke a coconut … and I started distributing sweets. Presently, Mr Santosh
Dhone, owner of the showroom, walked over to see that everything was going
well, and I held the box of sweets before him, urging, “ Here… please have one,
Santoshji.”
“Good morning, Mr Deodhar,” welcomed Santoshji, “what a pleasant
surprise! ... … Well well… … So you are sneaking away a bike for yourself … eh?
And that too without so much as letting me get the scent of it?”
“Oh no … no … Santoshji … it’s not mine … I have come only because this
chum of mine,” explained Pradeep, pointing a finger at me, “insisted that I
should garland it.”
Stuffing two pedhas in his mouth, Santoshji lookd me up and down,
sizing me up, and babbled, “Congratulations, Sir ! … So you have
bought this one !! … For your son, I suppose?”
“No … no, not for my son, Santoshji, … for myself … I mean ... … I
am going to use it.”
“You … … … … …?” his eyebrows arched up in disbelief. “ By jove … Sir, I
can’t believe this … Are you kidding me?”
I merely continued to stare nonchalantly at Santoshji.
“Please don’t … take me wrong,” Santoshji went on, “but … what would be
your age now, Sir? … You must have retired already, I guess … … haven’t you? …
And a Bullet? … That too at this age?”
“Sixty-four,” I declared my age, somewhat defiantly.
“Look, Santoshji,” Pradeep intervened, “what has age to do with
Bullet-craze? … Did you know that this is his third Bullet? … He
has been riding them for the last twenty years !! … And I only inaugurated every
one of them !!! … Among all the Indian bikes, this is the only one worth being
crazy about, don’t you agree? Once you
are hooked on to it, even a four-wheeler can’t take your mind off it ... Is
that not so?”
“Right you are, Pradeep,” I piped, “I realized this when I bought my
Indica[7] … my first four wheeler, which
was used … mostly by my children … while I remained faithful and commited to my
Bullet.”
“Does this now convince you of Mr Nanivadekar’s Bullet loyalty?” asked
Pradeep, looking at Santoshji.
“Well… … … … I must say this surpasses Bajirao’s[8] loyalty to Mastani !![9]… … eh?” teased Santoshji.
“You said it,” continued Pradeep, “Why else would his wife
be so jealous of the Bullet?”
The shining black Bullet was indeed very comely to look at … and I was
infatuated with it.
In Kolhapur , my father used a Bullet to ply between the
city and our farm village nearby. When in college there, and seeing that father
was not at home, I and my friends used to start it by short-circuiting the ignition
lock cables, and ride on it around the city. Later, when studying engineering
at Pune, I used to ride My friend Anil Grover’s Bullet.
Eventually, I started on a job and earning a living, but buying a
Bullet still remained a dream. One reason for it was that it was beyond my
means then. And so I compromised for a Lambretta scooter before my marriage.
The other reason was Indiraji. Although a Hyderabadi by genes, she was a
born Puneite,[10]
and … naturally … she had a tender spot for ‘Hamara Bajaj’.[11] So, for the first five
years of my married life I used to ride a Bajaj Chetak[12] … although the
dream of buying a Bullet kept on beckoning me.
Later, however, when I joined Tata Motors and settled down, I doggedly
vetoed Indiraji’s resistance and … well … realized my dream of buying a Bullet
of my own!
No sooner had Indiraji planted herself on the pillion seat than her
tongue lashed out finding faults with my Bullet. “What a worthless crap this bike
is!! The seat is not even a span wide. Chetak is far better. … has such
wide, spacious and cosy seats. … I am not going to ride this bike again … ever!!
... … You hear me? ... You can ride it alone … if you fancy it!!!”
So I was left with no other option but to keep Chetak also in
use … to ply Indiraji here and there. Her infatuation with ‘Hamara Bajaj ’ was
the result … possibly … of being born and brought up in Pune.
But I continued to enjoy riding my Bullet … alone … like riding a
thoroughbred Arabian horse … taking care of it also with the same devotion.
As years passed, the kids grew up … and eventually our Indica
arrived. Both the kids … and Indiraji too … were damn pleased with our first
ever four wheeler … though I did not give up
… either the company or the saddle … of my Bullet the great.
When I turned sixty, my daughter, Mugdha, sounded an alarm. “Dad, now
give up this bike ... it has a kick-starter … and buy one with a self-starter …
before a kickback knocks out your knee. … You are past sixty now !”
I could see her point, but a Bullet with self-starter had not yet
appeared in the market … and I couldn’t stomach the idea of switching my devotion
to any other bike. So I decided to bide my time.
About a year after the Indica, however, I sold off my twelve-year-old
Bullet … maintained like a brand new one … for 125% of its purchase price … and
bought the new Bullet with self-starter … which I was taking possession of now.
