Padma wheezed her last to a busted crank shaft outside
the Infant Jesus Church in Vivek Nagar yesterday. A fortuitous miracle, I’m
inclined to believe, since Tanveer Bhai (my normal mechanic), happens to have a
run-down garage less than a block away. It was 6 PM and I knew I was atleast
an hour away from receiving my first hefty quote on the money involved in
getting her up and running. Silently, I prayed to Baby J, hoping that the damage
would be minimal. This, of course, was an exercise in futility. Every Standard
350 owner knows that if he pushes his bike in to a mechanic, any mechanic in
Bangalore, for anything other than a flat tyre, he better have a small fortune
saved up to pay for repairs. As Tanveer Bhai began opening up the engine block
to assess the non-existent damage, my thoughts wandered to the fantastic
prospect of an early evening snack. What better place than Vivek Nagar to have
an early evening slam fest.
It was then that something dawned on me that I
have been thinking about ever since.
You really have spent way too long in a city
when you can have an unexpected vehicular breakdown in a random area, know
where the closest ‘specialist’ mechanic is, definitely know where you can grab
a snack while you wait, a fantastic one at that, and also know at least 5
different routes back home, each a back-up plan in case of encountered 7 PM
traffic. Better than an auto-driver. Really, you know the shortest way back
better than the auto-guy who promises to take you home in quick time. Well
enough to argue with him about every single wrong turn he took. What’s worse
(or better?!), is that you can even find a twice-visited bar within 100 feet
from any location, just in case it’s Friday and Tanveer Bhai needs to head for
namaazaan and you have a little more than an hour to kill. There may be other
signs too, like the familiarity in smells and sounds. Indiranagar, for example,
smells of yesterday’s spilt beer and sounds like non-kannada speaking people;
Malleshwaram, smells of temple flowers and sounds like loud sipped filter
kaapi, KR Market of rotting vegetables and echoed BTS bus honks; Jayanagar of fresh
rain and bicycle pedals, Koramangala of Bengali food and college banter, Old
Madras Road of carbon monoxide and accidents. Heck, you might even know a
secluded spot well enough for when you really have to take a tutt near Sony
signal.
The obvious question then is, is that really a
good thing or a bad thing? Personally, while I do feel that there is a certain
mundaneness to living a routine life in a not so impressive city, there are
always these tiny little surprises that make it all worthwhile. Take for
example, this ‘Beef Kebab’ stall in Viveknagar. Manned by an obvious
out-of-work butcher helming two pots of kerosene, one a lamp to intensify an
already horrific setting, with the blood lettering and all, and the second to
deep fry particulate matter of unidentified beef cuts. The reason I believe he
was an out-of-work butcher was because he corrected me when I asked for ‘Veal
Kebab’. “Not veal kebab saar. Full grown beef kebab.” Dang, this guy knew his
way around a carcass and an abattoir. Interestingly, the kebabs themselves were
pretty good. The closest comparison is the popcorn chicken from KFC in size but
twice as crunchy in texture. At 30 rupees for a large handful, this was surely
some serious booze food. The real find though was this partly constructed
eatery where a Miyaan was pan-searing some delectable chaaps. Supremely tender,
juicy and altogether better than the phaal that’s normally roasted over
charcoals.
Feels good to be hitting the street again. You
never know what you might find when your bike dies on you, no?
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