I’m a girl and I ride like a lunatic

I took my sister on a ride yesterday on my Scooty Pep+. It was the usual ride from my house to hers – one kilometre long. We’d done this ride a thousand times.

This time, however, she suddenly exclaimed at my riding. “Why you riding like a lunatic? I’m in no hurry and I don’t want to die. Ride slowly. I hate people who ride like this,” she said.

In another 30 seconds, while still in motion, I took off my helmet and kept it at my feet. Again, she showered me with some cuss words. “This is how people have accidents. Continue doing all these antics while riding and go crash into a tree!”

That’s when I realised I had started riding like a boy.

I’ve been riding in Bangalore for the past 10 years. Malleswaram, Vasanth Nagar, MG Road, Koramangala, Jayanagar, JP Nagar, Kanakapura Road, Bannerghatta Road, Bellandur, Hebbal, name it, I’ve been there on my 85 cc bike. I’ve mastered the art of weaving in and out of traffic. All this with zero accidents. (Yes, touch wood.)

On my Scooty Pep +. Picture courtesy: Komalaaa :)

I’ve been jeered at, that women can’t ride, I’ve been angered by that comment, then gotten over the anger and have eventually seen a few girls behind the wheel and thought, “Ok I guess women really can’t drive.”

Now, I’ve reached a been-there-done-that phase, where I couldn’t care less about what people think of my riding skills.

The thing is, even though I know that I’m awesome at riding, people on the road look at me, a girl, and think, “Oh there’s a girl riding. Surely, she’ll do something ridiculous on the road.” No matter what I do, they’re going to think it’s ridiculous simply because I’m a girl. So I take that as a license to ride however I want – whether I want to ride really slow on the right lane or whether I want to zip past vehicles by cutting across them rudely – because hey, I’m a girl and I ride like a lunatic!

Well, I could do all that, but I don’t have a general disregard for rules. So, right now, all I do is overtake vehicles, be it in slow moving traffic or fast traffic. I glide smoothly from the right side to the left and overtake trucks, cars and buses alike. I ride like most of those boys that sit on the back seat of a Dio or Activa and stretch their legs in front of them.

It’s actually very liberating to do that and to get told that I ride like a boy. To stand out of the stereotype that girls can’t ride. In fact, I’ve been told that before too. When I used to play football in college, my coach once told me, “You play football like a boy!” I beamed at him. In fact, I was so happy that I came back home that very day, opened my diary and made a note of his compliment.

Now, I’m not saying that girls suck at riding or at playing football. I’ve seen girl footballers that can run circles around defenders or execute neat freestyle moves. I’ve also seen girls who can pull off some wicked stunts while driving (only in videos). But these girls are rare to find. Anyway, I’m sure all girls who have been riding for years in India will relate to this.

The thing is, I’ve always battled with myself about whether I should feel happy about being told I’m like a guy or whether I should be all feminist and get pissed about it. But no matter how much I try to get pissed at the statement, I don’t. Well, it depends on what the compliment is for. If someone tells a guy that he multi-tasks like a girl, then he should be very proud. On the other hand, if someone told me that I carry myself like a guy, I’d be very sad. So, that’s kind of what I’m talking about.

Being classy on an RX-100

I like being told I ride like a guy. Since I apparently have the skill, I have now started riding an RX-100, my dad’s newest buy. Well, it isn’t a new bike, obviously. I’m sure it has been owned by at least six people before. My dad is the master of buying second, third, fourth, fifth-hand things. After buying them, he repairs them, paints them, modifies them and makes them as good as new.

And guess what! It took me just 90 seconds to learn how to ride the motorbike. It’s so simple! Even my friend, Nisha, took 30 seconds to learn to ride a Bullet!

So, once I figured out the bike, my first question to my dad was why girls don’t ride motorbikes. Just why?

It’s so liberating! That krranng sound when you kick-start the bike, the smoothness you experience when you shift to third gear, the idea of laughing at lameass guys who ride dabba motorbikes, it’s amazing!

I really think girls should start riding like guys, and start riding motorcycles too. I want them to be revolutionary, so much so that a few generations later, men should be complimented that they ride like women. (Actually, if someone told a guy, “Dude you ride like Swathi,” then it’s already a compliment. Haha!) I wish there are more girls who’ll take that extra step and be awesome at this seemingly male-dominated skill.

Nothing can make you feel more independent and awesome. Trust me.

So, come on girls! Time to be badass!

More than meets the eye

How do you sum up a person in 500 words? I’m not sure, but I’m going to give it a shot nevertheless. My father is perhaps the youngest looking 57-year-old I know. He sports long curly hair and a mustache. He has had people tell him he looks like a hippy. But he is far from that. Wearing his factory uniform and a pair of Ray-ban sun glasses, he goes to my mother’s office on his 1985 model Royal Enfield, to pick her up, every single day.

My father is a simple man. He has followed the same routine for over thirty years. He works until five, comes back with my mother at six and stays in his garage until nine, after which we have dinner at the table. He is a workaholic. There is nothing he enjoys more than fixing bikes and cars. It baffles me to think of how long and testing his journey has been. Once a part time auto driver, he is now the Senior Manager of his department at BHEL.

There are days when he has a faraway look in his eyes and tells us about his childhood; about how he failed few subjects some times and how he got a double promotion sometimes; about his love for gasagase paaysa and how he had once poured some into his pocket hoping to drink it later. Silly appa! My sister and I never tire of listening to his stories, but the opportunity to do so is rare.

It’s strange how my father never ceases to amaze me. For a long time I thought my father was not a family man. Of course he loves his family and my parents are a very happy couple. But he rarely displays any emotion. It might seem silly, but a few weeks ago I was wondering if my parents had, at least once, said “I love you” to each other. During the same week came an instance when my mother was out of station and my dad was very ill, in a hospital, with just my sister and me to nurse him. Just listening to his shaky voice when he spoke to her over the phone and seeing the expression on his face when my mother came back was enough for me to tell how much he missed her. Relationship, I thought, was the last thing my dad would advise me about. But somehow, without saying a word, he passed on a valuable lesson to me. Flowery words and dramatic gestures don’t make a relationship strong. All you need is strong mutual understanding, and along with that, comes unconditional love.

 

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My father has taught me to strive for what I want and make sure I get it. It’s very difficult to be like him. He extracts the best out of life. I’d like to think that I’m a lot like him. I like being told that I look like my father or that I behave like him. I like to think I get my love for animals, my short temper, my tomboyishness and my lust for life from him. My mom, sister and I adore my dad. He brings the most boring places to life. His very presence instills a sense of security and completion in us. I hope my dad stays exactly like this forever, young at heart, energetic and immensely passionate about everything he does.

 

I wrote this a whole ago as part of an assignment in my journalism school.