There are some things nobody needs in this world, and a bright-red, hunch-back, warp-speed 900cc café racer is one of them – but I want one anyway, and on some days I actually believe I need one. Hunter S. Thompson, Song of the Sausage Creature 2008. In the motorbike market for my third ride, the sine qua non was simple: the biggest Bullet. The 500cc, cast iron engine, four-geared – on the right – with a quirky neutral lever thrown in made it the baddest ass I ever rode as
After telling me his story – from enfant terrible and Mall Road Romeo to successful farmer and responsible father and village oracle, he told me not to take his photograph as it sapped his energy and not to publish his name or that of his village. “Then,” he asked, “is my story so strange that it couldn’t have been yours?” No, his story is actually anybody’s story, at least till the part of being chosen the oracle. And I became him. Shimla was my playground and Mall Road, the grand
Delhi – Agra – Gwalior – Orchha – Khajuraho is the hottest heritage circuit in the country. Starting with the Kosi Minars, mile stones from the Mughal era, along the NH2 as you exit Delhi, the best way to do it is from the highway. I drove till Orchha in October this year and rediscovered Dholpur, mid way between Agra and Gwalior, which doesn’t figure in the circuit. This quaint little town is given a miss by most in their hurry to get to the more famous Gwalior, missing in
My heart, like the bud of the red, red rose Lies fold within fold, aflame; Would the breath of even a myriad springs Blow my heart’s bud to a rose? Babur, the great conquistador from Kyrgyzstan, descendant of Timur and Chenghiz Khan, founder of the Mughal dynasty in the subcontinent, actually wrote these lines. Not only does his memoir Tuzuk-e-Baburi contain repeated references to flowers and gardens but the Emperor even had the names of all his daughters prefixed with ‘gul’ – Persian for rose – Gulrang Begum, Gulizar Begum,
One more Halloween. And more of Pirates and Jokers, Grim Reapers and Draculas. Isn’t it strange that in a country inundated with faith healers, psychic mediums, temple oracles, exorcists and haunted dak bungalows, we are yet to come up with an indigenous spectral line up? Here are some spooky tales, from the road, which might inspire. Yes, travelling does have its advantages – a wizened old chowkidar who warns you not to hang around the Bhangarh Fort after dark, a weary cabbie who reminds you to take that extra bottle