Bugs, Horses and Half-a-thousand

I am a big fan and an erstwhile rider of what was once ‘Buland’ India’s most loved vehicle – Bajaj Chetak This scooter was and still deserves to be a legend. Named after the famed, valiant steed of Maharana Pratap that galloped into the jaws of death in the field of battle, the scooter took its name in all seriousness.

Equipped with a dismal front brake that provided just enough damping to make the scooter veer even more dangerously towards whatever obstacle it was supposed to avoid, the front brake was vigorously helped by the rear, which upon application of sufficient calf muscle, would wake up in alacrity and supply the rear end of the scooter with a mind, giving the rider a distinct impression that the scooter had a homo-suicidal streak in the chassis.

It would take any rider a couple of usually safe close shaves and some bruises to realise that the tendencies were far from suicidal but definitely not so from homicidal. The simple reason was while we might be built solidly enough to stare death in the face and come back unflinching, the Chetak was built not just to stare death in the face, but also to smash a few teeth into the back of the skull and come back giggling hysterically.

Understandably then, like drugs, sex, and anything banned by the holy books, the Chetak was lapped up by the Indian masses. The fact that this was the only full steed as opposed to the Cub (Bajaj Cub) and the Lamb(retta) only seemed to add to the already long waitlist.

In short, Chetak was then the only possession in the vast confines of the Indian Subcontinent that could induce surges of adrenaline to flow unabated in to the collective veins and imaginations of adolescent crowd. On it, you were just a tail and a headgear short of Maharana Pratap – the epitome of macho. Back then, if you needed a boner, it wasn’t the blue pill. It wasn’t even a choice between being Neo and being Keanu Reeves. It was a ride on the Chetak.

The power of ED destruction on the Chetak was provided by the 150cc two-stroke mill that produced six and a half horses more than what Chetak’s equine parents did. What it did with two strokes is what many men fail to do with quite a few. Load it with milk cans, buffaloes, and even the Punjabi housewife the Chetak pulled with gusto. It was the time when there indeed was truth in advertising. Chetak was the Great Indian Postcard of the Great Indian Nation.

For four decades, it powered the masses. It ruled the roads that did not exist.It created a breed of drivers who could do on two tiny wheels what an experienced stuntman would think twice about doing on a well-balanced sports bike. There were price hikes. There were 100cc four stroke motor cycles that took you around the world on a few drops of fuel, but that was nothing compared to the thrill of taking the street corner on one-inch wheels with the floor-board spouting sparks. It soldiered on, it sold on.

With more powerful, more frugal bikes that came on, the Chetak couldn’t cope. It still fought a few valiant battles, but it eventually met with the same end as its equine cousin. It was not because they couldn’t port a four stroke engine. They could and they did. It was not because it wasn’t frugal. It was. It wasn’t because the bikes were better. They weren’t. Show me a bike that can carry six 25 litre milk cans, the milkman’s child, and his obese wife through knee-deep water without missing a beat, and I will show you a Chetak.

The Chetak was as prone to breaking down as a table top-pestle. No matter what you threw at it, it hammered on. Chetak was the pestle that would hammer a ride into the spice that you could add to your Chetak anecdotes.  At one point, it was rumoured that if one did not have a Chetak anecdote, one did not exist. It more a proof of your identity than Facebook wants to be in its wet dream.

Yet, despite all the charm and aphrodisiac abilities of James Bond, the Chetak did not survive. It did not survive for the same reason why the cramped Fiat 500 is still popular. It did not survive for the same reason why the underwhelming VW Beetle is still a best seller. The reason is simple. It is the same reason why Grandmothers never go out of fashion. It is the same reason why, no matter how hard authorities try, there will always be strays on the street.  Because, no matter how many fleas they have, and how foul-breathed they are, one look at them is enough to want you to take them home.

Cuteness is the genetic equivalent of a hairy fur coat in the ice age. In the age of cold looks and cold hard cash, the only way to make people loosen purse strings is by showing them some cute. Nissan Micra, Teddy Bears, even Gummy Bears sell because they silliness inducingly cute. And strays, street smart as they are know that it takes them cute to survive and cute they are.

One for the old times and one for the oldie among my pals, the sort that would survive . Happy B’day Alex! Smoke less.