re: Every Ride has a Story... The next day we wake up early and head to the sea and spend a couple of hours before the water becomes too hot to be in.The sea bath leaves with a very hungry stomach and we have a a couple of cups of tea, luchi and alo subzi. For those of you who know, it is a very typical Bengali breakfast.
We freshen ourselves and ready for the journey back home.We pack up the belongings,freshen ourselves and reach the motorcycle and then crank up the engine.
It is well past noon that we start.The cycle comes back to life and then we head out of the town.
We must have been riding back home for a sometime now and have reached a point where there are little flower beds blossoming and a small but beautiful garden has been created. A few trees have been planted that cast their shadows over the plants and saplings. I remember having come along the same road during the summer month of April. But back then the land was parched, the trees were devoid of leaves and it reflected a period of deprivation.There are dark clouds gathering in the horizon,so we ride faster and faster and the garden becomes smaller and smaller in the mirror.
We lean a little as the road curves sharply.This road has turned and curved and there are ample photo shoot opportunities. But we do not stop.
But after sometime Rajdeep says, he back aches and even I feel that my shoulder joints are a little stiff. So, we halt.
This is a bridge where we have stopped.And there is a railway line which passes beneath it. At a distance, far away, I can see a goods train chugging in our direction. Rajdeep insists on leaving this place, but I stand and listen to its whistle as it grows louder and louder and then it crosses us. The train continues to whistle but the whistle becomes feebler and then fades away and then is finally gone.
This thing about horizons, the train that came from the horizon and disappeared into it, made me remember an incident from my childhood.
There is a dyke, in the place where I have grown up, to protect the town from the flooding river.So, once I had wanted to see the sunset and my father took me to on top of the dyke. We could see the horizon, far away,where the clouds were low and the sun had turned orange.
I remember asking my father, "Dad, why don't we go there,I want to catch the clouds?" pointing at the horizon.
He replied, "When you will go there, you will see that the clouds have risen up once again".
I narrate this story to Rajdeep. He smiles through his tiredness.I too feel drained but resume the rest of the ride.
The remaining ray of the sun disappear and darkness looms everywhere and we turn on the headlights.On a journey, you learn to trust the cycle and every successful journey increases the faith on the it.
We are now in the city and dear reader you may follow this scene, nothing
extraordinary, but like they show in the movies,in a fast forward motion.
The blue skies turn pink and then dark as the sun goes down. The street lights are lit up and the we have merging traffic ahead. And then the camera zooms onto the motorcycle and the couple of tired riders who ride on it.The collars flap against the wind and there is a look of anticipation on the faces.Layers of dust has piled on everywhere. And then the camera,remains at its place as the motorcycle drone fades into the darkness of the night.
So long for now! |