Ballad of an Easy Ride

After a heart-blip I faced some time back, this is a therapeutic period for me, and an attempt for a self imposed convenient rehab. Heart-attack is a world-wide disease and event, phenomenon only to be underestimated in most parts of the world; with so called developed ‘west’ being the worst biggest victim, and emerging economies like India walking into the same booby trap. So, here I am thinking it might not be a bad idea to share some words while I undertake this little journey of ‘taking-it-easy’ times. Also, to fore-warn that my coming blogs, for next few months to some years, will try to focus on so called ‘matters related to Heart’, and I sincerely hope for these advisories to fade with time, if and as I recover better. Following couple of paragraphs is some reminisces on how my bike and me, we together have been pulling this journey.

Only a few days back, when dusk smelling of tar had given way to the darkness, I sat on my bike, pulled the choke knob under my seat, and pushed the self button. Before starting off I would let the engine run idle for mandatory two minutes. I pulled up my jacket’s zipper unto my neck, for it had been unusually colder for a semi arid city like Ahmedabad. Unusual quietness had surrounded me, not only because of my helmet but the fall of the day had also announced an end of a combination of holidays and weekends thoroughly enjoyed by a collective mass of people. In other words, it was just in the air. The air felt full of oxygen, uneasy calm, and it felt good. ‘Ballad of easy rider’ tune started to take shape in the back of my head, unseen thoughts of a new road trip started getting clearer.

I thanked my bike too, for it was this same machine, which a couple of months back took me to the doorsteps of the emergency doors of a hospital at 3:00AM in the morning. I took the bike only because I wasn’t sure about the severity of the event. It could have been a mere muscle pain, and having never called 108 in my life before, I really wasn’t sure of availing the service. Anyhow, the bike was comfortable, and undoubtedly faster. At Sterling hospital emergency door, the chowkidaar was taking it easy on a plastic chair next to the sliding doors, also staring at some bunch of people. Must have been some reason for a loved one critical they were there and my bullet’s rattle wasn’t amusing either, but I couldn’t help it until I found a parkable corner next to a compound wall. And then I scrambled to the doorstep, asking chowkidaar I need attention, which he, I think – half understood, half-suggested I make my way inside. He then rushed inside, probably on second thoughts, and an attendant came from inside too. They told me to wait until a wheel chair came, which I felt unnecessary and I frog-leapt to the bed. The other attendants inside the emergency ward were busy, for there were others in other beds too. One by one, different attendants would calmly and warmly come to me, do their job which for them was their routine. Then came - doctors, family, more attendants, specialized people... People - who for that moment were only warm, started to get warmer, until I went in for that peaceful post-angioplasty sleep.