ADY 1362 – THE HOME WRECKER: Two-wheelers have cast a spell on me ever since I was ten. The obsession became stronger after a cousin lent me his bike for a day. Exploiting this weakness, a crafty fellow journalist palmed off his 15-year-old rickety dying Lambretta to me.
While marketing its plus points to me, my friend discreetly omitted to mention its USP – that it guzzles fuel like a Formula One Ferrari. In the initial burst of enthusiasm, I did not mind it until its thirst for petrol started hurting me and my thin wallet. I even told a car-owning senior journalist that he need not look down upon me just because I was a ‘mere scooterist.’ I told him, rather proudly, ‘remember my scooter consumes as much petrol as your car.’
In due season, scales fell from my eyes and I realized I was tricked into embracing this one tonne of metal bearing number ADY 1362. My frustration turned into anger as the white elephant started acting smart and even vitiating the home atmosphere.
It all started when Lamby steadfastly refused to oblige my wife on the pillion. It came to life at the first kick, but fizzled out the moment she got on to the pillion. The story was the same every time. Mysterious. Things came to a boil when Madam found out that Lamby had no qualms whatsoever of taking a woman journalist on the pillion. I tried to explain that my heart was as pure as a lily and that it did not entertain mischievous thoughts or actions. The story failed to cut ice. In the interest of domestic harmony and peace, I tried my best to persuade Lamby to relent and take the patni on board. No way, the home wrecker said, while brazenly going out of the way to accommodate ‘woh’, I mean the other lady.
Enough, I thought, is enough. I took the bike to our mechanic begging him ‘to do something to salvage our marital ties.’ He fiddled with the wires under the seat and said ‘sir. I have fixed it. You can now go home safely.’ The word ‘safe’ sounded meaningful.
The next day, I dropped my office-going half at the bus stop without any problem. Peace at home at last! Home life was once again normal and happy. She realised that her ‘pati’ was as virtuous as Sri Rama while much to my relief, the other lady stopped asking for lift. Maybe, she did not want to be seen riding an old rickety bike.
‘What did you do, my dear friend?’ I whispered in the mechanic’s ear. Nothing sir, he explained, the ignition wire passing under the back seat got disconnected due to the weight of the pillion rider. ‘Nonsense. She is by no means a heavyweight,’ I protested. How come then Lamby has no issues with the lady journalist?
It seemed the problem was the sitting posture. My wife, a sanatani, sat in the traditional manner the other lady sat astride, as if on horseback.
Anyway, all was well. In a lighter moment, my wife described the episode as ‘ skootaru kudipina kapuram’ on the lines of the popular movie ‘Karuk diddina kapuram.’
Tail-piece: A few weeks before I moved to join The Hindu at Kurnool in January 1977, I decided to get rid of the scooter. A former colleague at The Indian Express, Vijayawada, offered to fix it for me. He shipped it to Vijayawada.
In due course, I forgot about it and so, I thought, my friend. There was no word from him for nearly six months. I did not worry much, because getting the monster off my back was by itself a reward. We met a couple of times over the next 40 years, each time my friend was uneasy and shifty. I hated to embarrass him by raking up the matter.
We met at a function in Vijayawada in October 2018 in the same uneasy atmosphere. I was about to leave when he took me aside and shoved a few thousand rupees in my pocket, muttering a thousand apologies. He explained that the man he had handpicked to dispose of the vehicle bolted after pocketing the money. I felt sorry for my friend and tried to return the money, but he would have none of it.
Imagine getting back your money 40 years later. Lamby was not after all such a liability. As a parting kick, it gave me a post-dated gift!
