The Bends

Nine thirty am somewhere in the Cantonment area. Bangalore rush hour. The light turns green and I cruise through on "cockroach", my motorbike, taking a deep bank leftwards, passing a truck, accelerating at the same time. Time stops, reshuffles, and starts again. I'm in the Nubra valley, high up in the Himalayas, north of Leh, north of Khardung La, they say it's the gateway to Central Asia. At the moment, only three motorbikes and fifty army trucks occupy this superb stretch of skyways hanging off the mountains. Cockroach is in form. I'm banking over on a curve and accelerating past a convoy of army trucks. I can see Subroto tailing me in my rearview, hornless and dependent on me to clear his path. Farther behind in the distance is Bansi whose bike is not doing so good at the moment leaving Subroto and me to speed onwards through the mountains like maniancs. I laugh and look ahead. An autorickshaw drives straight into my path perpendicular to the flow of traffic, I'm surrounded by two wheelers, three wheelers, four wheelers, horns blowing, smoke spewing. I glide down and land softly back onto reality with a smile. Nice dream.