Fuser - lost and found aka our motorcycle diaries

(Warning: a very self-indulgent post)


Right in the dead of the night, a music piece begins to haunt my mind space, and slowly but steadily pierces straight down to my heart - cliché.

I get up and for the next few hours there's no sleep. another cliché.

I twist, turn and try to shut my eyes. But the strings of that music piece don't shut. Life is cliché.

The music 'moves' you, stirs the insides of you... nudges the drudged soul and makes it travel... travel back to those 'wonder' times! "De Usuahia a la Quiaca" - Gustavo Santalola. What an amazing piece of music that is! One through which myriad images are born. Several memories and still more stories. The stories happened a few years back but the hour of the night was same...the same as the time this night - right now as I write this.

The times, when we traveled like refugees across the border, like no one would spot us - but with the gay abandon of the aimless wanderers, the hippies without their hash... It was life that had happened, it was life that we were high on...
And in the book of life, these night rides would fall under the chapter "discovering ourselves"

If we sum the distance traveled every night, we could well reach somewhere near where the heart truly resides inside.
We took to roads at deep into the nights, rode along till early mornings on those empty streets of that wonderful city.
We drove ourselves into a different city, which presented itself to only those who seek... not for 'a cause', but through exploration...exploration for the sake of exploration!

"How could I have known that this city was tailor made for love?" as goes the monologue in the film Hiroshima Mon Amour.

We traveled on our motorcycle, when people with homes in the city were in deep slumber-safely guarded by their dreams, when the politics of the roads changed - when ferocious dogs ruled those vacant lanes, when the barricade police too had dozed off sitting on their wooden benches, when the tired lampposts were waiting for the dawn to break and the bonfires lit by watchmen were living their final sparks.

And this is not romanticizing. This is romance!

Our most reliable companion - our 'Mighty One' - our motorcycle was neither very brand new, nor an old haggard, neither too flamboyant nor dull... but much at peace with itself – and yes probably our only witness of those wondrous nights.
It still is the only witness. And if she (the motorcycle) had the power to write, she could have well written the closest outsider account ever.

She had shown us the city in its pristine form - and the city at its glorious best - its huge flyovers spreading across like veins and arteries that ran into the heart of city, its under-passes, like the mouth of a hungry dragon, its intimidating empty roads and the striking life that blossoms on them. 


Once, I remember... she wasn't perhaps in the best of moods - or beings - or just in the need of some plain attention! She made us walk the wide stretch at 4 30am on a December morning – We took it carefully, holding onto her...right in the middle of a cold night in search of a petrol pump!

But she was always there when we most needed her.

To open skies, cool breeze, heated discussions, empty roads, frank opinions, thunderous rains, beautiful places, dark clouds, heavy traffic and the heart.

I am missing her even as I type this.
I can get her with me again.
I think I will bring it to this Big City, but then
- I don't want her to choke herself in the black smoke of this Big City, I don’t want it to get herself lost in the many many traffic snarls here.
I don't want to be its "beginning of the end".

Is it about her - the motorcycle - or is it about the journey that nurtured the most important relationship – the journey that traveled the crucial distance… that from the heart to the soul and back!



conclusion: the love story is on, but the motorcycle is being missed.

© Copyrights 2009 www.bhaandgroup.blogspot.com. All Rights Reserved. Hardik Mehta

Ek Chatur Idea and How to travel, when in Mumbai

Its something that almost all of us who travel in Mumbai observe. especially when we are returning towards our homes on the sweaty and crowded evenings. Faces - Faces that tell stories - of people who are tired, who are weary and who are returning after "god-knows what kind of day at work". The usual scene inside a public mode of transport is - Men either thinking or sleeping. Young girls perpetually busy on their mobiles, women lost in their thoughts about preparing meals after a tiring day. Yes, life is tough here. And oh did I forget the "horny" drivers, the motionless traffic, the ubiquitous smoke, the permanently "under-construction" infrastructure and add to all of these nightmares, the incessant Rains –all of them contributing towards the agony of reaching home. My purpose for pointing out this fatigued atmosphere is something that I happened to experience today.


In midst of all of the above mentioned factors, since last few days - the BEST bus service has started a new initiative. On the two screens installed inside the bus, they regularly show popular hindi film songs especially old songs. Its not as if this is an "out-of-the-box" idea, but it surely seems to be working. Why Old songs? – coz of the wide target audience that the public transport caters too. Now, as I entered Bus no. 266 on a rainy evening, I heard two glasses – clinking against each other and out came Vijay Arora holding his guitar. Zeenat Aman started singing “chura liya hai tumne jo…bolo ticket…” – seeing me getting inside the bus, the conductor was quick to pounce.


