Riding safe is the call, are you listening?

When I died some 20years ago, I didn’t realize would ever be worshipped for something I could have actually tried to avoid. I tried to re-write it, tried to erase the mistake I did; but, it’s not always the way one wishes!

I am Om Singh; they fondly call me Om Bana or more lovingly Bullet Baba. Chotila is the village where I was born and brought up into a Bulleteer. It was 1991, month I don’t remember – for it never mattered to me; it was just another pleasant night in the hot sands of Rajasthan when I died. Time stopped that day, at least for me!

Like any other young youth of there times, I too had an ambitious heart raving high on his Bullet through the yet-to-be metalled roads of Rajasthan. I brought up in a family, affluent to most of the resources, if not like rajahs. Chotila was my kingdom, friends my life and Bullet – the mighty machine I ride. Alcohol was another special friend, who dragged me to this tale of fortunes and, yes for certain, misfortunes. You know, it’s a different story riding the bull high on alcohol.

Nothing much was significant about my life; if any, nothing mattered after I lost it. Anyways, I know there is a hint of dark sadness in my story, but this is what I’ve inherited from that fateful night. The night, I died.

After having a grand party with friends and the special friend, I talked about, I was returning back to my home.

“Dead souls are those who say shit is to drink and drive”, I said to myself, smiling the way I was liked by my family, my nieces and the girl, I loved so much, “when you’re high, you’re on the right track to ride high”.

Moon too was high, high on the sky, sky was clear and the air had that thrill of pleasure that once I felt I was hallucinating.

“Huh! Just a few pegs, 2, naah….3 or so, forget it – if you’ve counted it, you haven’t drink it mann! Main kahin kavi na bann jaun…” the wind was so amusing, I was living it! Have you ever tried revving your bullet after revving yourself with pegs and pegs of the rum you love? I tried it so many times, that I lost count. It was just another night in my life, when I was drunk and still on ride. Dark as hell the night was tearing apart by the roar of my bull and the headlight. Stars clipped on the carpet of sky with that bright moon were smiling at me! I gave a look to them, attitude the dudes say it these days, we said it bhaav! I reached my moustache, caressing it before I could dress my hair with a sigh of relief that the riding brought to me! Oh, have I told you, I never wore helmet? Helmet is for kids, Men do it bare-head!

80-90 was the speed, dug-dug-dug was the music, and high was the life, when she came in front of me. I loved her so much! Not a single moment was spent without recalling her, the way she looks at me, in fact peeks at me; the way she dries her long black hair on her roof; the way she shyly caresses my moustaches when allowed to! Wow, such a damn lover I was, and here I got her in front of me on that lonely road. Just she and me, me and her, we – the two, together, “Main kahin kavi na bann jaun…”

Wolves cried somewhere far and similar was the scream of my brakes. I still don’t remember what happened except that intense pain and the warmth of blood. Few minutes spent, I had no pain, but just a question, “if it’s me standing here, who’s that fella laying in pool of blood with a bullet like mine near that tree?”

“Who the hell is he? And, why is nobody here to help him” I talked to myself running towards him, “what the hell, why ain’t I reaching to save his life”, struggling to reach him but unable after all the efforts I could put into. Harassed I started walking towards the village, when I saw a few passers-by running towards the guy from the other side of the road.

“He’s Om Bana!” someone said

“Is he okay?” I asked, though I felt none felt me, they acted as if I wasn’t there. “Just a minute, he said the guy is Om. Then who am I?” I was puzzeled!

As the sun rose in the east, and my family, my sweet nieces and my girl too gathered there, the dew of confusion was melted away, “I am dead” I said to myself.

I left that place, I couldn’t bear seeing my baapu sa, ma sa, laadli and my girl managing with the situation they had. I could never forget that scene, never. I asked the God, “Why me?” a million times and it went unanswered. Stranded by Him, I brought back my bullet next night from the police station and tried to re-write the events. Failed, I attempted it again and again. Even when they chained my bull, I brought it back to the road but failed again to re-write the destiny I have already met. I tried to re-write it, but poor villagers took it as if am a God myself! What a joke on me!