“ Live happily … ever after … with your Bullet !!!” teased Pradeep … and went off on his way. Time
was approaching 5:30 pm , and
the showroom employees had started the closing down activities. I took
possession of the registration and insurance papers and the toolkit, and
acknowledged Santoshji’s good wishes as well as his reminder to get the number
plate fixed up after four days. Gunning the bike, I mounted it, and urged
Indirani to get on to the pillion seat.
Hardly had I engaged the first gear when Santoshji cried out, slapping
his forehead with his palm, “ Holy goddess…!! … Sir, please get down for a
second … the rear tire seems to have a puncture!”
My jaw dropped and, slapping my forehead, I got down.
Santoshji hailed the last leaving mechanic, “ Hey Parashuram … … you
hear me? … come over here
at once… …and don’t close down
for a while.”
“What’s the matter, Sir?” wailed Parashuram as he rushed up to
Santoshji.
“Wasn’t it you who carried out the PDI[13] of this bike? How could
you fail to notice that the rear tire was punctured, eh?”
Now it was Parashuram’s turn to slap his palm on his forehead, “Of
course I did the PDI Sir… … Why? Let me see first what is the problem … … ,”
said Parashuram to Santoshji, and then, turning to me, “Give me only ten
minutes, Sir … If the tire is really punctured, I will change the entire wheel
for you … … don’t you worry… .”
However, Parashuram returned … not in ten minutes … rather, in ten
seconds … shaking his head in utter disbelief , “ There is nothing wrong with
the wheel, Sir, it is absolutely tip top !!!”
Now it was my turn to slap my palm on my forehead. !!
“Are you quite sure,
Parashuram?” expostulated Santoshji, “Remember, our reputation will be mud,
otherwise!”
“Ride the bike with all the care on the house, Sir … I personally stand
guarantee for it … … Okay?” said Parashuram, heaving a sigh of relief.
Thanking them both, we set off as twilight was spreading over the
scene. “If it gets dark before reaching home, I can switch on the headlight,” I
said to myself as I started the Bullet, and sped off. We were already a bit
late, so I left Karve Road and drove along the alternative route via Mastani Memorial. Before
we went far, a biker overtook us at breakneck speed, making a hand sign to us
that our rear wheel was punctured!!!
I was puzzled … because the Bullet was not dragging in the rear.
Nonetheless, I drew up at the roadside, motioning Indiraji to alight.
She did … cursing, “Rascals … can’t do a thing right … good only with
the tongue and equally third class with the work … making false assurances! I
can imagine … what performance … this fat Mastani of yours … is
likely to reveal !! … Bajaj’s Chetak is a hundred times better than this
scrap….”
I was pissed off. “ For God’s sake, stop your ‘Hamara Bajaj’ chant for
a second !!… will you?... … Let me first see what is the matter.”
Grumbling, I heaved the Bullet on its stand with one swift jerk and
squatted beside the rear wheel, inspecting it all over. Now I too
was floored flat like Parashuram. There was no sign of a puncture !… … the tyre
was fully inflated !!
Seeing that the tire was okay, Indiraji mounted the pillion seat again,
cursing the biker for fooling us, and we sped off for home.
Before we covered the next couple of kilometers, again the same
scenario was enacted. Another scooter rider overtook us, making signs to us
that … our real wheel had a puncture!!!
Now Indiraji issued an ultimatum to me. “I will not get down till we reach home … come what may !! … …
You heard me? … Let your Bullet look after itself … if it
can !!!”
I was dumbstruck by the inexplicable illusion that was affecting other
bikers and driving us crazy.
In frustration, I switched on the headlight to dispel the gathering
darkness, and noticed the dazzling beam of light reaching a few hundred feet
ahead. Pleased, I taunted Indiraji, “You see how bright the light beam is, and
how far it is reaching? … Not like your Hamara Bajaj[14] … Even a kerosene wick
lamp shines much brighter that its headlight !!”
“Keep your sarcasm to yourself. … Your Harley-Davidson[15] has made me get down five
times … so far … within a run of four kilometers… !! … … Don’t you forget that
!!!” she snapped. Knowing her skill in flooring her opponents, I turned the
accelerator handle, spurring my Bullet zooming home.
Now it was pitch dark, and a vehicle cruising in the opposite direction
signaled me, using its dipper, to dip my own light beam. So I pressed my dipper
button and … just saved myself from falling flat on my back ! … My headlight
beam was hitting the tops of trees lining both sides of the road !! … Obviously,
the beam was high now … which meant it was low earlier
… !!! So I tried the dipper switch … several times … with the same result , And
a fundamental doubt began to surface in my mind.
Slapping my forehead, I drew up my bike to the roadside again, keeping
the headlamp on, and persuaded Indiraji to get down once more. She did … and in
a moment the evil spirit that was haunting us all along was exorcised once for
all !!!
