“Sorry beta, but I just can’t let you start driving the car yet. At least, until you get into a professional college. I don’t want you growing wings just yet. ” - Baba

That’s how it is and I don’t mind it one bit. Driving is like that thing you’ve wanted to do all your life, but once you learn it or do it, and once the novelty wears off, it becomes more of a boj than anything else.

I learned this earlier than most other people, because I’ve seen my poor dear uncle getting ordered to pick up groceries from the local market every day of the week just because he was the only one home who could drive a car without crashing it butt-first into a tree.

One epic story, coming right up!

Hairy Teacher Wants Your Picture

I swear to GAWD he looks like this when he's pissed.

The story of my first (and hopefully last)ride on a motorcycle begins on a Sunday. Well actually, the story’s roots are based on a simple request from a hairy teacher asking me to bring him three passport sized photos of me in my college uniform. This request was requested two weeks ago.

So yes, back to Sunday night. Me and my family were out in the bazaar doing mundane stuff. Stuff like buying cookies and peanut butter and milk and honey and bread and eggs.

And then, just as I was walked past a mirror at the store, it hit me: OY! I need to have a tasveer taken!

“Baba, what about the photo?”

“Change into your uniform, and we can have it taken right now”

No way, man. I dislike my uniform. It reminds me of teachers with hairy toes… and boring lectures.

So we decided not to have the picture taken under the condition that, since Baba is so busy in his office-work (it’s hectic!), I’ll have to go to the local photographer in Saddar Bazaar myself after college the next day.

Is There A Motorcycle Owner In The House?

In college the next day, which was a Monday, I snooped around class to check which people brought their motorcycle to college. There were many, including some that brought their very own cars, but I went ahead and asked Baarn* because I knew him personally. He agreed. I smiled. Baat khatam.

Young Blood

Baarn Says Hi!

You do know how crowded roads can become at chutti-time, don’t you? You do? Good. Keep that in mind as you read ahead.

I hopped onto Baarn’s motorcycle at chutti in our college’s makeshift parking lot where he was waiting for me. Now I don’t know whether it was me sitting behind him or just his young passion-ridden blood that induced in him, at that precise moment, the need for speed. Baarn pulled on the accelerator and never let go.

We were swooshing, zipping and vrooming past cars, little children, other motorcycles and fuckfaced onlookers. Exhilirating, but rather scary.

We were lucky enough to go through 31 objects without hitting anything. Alas! One poor Mehran driver wasn’t so lucky. As we raced past him, my over-hanging bag smashed right into his side-view mirror (and consequently, the driver’s heart) with a loud OH-SHIT-HE’S-GONNA-CHASE-YOU-NOW sound.

We were doomed.

BHAGO OYE!

Baarn didn’t really notice the sound of the side-view mirror dashing. He was too busy speeding. It was only when the Mehran driver, let’s just call him Mad-Driver, starting horning (yes, horning) us with his car horn that alerted Baarn to make a decision: fight or flight.

Flight t’was.

Going Jason Bourne On His Ass

In the ensuing 10 minutes, the Mad-Driver kept chasing us. Baarn only took flight because he knew that a Mehran would have less chances of catching us compared to other vehices. The poor little car didn’t have enough power to match with a 125cc Honda motorcycle. If it were a Pajero or Prado or any other vehicle for that matter, we wouldn’t have even thought of taking flight.

Baarn had to drive fast. If we didn’t, it would’ve been easy for him to catch us. And so, while Baarn performed crazy-ass stunts like, for example: accelerating at full speed after turning, not slowing down for bumpy speed breakers and taking questionable shortcuts, I held on for dear life. I shrieked, screeched, screamed and basically just cursed all the way through.

Baarn went Jason Bourne on Mad-Driver’s ass. While I took on the role of the side pay baithi larki shouting “OH-FUCK-WE’RE-GUNNA-DIE“. I think this video will explain things in a better way:

We cut, accelerated and freeze-shat our way across streets, straights and alleys. Mad-Driver was determined to catch us. After all, a side-view mirror and his ego were at stake.

Ill-constructed speed-breakers and deceptive turns didn’t stop the Mad-Driver from following us, an MP check-post did.

Alley Within An Alley, Within An Alley

Ditching the MP check-post by taking a little side-path was the best decision. Owing to the comparatively larger size of the Mehran, Mad-Driver couldn’t take the side-path so he went ahead into the MP check-post. Unlawful, but that’s what stalled Mad-Driver and ultimately helped us escape. Otherwise, our goose was cooked.

Once we realized that Mad-Driver wasn’t following us anymore, we turned into an alley, which lead into another alley, which lead into another alley where we parked the bike behind a QINGQI(this thing).

There was no explosion, but we, as cool guys, walked away from the crime scene unharmed, unblamed, unarrested. (raises fist in trimuph) WINARS!

Smile!

I finally got my passport-sized photo that needed to be taken. Isn’t it lovely?

+100 XP

It was supposed to be a humdrum trip to the photographer, a mundane little task, but here I am writing a post on it cause it ended up being a life-time experience. It’s something I’ll remember forever: the fact that we were chased by a Mad-Driver, pulled off crazy maneuvers, screamed at the top of our lungs (well, me.. mostly), successfully evaded the chasing Mehran and laughed all the way home.

Thank you Baarn.

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DISCLAIMER

artsyHANDS does not in any way encourage, endorse, sponsor, support or associate itself with rowdy motorcyclists. If you drive your motorcycle fast when there is no one chasing you: you are stupid, inconsiderate and downright insane.

*Baarn is a codename. He wouldn’t like being mentioned so openly on the internet.