11.30 pm on a not-so-drunk Saturday night. I was driving home after a dinner party at a friend’s place. It’s a 20 minutes ride down this straight road at my speed; more so because the road is dead empty at night. Cruising down this lane with a mild breeze touching your face gently is a delightful experience. Racing down this lane, I realized, was another story. No one to stop you, no traffic, no cops, no old grandma crossing the road, no school kids walking in the middle of the road. With the fastest production bike on Indian roads under my ass, I set out on my Adrenaline pumping ride.
The road was dimly lit with whatever little street lights it had. It was a bit darker than usual. May be because the moon was no where to be seen. There was very little or almost no traffic on the road. An occasional car or a bike brushed past me at random. There was this dark serenity that seemed to keep me at peace. Half way down the road, I saw a bright light flashing at my rear view mirrors. The light kept coming closer and soon it was tailing me. Bouncing on either side it was trying to get ahead of me. In a moment it came ahead right next to me and I noticed a guy and a girl on his bike. Well, his girl? The flaunt in his eyes and the way she held on to him said it all. He revved his engine a couple of times in an unsigned agreement to race with me. I complied. Testosterone took over Adrenaline. I had to beat him. Make his girl wish that she was sitting on the opposite seat. Make him swear to himself that he’d never try this again; at least not with me.
With realization of the challenge as the starting point of the race, we started off. Getting ahead and staying ahead was the only finishing point of the race. A couple of smart moves and he was ahead of me. His girl was staring gloriously at me. All I could see was the road ahead, with him on it. All I could think was beating him. All I could hear was engines grunting and battling it out. Up shifting a gear and a couple of amateur Rossi moves, I accelerated past him. In true racing terms, I had smoked him. I kept accelerating with an evil grin on my face. The biker had finally beaten the loser. I could picture the look on his girl’s face, more importantly his face. I had won the race.
My victory trance was broken by the sudden sight of another bike crossing the road at an intersection. It was the only intersection that I had forgotten in the moment of insanity. As a reflex action I braked hard, really hard. The tires began screaming in pain. Smell of burning rubber filled up the chicane. My bike started fishtailing like a shark caught by its mouth with a hook. Within a moment I found my bike piercing into the other like a bullet into glass. The dark calm turned into a chaos of metal clashing against metal, burning rubber and the resultant noise gave a feeling that death’s come knelling down. I saw three people being flung into air; the third one being me. And that was the last thing I saw clearly.
Then everything turned silent. The metal clashing had stopped. There were no screeching tires. The roaring engines had died. And I lay on the ground hoping that those were the only dead ones in the whole story. I thought that the dark calm had returned. It did but it brought with itself the faint moans and screams of the victims of my actions. I couldn’t see who they were, for I couldn’t move. The pain was so excruciating that I had stopped feeling pain itself. The smell of blood had dissolved in the smell of petrol and the only feelings I could associate with myself was that of being in pain and being alive. The darkness had grown because the dim street lights turned dimmer. Everything seemed hazy. Fear replaced every emotion in my mind and life started playing backwards. The darkness kept growing in my mind, in my eyes and in my time. And then everything was just switched off.
Now I lay on a bed. I can feel myself being there, the pain being there. I’m alive and counting reasons for being so. The darkness is gone, the lights are back and so are the sounds, mostly voices. I hesitantly look around and I see people standing near a bed and talking. I see people standing outside the room. I see my dad, I see a doctor and I see a cop. Things look bad. Fear again takes over curiosity. All they say is one thing and all I hear is one thing.
“He must have been doing at least an insane 80 when he hit them. What was he thinking? Huh …was he thinking?” “His blood indicated alcohol levels. The guy must be drunk.” “We saved the man but the woman and the child are no more; the unborn child that is.” The darkness is back. Its brought pain, fear, remorse and above all, death. The accident or murder, as my conscience terms it, had killed the lady who was a couple of months pregnant. The impact of my winning sprint was so strong that she was thrown away a couple of meters killing her with her baby on the spot. The helmet saved me and the other guy. I don’t wish to propagate the RTO rule that it implements according to how empty its pockets are but that’s the only reason I can think of that saved us.
