Kymaia loves riding with me. Whenever I drop her off at her training early in the morning, she eggs me on to go faster. And I like it. She loves the punch-in-the-gut acceleration and the leaning into the curves as much as any child would love a roller-coaster ride. ‘Faster, Baba bear. Faster. Wheeeee!’
Of course, I like riding aggressively. In fact, this has been a problem (I wrote about it some time ago) and I have been trying to throttle down consciously for some time now.
But this morning, once I dropped her off and went off for my morning ride that I do twice or thrice a week (the other days, I run myself), I decided to stop at the first chai tapri I saw, have a cup of tea (which became two) and then, spotting a leafy lane off the highway I was on, decided to enter and explore the bylanes of Pune, like I would have done if I were visiting a new town.
It was drizzling, very very lightly. The roads were glistening in the morning light. The street lamps were still on. Only morning people were up and about, with the newspaper vendors and milkmen going about their daily round. Joggers and cyclists went about their activities quietly. Some temple far away was ringing bells. The birds were chirping and the squirrels were bold enough to play on the almost-empty roads. The city was waking up.
It was beautiful. And I don’t know why, but it warranted a speed of no more than 35kmph. I slowed down and chugged along the bike reverting to the quiet thump that was just above idling, with me shifting to a comfortable third gear so that the engine does not need to rev too much and disturb the neighbourhood. I cruised along, turning slowly through the small gullies and lanes, passing bungalows and large housing societies, with sleepy guards and even sleepier dogs at their gates.
I realised I was riding as if in slow motion, with an almost meditative state of mind, acutely aware of the engine under me and the road beneath the tyres. The handlebar grips and throttle felt as if I was not wearing gloves. The seat transmitted every small vibration and curve of the road straight through my spine to my brain. I opened my visor to breathe in the air and smell the petrichor that had filled my surrounding. The breeze I felt on my skin reminded me of sitting in the mountains on my porch in the morning, sipping a cup of chai. It was all very mindful and deliberate. And, I dare say, therapeutic in a way I could not have imagined earlier.
Slow, but not lazy. Deliberate, not instinctive. And languid. Like a nice, meandering walk through an old East European town. Taking it in without having to try. On a cusp of a dream and reality. Like motorcycling Tai chi.
I’ve got to try this more often. Going fast is fun, no doubt. But sometimes, one sees more when one slows down.
Later, I picked up the kid, dropped her home, and then went off to meet a dear friend, Abbas, for breakfast at Dohiti Bake House, the quaint bakery which makes perhaps the scrunchiest croissants this side of the Mula-Mutha, and fills them up with mushrooms & cranberry (yes, together, and it tastes like nothing you’ve ever eaten), ham & cheese (this is as close to heaven as you can get), pineapple & cream, chocolate (& nothing, do you really need anything else with chocolate?), and of course chicken (& veggies drizzled with balsamic), as also serves my favourite coffee (Black Baza) with the Mumbai special khari (made not with margarine, but butter). It was a fitting end to a relaxed, and slow, morning that reminded me of the need to slow down once in a while, so I can see life with a fresh set of eyes.