Om Bana's Bullet - Riding towards Sunshine, Riding towards Sanity

“Don’t worship me, I am just like you, I have sinned and am not God” I cried, but the people established the shrine for me and my Bullet, all I could do was to watch. Left on the earth without a body has a got a purpose which is kept defying by the people who go by legends and not their instinct. They visit, they worship, they blog, they tweet, but only a few try to calm my agony of being worshiped for drinking and driving imprudently, for treating helmet as kiddy stuff! I have been left here by Him, to tell people that it’s not just about your own life but a number of others dependent solely on you, their wishes, their emotions and above all but not the least - their love! If I be given just one chance to atonement, I would tell them all not to offer me any liquor, don't praise me, just keep safety your first priority while riding. You may drink and enjoy riding a number of times, but it would be just one miscalculation that would drag you and your lovable ones into suffering even after you die!

I died and now I’m preaching, but the question is “you are Live but are you hearing? Riding safe is the call, are you listening?”

(This is a highly imaginative story based on known and rumoured facts about the Bullet diety, Bullet baba. In my first attempt to write a story as a first person, I may have gone over-dramatic and have shown the struggle to express my feelings. This is purely a work of imagination and should be treated like that. I visited the famous Bullet Baba's temple near Pali this January only. Confused what to wish from a man who actually died because he was drunk and riding, something knocked me from inside to view the faith (or the belief) that local people had in an ordinary man through his eyes. I would have taken more time to write down this story, thanks to my procrastination-dharma, if the Indiblogger.in wouldn't have invited to write for Mahindra XUV500 Incredible Stories! Thanks! Fellow Indibloggers may show some love here <3)

तो कौन सा गाँव बताया आपने?

"तो कौन सा गाँव बताया आपने?"
पूरी कोशिश करने के बाद भी जब महाशय मेरी जात का पता नहीं कर पाए, तो अंतिम प्रयासों में उन्होंने गाँव, देहात से अंदाजा लगाने चाहा.

सुधाजी के रेलप्रसंग को पढने पर मुझे ये पुरानी घटना याद आई, उनके ही सुझाव पर आलसी होने के बावजूद मैंने इसे शब्दों में गुथने की कोशिश की.

ये बात कोई आठ-एक साल पुरानी होगी, मैं तब B.Sc. कर रहा था, और उस बनारस से पटना की रेल यात्रा पर था. बनारस से वस्तुतः कोई सीधी और अच्छे समय की ट्रेन नहीं है पटना के लिए, तो ज्यादातर जनता भारत के सबसे बड़े रेलवे जंक्सन, मुगलसराय, से ट्रेन पकड़ना पसंद करते हैं. जगह की किल्लत और संभवतः engineering की कोई महान रचना करने के लिए, कुछ भारतीय रेलवे स्टेशन अजीबोगरीब रूप में गधे हुए हैं, वास्तु भी एक कारण हो सकता है. मुगलसराय, अल्लाहाबाद और खरगपुर कुछ ऐसे ही स्टेशन हैं जहाँ अगर लोकल जनता ने मदद नही की तो आप ट्रेन पकड़ चुके!

वाराणसी रेलवे स्टेशन 

तो कहानी पर वापस आते हुए, मैं मुगलसराय से पटना जा रहा था. ब्रम्हपुत्र मेल की ठसाठस हालत देख मैंने उसमे ना चढ़ना ही ठीक समझा. अगली ट्रेन कोई फास्ट-पैसेंजर टाइप थी. प्लेटफार्मों की भूलभुलैया से जूझता हुआ मैं सही जगह पहुंचा. जापान जाने की चाह में चीन न पहुच जाऊं, इसके लिए मैंने पास में खड़े पुलिस वाले अंकल जी से पूछना ठीक समझा.
           "ये पटना ही जा रही है ना?"
ऊपर से नीचे तक मुझे देख, कुछ समझ कर उनका उत्तर आया "अच्छी ट्रेन है, बैठ जाओ, ज्यादा भीड़ भी ना होगी"

