There are many stories that happen that you don’t want to talk about. Sometimes you are just comfortable not talking about them, not mentioning them during small talk, or even not remembering them. You bury them deep inside under all those fun and bar-brawl memories. But sometimes in the apt moments (unexpected but apt) you will get a familiar eerie feeling you associate with that incident. Then the memory rushes on to you. But when it does it’s not the entire replay. It’s just glimpses of it, as if you were dissociated from the event and you might be even mildly surprised that you had such a memory. But soon enough you will forget it again, and bury it under memories of mushy first dates and binge drinking and wild adventures from your teenage years. I didn’t want to bury this again. I know it might come around again, but what if it doesn’t...I used to stay near the Outer Ring Road in Bangalore. Babusapalya, to be precise. This happened in early 2007 I think so. I have a soggy memory. Those days I had a job in Tesco HSC as a web designer. I also had a red 150cc Bajaj Pulsar, which I loved so much that I got close to naming her (which I did not, and yes, I just addressed her in the feminine, and yes, you bloody lot can laugh!). This one my dad had got me a year earlier. Unfortunately as much I enjoyed riding her.. I mean.. it, I was a lousy driver (no pun intended, you perverts). I met up with the unlikeliest of accidents in the unlikeliest of places. It was a revelation to me that besides me there were so many morons on the road. So I had an idea. My shift at work was from afternoon to late night at 10.30 pm. I would stay up late by an hour while browsing the web (which I do more religiously at work). Then by 11.30 or 12 o’clock I leave. By the time the traffic would have withered out, and the entire highway will be my private property. Then I would cruise at very (stupidly) dangerous high speeds. I enjoyed the chilly air blowing against my face, and through my hair.
This fun ride had a highlight too. On the way there was a flyover at K R Puram with an almost 90° curve. Now it’s very important that do not brake during the turn at high speeds. Actually you should be slowing down. My adrenaline moment is when I cover the turn without braking, slow accelerating, high speed at a slanting angle of 45° (it seemed like). Sometimes I feel I could smell burning rubber from the tyres (I think I had a handle bent and that was the cause). Anyway I always try to be careful. Sometimes they don’t turn the lights on, on the stretch. I never thought it would be a problem. It hardly mattered. I spend a grand per month to ride my bike to work when I had free company transport. My friend Shabib often pointed it out, but I was happily in denial. I had my version of economics.
So coming back to the story, one day I was broadening my wisdom through wikipedia at work. The thing got a bit more interesting, and I stretched myself a bit more than the usual. It was past 12.30 am when I decided I should be sleeping at home. So I left the place. The road was almost empty except for the occasional lorry passing by. And I sped along slowing down once in a while for the rare but irritating speed breaker. Then I reached the feature presentation – the flyover.
As I neared it, I saw a lorry make its turn at the bend. Apart from its headlights, there was no light at all over the flyover. I rode up the flyover and this reminded me of an incident months back, of finding a dead body lying there. The poor fellow had been hit by a passing vehicle in the darkness. This did not spook me even a bit then or even now. But because the lights were off and perhaps of this reminder I instinctively slowed down from my usual speed. Nevertheless I took a small slanting turn. But what I faced will be always my greatest adrenaline moment on the road.
As I took the turn, my headlights shone upon, what seemed to be a withered woman running alongside the curb. The lights fell on her maybe for about a quarter of a second, but I could pick up the details. She was wearing a white night gown, and had some hair on the head (never saw her face clearly.. yet). Her frame was skeletal but she looked pregnant. She had a huge bump in her front. And to add the final touch, she held up her arms to skies as if a small child gestures her parent to pick her up. This mad thing gave a small wail as I passed close by. Needless to say I was alarmed. Then I tried to do something stupid.
As I put some distance between the thing and me, I tried to catch a glimpse of her by turning my head back. Well first of all there was no light. Second, I had forgotten all about the turn and predictably the bike hit the curb. As the wheel started to wobble, I tried to focus on maintaining the balance. Being the expert that I am, I fell, skinning my knee and losing my helmet in the process.
The fall was painless except for a throbbing knee. But I was shaken and there was this huge bellowing sound coming from the darkness behind me. I grabbed my helmet fast and raised my bike, shivering like a scared kitten. As I mounted my bike I heard footsteps, as if dogs were chasing me. I did have a number of dogs as my pets. I remember the sounds of the strides they make, and the second last thing I wanted was rabid dogs hanging by my ankles. I tried to kick start the machine, but under the pressure I wasn’t kicking right. Then I realised I had forgotten about the damn quick start button! The strides came closer and they definitely did not sound human. Then I started hearing heavy breathing closing in on me. I started the bike and raced the engine a bit. There was an unearthly shriek from behind and I took off. All this happened in a matter of seconds.
The clouds thinned a bit to reveal the gleam of the waning moon. Then in the dying moonlight I saw. It was her. The skeletal frame of a woman, running on all fours! Like a dog! I could not see her face (I never did). The sight was spine chilling (The hair on my arms rise up as I tell you this). Now clearly I was frightened to my wit’s end. I rode down to the foot of the flyover like a scud.
At the bottom the lorry I had seen before, was waiting. Its two occupants were peering out. Probably they had seen her too. I did not stop there. I did not want to see how the freak show ends. I rode past them. I was shaking like a leaf. I drove over humps like they never existed. I tried to shake out the image of her out of my mind. I had this terrifying feeling that she was behind me, faster, picking up my scent like a dog. Sometimes I almost believed that she was behind me riding on my pillion. I tried to shrug it off. I took a deviation from the highway for my home.
On the unlit path, I got startled at every shadow that moved or I imagined moving. I started talking to myself, abusing everything in nature as if it was a conspiracy. I just made it to home somehow. My friend Francis was at the door. As I parked my bike, he saw the blood stain on my khakis. ‘What happened?’ ‘Just an accident,’ I didn’t want to discuss anything ‘nothing serious.’ I went straight to bed.
The next morning I woke up. I found I was still wearing my watch and socks (Francis had removed my shoes). I phoned up my office, and let them know that I would be coming through the company transport.
So that was the story why I stopped taking the bike to Tesco. Everyone else thought I learnt the right version of economics.
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