They say one man’s loss is another’s gain. He lost the race and I gained a lot with it. A title of winner only to be stripped off to fit in the new one of a killer, not just that loser’s but a lot of other people’s anger as well. I got a lot of bandages as trophies. There’s no other guy, there’s no impressed girl, just a lot of people in pain and two in grave. Now I’m the one who’s swearing never to try this again. The dark calm before the race is back. And it’s brought death with it this time. Clearly there’s just one winner now. And surely it’s not me.
- Harshal Kalyanpur
harshal.kpr@gmail.com
The road was dimly lit with whatever little street lights it had. It was a bit darker than usual. May be because the moon was no where to be seen. There was very little or almost no traffic on the road. An occasional car or a bike brushed past me at random. There was this dark serenity that seemed to keep me at peace. Half way down the road, I saw a bright light flashing at my rear view mirrors. The light kept coming closer and soon it was tailing me. Bouncing on either side it was trying to get ahead of me. In a moment it came ahead right next to me and I noticed a guy and a girl on his bike. Well, his girl? The flaunt in his eyes and the way she held on to him said it all. He revved his engine a couple of times in an unsigned agreement to race with me. I complied. Testosterone took over Adrenaline. I had to beat him. Make his girl wish that she was sitting on the opposite seat. Make him swear to himself that he’d never try this again; at least not with me.
With realization of the challenge as the starting point of the race, we started off. Getting ahead and staying ahead was the only finishing point of the race. A couple of smart moves and he was ahead of me. His girl was staring gloriously at me. All I could see was the road ahead, with him on it. All I could think was beating him. All I could hear was engines grunting and battling it out. Up shifting a gear and a couple of amateur Rossi moves, I accelerated past him. In true racing terms, I had smoked him. I kept accelerating with an evil grin on my face. The biker had finally beaten the loser. I could picture the look on his girl’s face, more importantly his face. I had won the race.
My victory trance was broken by the sudden sight of another bike crossing the road at an intersection. It was the only intersection that I had forgotten in the moment of insanity. As a reflex action I braked hard, really hard. The tires began screaming in pain. Smell of burning rubber filled up the chicane. My bike started fishtailing like a shark caught by its mouth with a hook. Within a moment I found my bike piercing into the other like a bullet into glass. The dark calm turned into a chaos of metal clashing against metal, burning rubber and the resultant noise gave a feeling that death’s come knelling down. I saw three people being flung into air; the third one being me. And that was the last thing I saw clearly.
Then everything turned silent. The metal clashing had stopped. There were no screeching tires. The roaring engines had died. And I lay on the ground hoping that those were the only dead ones in the whole story. I thought that the dark calm had returned. It did but it brought with itself the faint moans and screams of the victims of my actions. I couldn’t see who they were, for I couldn’t move. The pain was so excruciating that I had stopped feeling pain itself. The smell of blood had dissolved in the smell of petrol and the only feelings I could associate with myself was that of being in pain and being alive. The darkness had grown because the dim street lights turned dimmer. Everything seemed hazy. Fear replaced every emotion in my mind and life started playing backwards. The darkness kept growing in my mind, in my eyes and in my time. And then everything was just switched off.
Now I lay on a bed. I can feel myself being there, the pain being there. I’m alive and counting reasons for being so. The darkness is gone, the lights are back and so are the sounds, mostly voices. I hesitantly look around and I see people standing near a bed and talking. I see people standing outside the room. I see my dad, I see a doctor and I see a cop. Things look bad. Fear again takes over curiosity. All they say is one thing and all I hear is one thing.
“He must have been doing at least an insane 80 when he hit them. What was he thinking? Huh …was he thinking?” “His blood indicated alcohol levels. The guy must be drunk.” “We saved the man but the woman and the child are no more; the unborn child that is.” The darkness is back. Its brought pain, fear, remorse and above all, death. The accident or murder, as my conscience terms it, had killed the lady who was a couple of months pregnant. The impact of my winning sprint was so strong that she was thrown away a couple of meters killing her with her baby on the spot. The helmet saved me and the other guy. I don’t wish to propagate the RTO rule that it implements according to how empty its pockets are but that’s the only reason I can think of that saved us.