थोडा पूछने पे ज्यादा मिलना हमेशा बूरा नही होता. ट्रेन वैसी ही निकली - समय-बंध और खाली! बुरा ये हुआ, की वो अंकल जी भी साथ में ही आ धमके और पुरे रास्ते एक ही बिंदु पर अटके रहा - मेरी जात कौन सी है?

"पढ़ते हो? नाम क्या है?"
          "जी, पुनीत नाम है"
"बस पुनीत, आगे कुछ नहीं है?"
          "नहीं, आजकल कौन लगाना चाहता आगे कुछ?"
"हाँ, सहिये कहे, फायदे ही का है, बल्कि कुछ के लिए तो फायदे ही है."

इतनी खाली ट्रेन में मेरा ये संभवतः पहला ही सफ़र था. मुझे अपनी क्षमता में तो याद नहीं, वैसी कोई और यात्रा. पूरी द्वितीय श्रेणी (2nd class) पेस्सेंजर बोगी में कोई १०-१ लोग ही होंगे, और मैं इन महानुभाव के साथ था.

"तो पटना पढ़ाई के लिए जा रहे, या रिश्ते में?"
         "दीदी रहती है."
"अच्छा. पटना कहाँ?"
         "सिटी, वहीं के हैं आप?", कई बार सवालों से बचने का सबसे सुगम उपाय होता है एक और सवाल दाग देना.
"नहीं नहीं, हम तो आरा के है. वहां ****** साहब लोगों का एक बड़ा गाँव है, वहीं के हैं. पोस्टिंग में इ मुगलसराय-चंदोली आना-जाना लगा रहता है"
"वैसे अजीब जगह है ई चंदोली, नक्सली भी हैं और कोयला चुराने वाले भी" मेरा द्दंव शायद उल्टा पड़ चूका था, उनके पास काफी कहानियां थीं पकाने के लिए.

कुछ समय का विश्राम, खैनी-अभिनन्दन, और वापस अपने मुद्दे पर, "पिता जी भी नहीं लगाते, या बस बच्चों के नाम से हटा दिया?"
        "हाँ? मतलब? मतलब क्या हटा दिया?"
"अरे, टाईटील, अरे surname कहते हैं न अंग्रेजी में"
         "अच्छा, हाँ हाँ वो भी नहीं पसंद करते." मुझे अब तक इस वार्ता में मज़ा आना शुरू हो चूका था.
"तो कौन सा गाँव बताया आपने?" पूरी कोशिश करने के बाद भी जब महाशय मेरी जात का पता नहीं कर पाए, तो अंतिम प्रयासों में उन्होंने गाँव, देहात से अंदाजा लगाने चाहा. मेरे स्कूल के एक अध्यापक की भी ये आदत हुआ करती थी, कौन गाँव बताया रे-पुछ के छात्र का चरित्र-चित्रण उनका शौक था. मुझे उनके चेहरे पर खिसियाहट दीखने लगने थी. किसी को चिढाने का अपना ही मज़ा है, वो भी तब जब सामने वाला चिढ रहा हो.

मेरा गाँव 

            "बलिया, छाता गाँव से हैं. आप गए हैं वहां? सहतवार के और दखिन में पड़ता है. कटहल नाले के उधर", मुझे अपने गाँव के बारे में इतना ही पता है, बहुत जानता हूँ ये बताने के लिए काफी था.
"अच्छा, यार वहाँ तो हमारे बिरादरी के बहुतों का ब्याह हुआ है. **** ही हो तुमलोग. हमको लगा चेहरा देख के, आदमी की पहचान अच्छी है हमारी. अच्छेबर बाबू को तो जनबे करते होगे" बांछे खिल चुकी थी अंकल जी की.
             "नहीं, उनके घर के नहीं हैं. वैद्य जी के यहाँ के हैं" मैंने अंतिम गुगली डाली.

