I felt quite bad about returning Carmen. She had borne me faithfully over the mountains, struggling at times, burnt oil madly, gears getting harder and harder, but never caused any major problems. Always keen, always eager to please it seemed. And there was I returning her like a used library book.
'I used to get sentimental about my bikes too,' Dan had said. 'I hated people criticising them. But if they are not up to the job, then they are dangerous. They have to be looked after properly'.
But she was getting old. Over 30,000km on the clock, and I would be doing some hard riding. So I took his advice, and decided to return her. I hope that her next clients treat her well, and I know that she will look after them as well as she has me. I will always remember her with fondness.
In the end, I couldn't take Butch. There was a clicking sound that Rajesh believed to be piston problems, which would entail a major service. Therefore I needed a new bike.
The paperwork was done by 2pm, so I spent the whole afternoon watching the mechanic give my new steed a complete overhaul.
The mechanic spoke no english so we could only communicate very basically, but he was fascinating to watch. He must have been in his later forties or early fifties, a good head shorter than me, with high shoulders, that made him look a bit hunched and a warm face with laughing eyes. He had quick sure hands that knew exactly what they were doing.
He had done the front wheel and chain by the time I arrived, but I watched him put new bearings in the back wheel, a new gear lever and new break shoes. Also he put on a rear luggage rack, stripped the electrics when the lights started playing up, new cables on the throttle and a new light switch assembly.
He had a very distinct style of tightening the nuts, bolts and screws. When they were tight, he would pause, draw breath, concentrate, then give a sudden extra push with all his strength.
When he started the engine for the first time, a deep throated roar, louder than either Butch or Carmen, Rajesh came down from the office.
'Its exciting isn't it?' Rajesh said, a boyish gleam in his eye, still obviously in love with motorcycles.
'What is the engineer's name?', I asked curiously.
'His name is something different, but we call him Pandit Jhee. You know what Pandit means?' He asked.
'Teacher, I think'.
'Yes, Spiritual Teacher. He used to be a holy man. Now he is a bloody good mechanic'.
My respect and fascination for the mechanic increased more than ever. I had heard of people making the transition to guru from all sorts of trades, but never the other way round.
Life is not just about the transcendence towards the eternal unchanging bliss of divine, but also a dance of joy towards the corporeal, the material, the dirty guts, blood and bowels of existence, towards energy and life. Pandit Jhee was a living example of this.
The work was interrupted by an example of life in a different format that was familiar and reconizable. At one point in the afternoon, there was a sudden hue and cry. Some of the mechanics of the workshop suddenly rushed outside, jostling to get to the road. Other quickly wheeled the bikes from the front back into the shop and shut the metal shutter.
'Whats happening?' I asked a both worried and excited looking Rajesh.
'Demonstration,' he answered. 'The Police have asked us to close down'.
The demonstration when it passed by was actually quite well mannered. A lot of Police at the front, then a couple of hundred traders from the area bearing placards. All very peaceful and not the riot I was half expecting.
When it was passed the work on the bike continued. I was wondering what the name of the bike was when I properly read the registration plate. HR26AMB113.
To me the last 6 characters looked like Amblis. Am Bliss. I liked the sound of that. A very holy name. A very beautiful, very lucky, very special name for a bike.
The last job was fitting the rear luggage rack. It looked for all the world like the bike was getting wings. Angel Wings. And Pandit Jhee was the engineer in the Angel Factory.
There was a little trouble with the Neutral Light - it just wasn't coming on. It took Pandit Jhee a good hour of working to get it right. It didn't really affect the bike, and I could have done without it, but that little green light on the dash felt like a third eye. I didn't want to leave till it was firmly on.
So I drove back to the hotel, parked up, packed up, and got ready for an early start tomorrow. I leave for Jaipur, the Pink City, the City of Victory.
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