Motorcycle Diaries: diarois de motocicleta

Just like everyone else, like Martin Luther King; I too had a dream. A dream to explore the whole sub-continent of India and if possible most parts of the world, not to mention on a motorcycle. Motorcycles, the bulky and beautiful beasts made of steel and iron which are capable of accelerating you towards eternal bliss, taking you so far away from all of your responsibilities that you might not even want to look back at all. Motorcycles; my first love.

The idea of the very first expedition was to hire a Royal Enfield 550cc, grab all the essentials and leave for the place best known as a biker’s paradise: Ladakh .The very thought of being in that snow clad heaven which could be at a height of 3000 meters and even above, gave me chills of anxiety. The rumbling sound of the engine would be throttled up attaining the lifelong pursuit of arriving somewhere, where I don’t care who I am, neither do I care of what the world wants me to be, somewhere where I live rather than just exist.

Well, its 2 AM in the night. Everyone around me is asleep, two to be precise. The mechanic: who was hell lot of fun and Rohit : who could not believe that it can be hot here as well. I am sitting at the entrance of my small tent while I am writing this. It’s very cold in here, so cold that I can’t even feel a portion of my face, well 18000 feet has its own cons. Despite of the semi paralysis that I suffer, I feel at peace, drowned in the serenity of motionless contentment. There’s a smile I’m wearing, which is a constant reminder of the memorable journey I had. The passage of en route from Manali to the highest drive-able point on earth, Khardung La was a life changing scenario. It’s amazing to notice the diversity of this country in the span of almost 500 kilometers. Ladakh is indeed heaven, way better that I could dream of. With my eyelids pushing the rest of me to dive in a cold slumber, I’m ceasing to collect as many memories which I could and probably recite them to my grandchildren.

Life is full of despair and hardships. Every other day, as a social being we cease to exist and moreover mark our presence in this probably fictional setup of living things. There is a set of rules which are pre implicated and guide the happenings of our life. There is childhood during which dream of every possible thing that we can become and then there is the later part where we compensate with anything which could assist us being a negligible dot in the galaxy that we are.

”A biker’s trip is not just about covering the distance from point A to B. It’s a whole new experience sometimes turns a normal person into a revolutionary. Back in 1952 there was an Argentine doctor named Ernest Fuser who along with a friend set off for a trip, on a 1939 Norton 500, which transformed him, his course of life .His views about things, people and their pain. He was not the kind of doctor anymore who would just recognize the disease and tell you the way to cure it. In fact he went out being the one who set out to cure all the social disparities that Cuba went through. The man later was known as Che Guevara.”

No matter at what extent we get convinced with our life's monotony and presume that this is how we are going to end up; working our asses off to get the bread and butter flowing in. There is always a long lived desire of doing something crazy is every one’s heart. Something preventing them from getting stuck in the world of harsh realities and exposes them into a place possessing fictional reality.  Something which was always there in their ‘to do’ list but they never got the chance to put that ‘tick’ over it.

 I have ticked mine, have you?