"कौन वैद्य जी! नाम क्या बताया, मतलब पूरा नाम क्या बताया? अरे यार, आर्य समाजी हो क्या, बुझउवल कर रहे?"
              "##### जात का हूँ, आपने पूछा ही नहीं खुल के. और जात में हमें ज्यादा कुछ दीखता नही तो हमने बताया नहीं"

चेहरा अभी भी भी खिला ही हुआ था. ख़ुशी किस बात की थी वो बताना आसान है, आखिर पूरा सफर अपने जैसी जात वाले के साथ ही की गयी थी. मैं भी थोडा तो खुश था, रास्ते भर मनोरंजन का कार्यक्रम चलता रहा, पर एक बड़ा प्रश्न तो अभी भी वहीं था. आखिर किस हद्द तक जरुरी है ये जात का हवाला रखना? रस्ते में चलने वाले की भी जात पता करने की ये अजीबोगरीब चाहत कहीं न कहीं तो अन्दर तो छेड़ ही जाती है. संभवतः कुछ वर्षों में हमें बदलाव दिखना शुरू हो, संभवतः....

आपने भी तो ट्रेन में ऐसी किसी घटना से दो-चार किया ही होगा, अपना वृत्तांत भी सुनाये, कुछ कथन/comments  हमेशा ही सराहनीय और प्रेरणा-स्रोत होते हैं...



(ये पोस्ट सुधा जी के सुझाव पर Indiblogger एवम Expedia द्वारा प्रायोजित प्रतियोगिता के लिया लिखा गया है. हिंदी को माध्यम, वार्ता के स्वाद को कायम रखने के लिए किया गया. अगर आप एक मित्र-Indiblogger हैं, तो यहाँ जा के वोट कर सकते हैं)

Bisons' Ride to RM2012: Mumbai to Delhi

Not just the passion, few more factors act decisively while planning a ride. One such factor, that mostly overpowers the enthusiasm, is Leaves’ approval! Plans to the RM2012 ride with other Bisons suffered with the same tragedy when Locha and I had to start the ride together a day later then the fellow Bisons. (For more on RM2012, click here)

Bisons left Mumbai for Challo Dilli ride on 24^th January. Locha aka Chemical Locha aka Amrrutraj and I had problems starting riding to Delhi on 24^th January’s morning. So, we planned to start it on late evening, and finally were able to get on the road in the early morning of 25^th only. Simple pan - 3days to RM2012, we planned to catch the first contingent at/around Udaipur and then ride ahead together.

Saddled up and all geared, we met at our usual rendezvous – Fountain Plaza, Dahisar at around 4:45 AM. Minutes there, some time spent on route ahead, we met brothers from Inddiethumpers. Hugs and mobile numbers exchanged and we hit the NH8 towards Ahmedabad. Our plan for the day was to take detour towards Ambaji/Abu Road at Himmatnagar and halt there.

Locha hoisting Bisons' flag

It was quite a cold morning; we could feel the bite inside our riding gears through the winter liners. We did some 130 kilometres in 2hours of continuos ride before halting for a chae-break. We were few tens of miles from Maharashtra -Gujarat border and Sun was still to rise officially in east. Bisons’ flag was hoisted proudly on our bikes and we were again on the highway. Entering Surat had its own charm. We were climbing over an overbridge when a flock of birds came to fly with us with the rising Sun in east – something that though couldn’t be clicked, would be cherished forever! Locha has asked me to stop for a heavy breakfast only, and I got the message to ride hard before the next stop. A pleasant weather on our side allowed us to ride over 190 kilometers in a single stretch before we stopped for breakfast near Bharuch. We would have ridden more, but traffic jam at Bharuch-bridge compelled us to take a pit stop. To our bad luck, that road side dhaba didn’t have anything to feed our appetite except some farsaan and cups of chae. Disciplined rider Locha came to rescue us with the dry-fruits he was carrying and as usual I was there to munch upon! :)

