I have always disliked being a pillion. Mostly because I cannot trust people who drive to ride safely. Not that I am a good rider, but at least I am in control of my life. Some months back my vehicle broke and due to some undisclosed reason I did not fix it. Its gathering dust and occupying parking space; I took a look at it yesterday and realised it was dilapidated. Poor soul !So what now? Bus, walk and 6-sitters (chakada) are my transportation. Even then life isn’t in my hands. The buses have rusted brakes that don’t decelerate when they are supposed to, 6-sitter drivers just don’t get enough passengers and if I walk rest of the world is driving.
A friend once gave me lift to college on his bike and it went left and right, tilted at 120-150 degrees and my knees were saved from getting scratched. Before that another friend gave me lift on his rusted, colorless scooter and he just accelerated and accelerated and tilted at 160 degrees. I closed my eyes shut, waiting for someone to crash us or waiting for our vehicle to get dashed on a divider or to a truck or to the bus or to some wall.
Behold! I am alive. Twice bitten forever shy. Since then I have never being a pillion to a guy. But I cannot stop men from driving bikes or vehicles. I am not anti-men, they make perfect mates for sure, but when they adorn the bikes and vehicles they become monsters. Men, when into the role of a biker, are bad.
Yesterday, I was returning from Yoga and was in peace of mind; I stood on the side and was talking to an NRI (Non-residential Indians or perhaps, Non-returning Indians) asking him how was he finding it as I adjusted my black bag on my shoulders pushing it a little backwards, as is the wont. Not surprisingly he said he was finding it good. A biker, probably husband and wife or boyfriend and girlfriend or brother and sisters, whatever, accelerated full speed and as the NRI said “If I can do this much it would be good”, the biker stuck his mirror in my bag’s handle. I shouted “Shit man!” and the speed made me take an unplanned somersault landing me straight on my left side from some height. I gathered some courage, got hold of my legs and crawled to the side of the road. As it turns out they too fell but were not hurt much (I foound that next day). People gathered as usual, offered water, some offered me to drop at home and so did the biker. I was not in a position to fight with anyone, I never am. I declined all help and walked pretending stability and entered another life-threatening transport – 6-seater.
After reaching home I realised that both my knees are swollen and bleeding, elbow scratched a little, entire left side paining badly and my spectacles were broken. The pain worsened the next day. Knees refused to bend and so did my waist. Elbows couldn’t bear being touched. Left-shoulder declined any movement. Forehead hated any caress by my own hand. Walking was a nightmare and so was sitting or sleeping. I declined any medications as I dislike them. Finally I took a pain-killer on my own in the afternoon and went to sleep, went Yoga in the evening and could only give my 50 percent.
Bikers, by nature are insincere and bad.