As the journey went on, after the “yaadon ki baarat” song, some “badly-made, less said about them” commercials came and went without disturbing the Corner Seat Uncle from his slumber. Inside the bus, the atmosphere was like the first paragraph of this write up – dull and boring. A little while later, the bus – like a giant elephant roared, stuttered and halted. The aunty sitting ahead of me got irritated.

“ye roz-roz ka traffic jam ho gaya hai…”

The visuals on the screen inside the bus flickered and then began the song. Mehmood, Kishore Kumar, Sunil Dutt, Saira Banu – “Ek Chaturnaaar….”. Now I consider this song as one of the most difficult songs ever to be composed and sung in hindi films. Manna Dey & Kishore Kumar were the singers and of course RD Burman’s music. The song had just begun and my eyes were instantly fixed to the screen. People in the bus were still fighting with either their or the city’s demons. As the song progressed, Mehmood’s antics began – “jis naari ka das…” – Back came the answer from Kishorda. And the battle on screen had just begun. I started to sing along, the guy sitting next to me started to talk on his cell phone. The Bus was still at its snail’s speed. The conductor had probed everyone over ticket and was now glued to the screen.


On screen, the “ghoda-chatur, ghoda-chatur” conversation began amongst the singers and actors. It started to turn hilarious. I could hardly control, I laughed out. A few men in the bus now started enjoying the song. A girl stopped staring outside the window and looked at the screen. The guy next to me put his cell down. The Deep Slumber Uncle now moved his head and in a while was staring at the screen like a kid. People started watching the song. They saw Mehmood confused with his harmonium keys. Sunil Dutt confused over the words. Kesto Mukherjee with his Chaplinsque moustache permanently confused. Inside the bus, those weary faces, those tired souls smiled. A sense of cheerfulness spread amongst the passengers. It was a wonderful sight, watching those “lightened” faces. Almost everyone knew about the song. By the time Mehmood had jumped from the window and the song had reached its ultimate crescendo – It was an amazing sight. Kishore Kumar had psychologically strangled Mehmood. I laughed out so loud that a few passengers were taken aback but chose not to respond. Infact they too smiled. Happiness had spread through the air. The smoke was now having a bad time. It was choking. Happiness was the cause. The bus in the meantime had started traveling. As the song came to an end, I was wondering at the genius of the people behind Padosan’s song and suddenly – the conductor came:

“tumko Apna Bazaar utarne ka tha na?”

And suddenly I realized that I had missed my bus stop. Movies, I tell you. It can surely work wonders on you. As Dev Benegal would put it “the magic of cinema”. I jumped out and saw the bus passing by me – in a second’s glance I saw the stern-looking conductor on his seat, smiling. No, not at me – to himself, to the song, or to the song called “life”


Note: So when you are stuck in those traffic "jams" while returning after earning your bread & "butter" – Take the BEST buses and the songs would surely provide you a reason to say "cheese"




© Copyrights 2009 www.bhaandgroup.blogspot.com. All Rights Reserved. Hardik Mehta

Landscape that has the power to change

There s no doubt that its the most stunning landscape of our country but whats important is the lives that this landscape has changed. Try the Srinagar-Leh route on wheels. It takes two days. You stop at Kargil on Day 1. And No..dont go on the famous bikers route of Manali to Leh. Its passe now.

The Srinagar to Leh is where you know how within two days the luscious greens turn to barren browns. How life can change into several degree of loneliness. yes "Frozen" is the right word.

Frozen in time, Frozen in space, Frozen in memories.

This picture is taken between Mulbek and Lamayuru. Fotu La happens to be the highest point on this route.



© Copyrights 2009 www.bhaandgroup.blogspot.com. All Rights Reserved. Hardik Mehta

Growing up with the Game and the 1992 World Cup

Back in 1992, when i was in class 5 - cricket was still considered a menace for kids. but worse, the school authorities didnt allow to play cricket in school. I mean not allowing cricket to kids who used to get up at 4 in the mornings to watch New Zealand beat Australia in the opening match of 1992 World Cup. Infact, let it be any damn match – since the World Cup was being played in Australia, setting the alarm for 4 in morning was a norm. To top it all - there were the new colourful uniforms, the wonderful white ball, those lazy flamingoes on the Australian grounds and the lush green outfields. My parents discouraged me from getting up at four in the morning. But when you are a kid, nothing comes between you and your interests.

