The Advent of My Bike:
The year was 1987, and it was the Advent season. Having finally managed to settle into hostel life at Karunya, in the notorious Room Number 10 of Mathew Block, I was thrilled at the prospect of being home for Christmas. The Christmas program at college further lifted my Christmas spirit, and I was looking forward to a warm homecoming. To my surprise, I found the reception rather cold. The reason: an Inland Letter from our college “Assembly Line in Charge,” Miss Vasavi, complaining that I was highly irregular, always late, very lazy, and further aggravating emotions by expressing her concern about how I would become an engineer. My parents were naturally upset, as I had a fairly decent academic record at school.
My immediate defense was that I was late because the hostel bathrooms were crowded in the morning, and I had to cycle two kilometers through many ups and downs, including crossing a brook, to reach the auditorium. Despite my best efforts, I always lost the race to the college bus and ended up being late for the assembly. I sincerely suggested that if I had a motorcycle, I could overtake the bus and reach the assembly session on time.
To my angst, this topic somehow came up for discussion during the extended family Christmas lunch. My mom jovially told the gathering about my request for a bike. Immediately, my Athai (Aunt) was vociferous in her assessment that if a bike was given to me, I would become a “kettu kutichever” (spoiled brat). Remarkably, this outburst triggered the maternal shielding instincts of my mother, and she countered by saying she trusted me and got me my first motorbike, an “Ind Suzuki.” She made me vow that I would never let her trust in me go in vain, and to this day, by the abundant grace of God, I have adhered to my commitment of using the bike only for good things.
The above picture was taken at home just before packing the bike and sending it to Coimbatore.
This incident taught me that:
- “There is Opportunity even in Adversity.”
- “The Trust of Parents in their Children is all that matters.”
Bike Life at Karunya:
The freedom one gets when owning a motorbike during their teen years is mind-boggling indeed.
My first bike was a flaming red “Ind Suzuki.” It was a 1985 model, made in Japan, and was truly butter smooth. I got it when it had done 9,873 km, and I used it to my heart’s content for one and a half years. Petrol, when I first topped up my bike at Selvapuram en route to Karunya, was six rupees and ninety paise only. The only con, if any, in this bike was that the rear wheel was prone to skidding.
I was the second guy in our Beta batch to have a bike in college. The first one to bring it was Koshy, who was bold enough to bring his Enfield Silver Plus even at the time of joining, much to the envy of our seniors.
My first bike was a flaming red “Ind Suzuki.” It was a 1985 model, made in Japan, and was truly butter smooth. I got it when it had done 9,873 km, and I used it to my heart’s content for one and a half years. Petrol, when I first topped up my bike at Selvapuram en route to Karunya, was six rupees and ninety paise only. The only con, if any, in this bike was that the rear wheel was prone to skidding.
I was the second guy in our Beta batch to have a bike in college. The first one to bring it was Koshy, who was bold enough to bring his Enfield Silver Plus even at the time of joining, much to the envy of our seniors.
In 1987, the foundation for the additional staircases in the three-seater gents’ hostel was dug, and we found the Silver Plus mysteriously lowered in the foundation pit near Room Nos. 9 and 10 of Mathew Block.
Since we were on the right side of our college management, we had enough liberty to take our bikes out as we pleased, either to Coimbatore to meet up at Lakshmi Towers, Cross Cut Road, buy biryani at Ajmal, or have a banana leaf tiffin or dinner at Vellingiri, Alandurai. There, we had to take out our own leaves—no servers then to do such menial jobs. The food was delicious indeed.
Since college transport was in its inception with only one Ashok Leyland Cheetah Bus and one Premier Padmini car, having the bike helped many of our batch go to Alandurai Bank and post office. Also, in case of urgent need, dropping friends to catch the train and returning alone in pitch dark after a Cheran Express drop was a novel experience. I am ever grateful to the lovely jacket loaned by Nirip to fight the cold in the winter season.
I sold the Ind Suzuki in 1989 at Alandurai, and this was my first business transaction. I got the bike for Rs. 9,500 and sold it for Rs. 10,000.
The second bike I got myself was a silver Hero Honda CD 100 (TAY 2143) in 1989. Hero Honda’s tagline was always “Fill It, Shut It, Forget It,” and it was viewed as a mundane bike suited for a family man, definitely not for a college-goer. However, I was able to unlock great performance from this bike. The first thing I did was fit on a sporty clipped handlebar. The speedometer had gear-wise speed markings: first gear – 40 km/h, second gear – 70 km/h, third gear – 100 km/h, and fourth gear – 120 km/h. Even with full throttle for a long time in top gear, you would be unable to cross 90 km/h. The trick was to follow the speedometer guidelines. It takes guts, and one needs to throw caution to the wind while revving the bike to reach the marked speeds, but by doing so, you can cross the 100 km/h barrier. I still recall the stunned look on my good friend Nirip’s face when I overtook his famed Yamaha RX 100 during a trip to Malapuzha Dam, touching 120 km/h.
I sold the Honda in 1990, retaining only the clipped handlebar, and bought myself a platinum grey Kawasaki KB RTZ in 1989. The bike looked great, but even with its resonance box, it was only average in performance. The king of the road in college days was Koshy, who had by then upgraded to the legendary Yamaha RD 350. As I was the next senior-most biker, I always prided myself on being the second fastest, augmented by the fact that I overtook an RX with a Hero Honda.
One day in final year, while returning from a game of badminton with the one and only Gnanaseelan (Seelan), I stopped to pick up dear Solomon Bala Vinodh, who was returning from the football ground. Seelan overtook me with his new silver RX, and to prove a point, I was hot on his heels, making up lost ground in the pebbled brook after the auditorium, but losing out on the stretch near the new block. There is a slight curve near the ladies’ hostel, and I was sure Seelan would slow down, allowing me to overtake him in front of the then Principal’s house and the ladies’ hostel. But alas, as my front wheel was crossing his rear wheel on the outer side, my front wheel went over the road edge at 90 km/h, and I lost balance.
I held on to the bike for dear life and finally crashed into the college dispensary. By God’s grace, the crash guard folded neatly around my legs, and I was able to get up without a scratch. I was looking for Solly, who was nowhere to be seen—he had decided to jump when I was about to fall and landed on the ladies’ hostel barbed wire fencing. Poor Solly had to be admitted, and during his recovery time, he lost his opportunity to represent the University in football.
The earful I received from my friends and foes alike, including the faculty and Principal, still echoes loudly, and this episode brought the much-dreaded controls for biking on campus. My all-time regret is the injury I caused to dear Solly.
This incident marked the end of my urge to race in life, but rather enjoy the ride at a leisurely pace. The crash guards remind me of God always protecting His dear ones under the shelter of His wings.