They say one man’s loss is another’s gain. He lost the race and I gained a lot with it. A title of winner only to be stripped off to fit in the new one of a killer, not just that loser’s but a lot of other people’s anger as well. I got a lot of bandages as trophies. There’s no other guy, there’s no impressed girl, just a lot of people in pain and two in grave. Now I’m the one who’s swearing never to try this again. The dark calm before the race is back. And it’s brought death with it this time. Clearly there’s just one winner now. And surely it’s not me.
- Harshal Kalyanpur
harshal.kpr@gmail.com
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8 comments:
divya, i still remember your write-up for 'nostalgia'. Harshal has given a gr8 'takkar' to that one.
Harshal, so simple and intense. Read each word and couldn't get my eyes off the screen. Great work. Let me start earning, you're getting a gift. Perhaps a bike which doesn't go past 30kmph. Hehe.
YOU HIT ME HARD PAL. TRULY.
Harshal..Amazing! I knew you wrote well, but not that you wrote so well..More than the story, it's your narrative style which shines throughout. The story begins on a very pulsating note and you have managed to maintain the rythm right to the end. As Sam said, not for a moment, I felt like taking my eyes off the screen...There are very few writers who can manage to write thrillers and carry it off so well cos thrillers need to grab the reader's attention and hold it on. I am in awe, dude! More so maybe because I have always read humourous stuff written by you. You have switched your writing style so conveniently from humour to thriller and have managed to do so with class and elan! Way to go, dude! And one more thing, your love for bikes just shows through!!
great one harshal!
hard hitting!
you have built it up real well!sounds convincingly true!
What starts off as exciting in the beginning turns morbid in the end. The realization of one's actions, the guilt is darker than any other human emotion. 'Coz there's no respite and THIS is so wonderfully orchestrated here.
Also, this story is so socially relevant! Especially after hearing about New year antics.
Hope to see more of you on FRW :) Happy writing!
A pulsating beginning and a tranquil (and impressive) end.
I totally loved the energy that can be sensed in this article. It's as youthful as I would have liked it to be.
Fantastic style of writing; expecting more from you. :)
@Painkiller:how about a bike which does 300kph? make sure u earn a lot..it does cost a bit.
@divya:u will c a lot humour from me, rest assured.Yes, this love of bikes never seems to die :P
@pallavi:it could be a true story..given the number of accidents that happen...who knows.
@janvi:yes its true.precisely what i was trying to get across.i myself as a rider must have indulged in road rage sometime or the other and have gotten away with it. looking back at it ...its just not worth it.
@ the critic:the underlying message would have sounded a bit preachy had i not made it so narrative. and couldn't think of an emotion darker than death.to most i believe its the darkest.
@all:thank you for the comments.ive tried to make it an interesting read.im glad everyone liked it.those among you who ride or drive, ride safely,drive safely,life begins at 60 but could end at 120..and i mean the speed. ;)
i know it's a really late comment but i wouldn't have forgiven myself if i hadn't commented on this issue and this story!
brilliant story! i loved your narrative style.. terrific hold on the language, i must say.. shows in the way you've built up to the climax.. takes a highly skilled storyteller to do that! i think the climax could've been a little better but that's STRICTLY for the sake of criticism ONLY! if i had to choose the best piece of this issue, it'd either be yours or janvi's..
The story is a fabuluos one. donont know weather it is a real one or not but the way that the writer has written it it seems to be a narratinf experience.at the end the story leaves u numb and is seeking all the attention it could and makes you think about it.The lines are gud enough to display every emotion weather it would be galore of joy or the excrutiating pain that the narrator wants to explains. it does not leave the grip and forces you to read till the end to know what is in store for us next.
In short a gud one
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