On The Run

On The Run
1st April 2005

A few days ago, I experienced what it feels like to evade the law.

Now, I’ll be the first person to admit I have my fair share of keeda. More than my fair share, in fact. I incessantly pull leg (mostly of women), enjoy playing pranks, and generally make people laugh. But even my worst enemies will stare in astonishment if they hear that I’ve broken the law.

So, before you come to your own scandalous conclusions, read on.

The Drunken Painting Poet threw her (much belated) birthday bash at her house on 1st April. And the gang gathered there for a night of serious drinking.

But this is not the story of the party. (It’s very interesting, ask me later.) This is the story of two men on the run from the long arm of the law.

Doc and I, as usual, planned to leave together. On his bike.

It just so happened that, on 1st April, the helmet rule for bikers was enforced.

And it also just so happened that, a few days before that, a very, very lazy Doc left his helmet at the hospital where he’s doing his residency.

Before even getting on the bike we knew there would be trouble. So, Doc decided that there was no better time to use his (in)famous riding skills.

Just a point to illustrate said skills. I have lost count of the number of times I’ve nearly died riding pillion behind Doc.

So Doc starts putting into practice his evasion tactics.

We really didn’t expect a problem that night. And we hardly got one.

But Doc continued to ride in the shadow of bigger cars. Qualis-es, Jeeps, Boleros, etc. And kept leapfrogging from lane to lane whenever he saw a cop. And thus, we were able to stay out of the line of fire.

The one problem happened around Bandra, when we were following a convoy of batti (VVIP) cars. The last car in the convoy was a police jeep. Noticing our un-helmeted heads, a cop in the back seat started pointing and yelling. Just when he was about to get out pad and pen to write down our licence number, Doc calmly veered into a lane, and took a long, bumpy detour.

On to said party. On to lots of drunkenness. On to the (very) Drunken Painting Poet inviting me to explore under her skirt, and then slipping her hand into my kurta. On to a serious lack of memory the next morning. On to serious teasing, till today.

Now for the ride back. In broad daylight.

Once again, evasion tactics are put into use. The sort of use that would have brought getaway car drivers to Doc’s feet, begging for a lesson.

Hiding behind bigger cars. Hiding behind bikes. Speeding recklessly to cross signals before they turn red. Taking long detours to avoid being caught at said signals. Stopping way back at a long signal to avoid being seen. Pretending not to see the cop (Doc’s theory being, if he sees us seeing him, we have to pull over. If we don’t see him, he can’t stop us).

How we reached home without having to pay a single fine or bribe – not to mention, in one piece – is a miracle. Especially the reaching in one piece part – since the night before, Doc had been struggling to notice speed-breakers. At one point elevating me some three feet above the bike!

Look ma, it’s a bird…it’s a plane…no! It’s me, trying to do a Superman.

But the story is this. I have evaded the law.

Doc is a lawbreaker if I’ve ever seen one. But moi?

I feel so ashamed. I feel like I’ve let down my country. Disgraced my parents, friends, family and teachers. I deserve to be thrown into a deep, dark dungeon.

(April Fool!)

I know now something of what Osama bin Laden goes through. Lesser by a factor of some one million ten thousand seven hundred and sixty-three, of course.

I’m now carefully looking out for the ‘Wanted’ posters all over the city. And wondering if they’ll give me the reward if I turn myself in.