Crossing the jam and then Vadodara, we took the old NH8 route from Vadodara to Ahmedabad. Mid way we stopped for lunch as I had badly started feeling hunger pangs! Our first realization – There are ‘almost’ NO non-vegetarian resturents/highway dhabas in Gujarat! Even Muslim-run joints were especially vegetarian. Not a problem to me, Locha had to suffer those two days! Back to riding, Achtung declined to ignite as we left the dhaba we had our lunch at. Few nuts tight, carb checked, spark cleaned, it responded – but we had a troubled ride till we somehow reached a bullet-mechanic at Khanwadi, little off Ahmedabad ring-road. The mechanic was a Muslim, and had a small shop with big board Laxmi Auto. No Comments! That guy did the magic, and Achtung was back to its fitness. Culprit was the loose ignition panel! We then rode comfortable till Himmatnagar junction from where we had to take the left turn on SH9 towards Amba ji. Achtung was shivering for some reasons that when we looked upon carefully led us to loosened petrol-tank bolts. To scare us enough bolts were actually quite loose, to save our souls they were not complete off! Tightened, we hit the state highway when the ignition problem recurred. Managing somehow we were riding 60-80 kmph towards Amba ji when Sun wished us good night and the real nightmare of undisciplined lane-riding from opposite side started haunting us. Forced cornering and close passes with insane drivers, through dark jungle and biting cold and a troubled Bullet, we entered Amba ji gate at around 8:30 PM and called it a day at 710 kilometres from where we started!

kadhi-pakoda at Ambaji

Bikers’ rule, hit the first best place to stay and stay! We did the same, a little enquiry with the guard at gate and we stayed at the very first hotel entering Amba ji, ISKON Amby Valley. Hot bath, another round of pure-veg food, we hit the cozy bed to rejuvenate ourselves for another long day of riding. (Locha did spent sometime with office-on-ride, but it’s not worth mentioning ;)

Next morning, we visited Amba ji temple. The temple has got some mystical energy, Archana enlightened with the knowledge. I don’t know why, but I again voluntarily got caught by the thugs that serve temples these days and completed the visit ceremoniously (or something like that)! We rode back to our hotel, saddled up and kicked start our bulls only to know that rear-tyre of Locha’s bull was flattened. He rode it somehow to a nearby puncture-mechanic, who like most of “general” mechanics refused to touch the ailing bull, and referred us to another one. Interestingly, both the mechanics were Mallu and Locha easily managed to get his job done! Meanwhile I searched another bullet-expert, Bhawani Auto, there the guy actually talked with Achtung and found that the air-pipe was loosened, sucking much of air from outside! Another nut tightened, and we were flying on the highway.

Locha posing at Amba ji
s Exit gate

Om Bana aka Bullet Baba

Our Day 2 target was to visit Bullet Baba’s Temple and then reach Jaipur by the night, some 550 kilometres.  But, we had started late and we were destined to pay the price. Passing through heavy city traffic at Abu road, we took NH 14 towards Pali via Sirohi. Some 200 kilometres of ride, we had to take NH65 from Pali towards Jodhpur. Bullet Baba’s Temple is located at about 25kilometers from Pali Naka towards Jodhpur, near Khairla (25.891195N, 73.19905E; Google Maps). Bullet Baba aka Om Bana is very famous in this region. There is a mythical story attached to this temple. It’s said that Om Bana met an accident while riding his Bullet 350 some 21 years back, then a series of mystical things happened, like disappearance of Bullet from Police station and found back at the site of accident. Overwhelmed, local people established the place as a shrine to Om Bana and his Bullet too.

Bullet Baba's Bullet

I am not very religious person