When the better half is an automobile enthusiast, you have two choices. You could either try to read up, get knowledgeable and have intelligent conversations with him on the subject, or give up and nod yourself to sleep every time he launches into a monologue about the latest bat-mobile-like bikes in the market or why we must definitely purchase a fully automatic car. I have embraced the latter. It saves me trouble and energy, and the man comes off looking wiser and smarter, which is what men want to appear like anyway.
But my tryst with uncomfortable looking two-wheelers is an ongoing saga. Either I am dragged to showrooms to gawk at ridiculously priced vehicles that we cannot afford, or made to stand and watch, gnawing my nails, as N sweet talks showrooms into letting him test drive these automobiles and ‘vroom vroom’ 200 meters on a road teeming with traffic before taking a U. So now, yours truly knows a Harley Davidson from an Indian from a Royal Enfield. She used to refer to all the above as ‘Oh look at that hot red bike! Oh look at that cool black bike!’ previously, so this is significant improvement in a year.
The other day we got an invite to the unveiling of the latest Harley Davidson at the local showroom. N pointedly rode past the showroom in our ordinary looking Honda Trigger and parked it a hundred meters away, behind a tree. ‘Let us walk’ he coughed, and kept turning back to make sure our faithful bike was well hidden. The showroom was full of tattooed men and women, with too much mascara and too many piercings. The three bikes to be unveiled were covered and the showroom owners waited for the two families that were to take possession of the two new bikes to arrive. N was muttering bike stats under his breath and was looking enraptured. Finally after much fanfare the bikes were unveiled and everybody walked around, touching the vehicles and going ‘oooh ahhh’ over them.
I smiled at the nice store manager who gave me some attention and I managed to have a normal conversation with him. ‘So what is the on road price of these bikes? 16 lakhs, okay.’ I gave him a watery smile and slunk away.
I was too dazed to talk, and N was looking dejected and sad. That was one quiet Sunday.
I nudge N now to ask which Harley Davidson model that bike was.
‘Which bike?’
‘Arre that 16 lakh wala bike’
‘Hello! That was a Triumph not a Harely!’ N cannot keep the sarcasm, disbelief and shock out of his voice.
I don’t think I will get this- EVER. I am not even going to try.
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