Imagine a father's plight who had to get up at 4 to wake his kid to watch Zimbabwe play Pakistan and then a couple of hours later wake up again to start for the day that included traveling in those sweaty local trains from one corner of the city to the other extreme.


Back to the school - Radios were not allowed in the premises. And most of my classmates would just get up, get ready and come to school by 8 am without knowing what match or what score it is. And by the time they reached home, the match was over and Star Sports was showing a random Rugby match. As a result not many of them could follow the World Cup matches. So, when someone in the morning in our class would want to know the score, they would turn to me and all of my fathers and my efforts to get up at 4 would come to help –


Classmate: “South-Africa Vs. West-Indies ka kya hua?”


Me: “Meryck Pringle took 4/19. All four batsmen including the great Ritchie Richardson, Brian Lara were caught in slips.


Aah, the joy of it! Heads would turn. Faces that looked at me asking for more info on the match.


I know 1992 world cup like no one else does. I can bet. From Jadeja’s historic catch of Allan Border to the flying Johnty Rhodes to run out Inzamam. From Mark Greatbatch’s power stroke play to Ian Botham’s famous gesture.

Javed Miadad scored 40 of 110 balls against India at SCG. John Traicos of Zimbabwe was 44, the oldest cricketer to play for any country then. Ravi Shashtri was the slowest batsmen that we saw then. (25 off 75 balls). Facts, figures, trivia, scores, statistics – all were a part of a great brainwave – called Star Sports – yes the television had come home.


The one memory or that one match of 1992 World Cup that i can never forget is Sanjay Manjrekar scoring that brisk 47 off 42 deliveries against Australia. His knock took India till the doors of victory untill a cool Steve Waugh, a clueless Tom Moody and the substitute wicket keeper David Boon snatched it away on that last ball.

Last ball, 4 runs required and Javagal Srinath is on the crease. As usual, when Tom moody bowled, he took a wild swing. The ball went high, high and was almost on the edge of boundary when a running Steve "red-handkerchief" Waugh appeared - but hey !! he dropped the catch ( Gibbs, you can laugh on him. - even he did this at some point of time)

But hey, we need 4 runs - Indian batsmen or should i say bowlers were running hard. I remember Bill Lawry, the commentator shouting to Javagal Srinath and Raju - RUN, RUN, RUN. My uncle and my father who were watching the match, almost shouted when David Boon took off those bails, leaving India high and dry. I was more tensed than them, but on seeing their reactions and their utter disappointment - I felt we should have won that day. I thought, if only Ravi Shastri, the slowest batsmen in the world could have not wasted 75 balls to score his 25.

These days, when every match ends on a last ball I can hardly remember scores, players and events. It doesnt feel special to witness or be a part of the hysteria. I cant recollect the last entire match that I saw. Gone are the days when i took that scolding from my parents to get up for a random cricket match. But I still love the game.

Its been 3 years now, since i took the Bat in my hand. But legend has it that on the grounds of Agricultural Campus, Anand, there was a left-handed batsmen who almost reached to his century - the first ever to happen on that ground. But alas, short by three runs - 97* not out!

Much like that India-Australia match. But as wise men say there are somethings that are better left unconquered.

virtual re-union

"when u get a really understanding person to share ur life with u will know that u don’t have to bully the other, it is a thought- the feeling the other person catches up and tries to make that feeling pass through..." - Karishma Shah.

This is one of my friends responding to other, when the other allegedly said that you bully your husband. a simple but profound line she wrote to him. I was touched. Am sure now, marriages change people for good. One starts learning so many things. patience, sharing, tolerance and creative excuses. :) hmm...

Today morning as i opened my mail box, Bhargav had mailed to all of us who were friends since class 6 in Baroda. As a kid i was not much into friends i guess. like one of my friends started crying when our taxi left the Mumbai apartment - At that point of time - it struck me - man i will never come back here again, hardik!! does that strike you anything? yet I never cried. Nothing affected me

Although i remember each and every incident and each and every person of that phase in Mumbai, yet am emotionally disconnected to them. But somehow I was always emotionally connected to the city of Bombay (then).