I slapped my forehead again and again, and declared to Indiraji, “Now I have solved the mystery of our
punctured rear wheel … .”
“What nonsense on earth are you talking?” roared Indiraji. “ Let us get
home soon … I am being late for cooking dinner.”
“Do you know who is responsible for this poltergeist’s show of ‘rear wheel puncture’?” I quizzed her like a
detective.
“ What the hell do you mean… …eh?” Indiraji snapped.
“You yourself … and none else !!!” I
declared, like Holmes.
“ My foot … !! How come … you nitwit?”,
Indiraji.
“See for yourself what havoc you have wrought on this new Bullet !!”
I then readjusted the left-hand rearview mirror so that she could see
the rear wheel in it, and said, “Now get on the bike and see for yourself …
what torture you are inflicting on it.”
“So be it,” she said, perched on the pillion, and peeped into the
mirror. The rear tire had flattened out, as if punctured !! Now Indiraji slapped
her palm on her forehead, and got down.
“You saw it yourself?” I rubbed in, “Now look straight ahead … … do you
see the light beam falling straight on the pavement ? ... … … Do you see the
road?”
“Well, yes, I do. … So?”
Keeping the beam dipped, I said, “Now get back on the seat again, and
see what happens !”
No sooner had she placed herself on the seat than the rear shock
absorbers creaked in unison, sinking a full inch or so … !! And when I
un-dipped the beam, she could clearly see the tree tops on either side!!!
Slapping my forehead again, I asked Indiraji, “With you
on the pillion like this … … where in the world can I get
a tire that will not flatten?... … and a dipper that will not send the beam
skywards? Tell me now?”
Smugly, Indiraji retorted, “What else on earth can happen, when you buy
… a … third- class, good for nothing , tin-pot bike?”
Nonplussed, I appealed, “From where can I get a sturdier bike than this
for YOU? Nowhere in India is a bike more rugged than this manufactured
... …you know that?”
“Those who call this bike rugged, are really good-for-nothing blokes. …just
like this junk. !! … … Did I urge you to buy this masterpiece?
… … eh? … Our Chetak is a million times better than this …. It doesn’t
sink at the rear end !!!… … you understand?”
“How can it?” I yelled, annoyed. “In that tin-pot scooter, is there any
room for any shock absorbers at all?... … Let alone for them to sink? … That’s
why it is hard … like a rock … or like the favorite bicycle of you Puneites.!!! … … you understand?”
“I know the caliber of you engineers. … Can’t even design a
trouble-free bike! … Even a laundryman’s donkey is better than your bike. … At
least it doesn’t buckle on its, hind legs, like your Bullet !! … Remember that
!! Now let us get going. … Look at the crew of road workers coming along. … If
we get entangled with them, we will be stuck here for another hour, at least...
… so double up now !!”
I turned around to look. The workers were plodding with shovels on
their shoulders … followed by the road roller moving at an elephant’s pace,
dragging a tar boiler behind it… A funny sight indeed, it was.
“What are you gaping at … like a dimwit? Haven’t you, a civil engineer,
seen such a spectacle … ever?”
“You are right, Indiraji… … Damn right !” I murmured, “But henceforth you
need not despise my Bullet at all!!... We will buy you a much more rugged
vehicle than this… …A real Macho… … How about it, eh?”
Indiraji beamed. “Really? Are you serious dear?”
“What do you mean, Indiraji? Of course I am serious! Just tell me whether you approve this model!!” And I pointed to the road
roller following us at a royal pace!!!
Whereupon Indiraji slapped her forehead with one palm, and, rolling the
other into a tight iron fist, deliverd such a Hyderabadi blow to my back
that I remember it to this day!!!
*****************************************************************************************
*****************************************************************************************
Dr. ARUNSHANKAR.
November 30 th 2014.
[1] A
four-stroke manly motorcycle manufactured by Royal Enfield. (India )
Ltd.
[2] A
saffron-flavored round, flat sweet made from milk.
[3] Her real
name is Sumeeta, but in honor of her steely demeanor, I have nicknamed her
Indiraji, after our late Prime Minister, Mrs. Indira Gandhi.
[4] The
latest model, with a self-starter.
[5] A native
of Hyderabad , a major city in the
south India ,
known for its robust people.
[6] A spicy
and aromatic rice dish.
[7] A
hatchback car manufactured by Tata Motors Ltd. in India .
[8] The
first Peshwa (Prime Minister) during the Maratha Regime.
[9]
Bajirao’s Muslim beloved.
[10] A
resident of Pune.
[11] A
slogan used to advertise Bajaj Auto Ltd’s budget scooters, which were
manufactured in Pune.
[12] A then
popular model of Bajaj scooters.
[13]
Pre-Delivery Inspection
[14] A
marketing slogan used by the company.
[15] A top
class, powerful motorbike
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