Puja. It could well be one of those regional curries I’m still struggling to integrate into my daily diet, a town near Bangalore or one of the man gods who permeate Indian life. The last is closer to the mark because Puja is actually a prayer ritual that is performed at home or at a Hindu temple to mark important life events or - and we’re getting closer here - to bless new beginnings. In the priest-assisted Puja around which I am circling, food, fruits and sweets were also included as offerings to Ganesha, the elephant God.
And what, my children, might we have been blessing? Yes, of course, you guessed it from the headline: my new bike. And when I say new, I mean brand spanking, straight-out-of-the-showroom-for-the-first-time-in-my-life-new. It has been a long time coming and, frankly I think I could have built a motorbike in less time than it’s taken my bank to transfer the necessaries out here but let’s try and rise above that now. It was probably my fault in some obscure way. The point is that for either an absurdly small amount of money, I have acquired a brand new Royal Enfield Silver bullet - 350ccs of gleaming chrome, classic styling and sari guard complete with electric start and front disk brakes.
Surely this is a giant leap away from the ruthlessly efficient and frankly rather boring germanic machines that have graced my bottom hitherto? Well, yes, (though, now you mention it, I haven’t seen a single BMW in this land where everyone uses two wheels.) The fact is that every fourth bike out here is a RE and even the smallest village will have an Enfield wallah who can compensate for my pathetic inadequacies in the field of mechanics.
But how does it go, I hear you ask. The answer is 'Not at all' until it’s been Puja'd.
Actually that’s not true. From the showroom in Mysore I had to get it back to where I was staying last night, a journey that reminded me of my very first ride ever, after buying a Honda 250 in north London and having not the least idea how to ride the thing (we didn’t need tests and CBTs in those days). I think Mike Venning might have come some of the way with me on his Guzzi but I suspect he thought it best to leave me to work things out for myself. I didn’t know what gear I was in for the whole journey!
But I digress. First thing this morning I had a thorough shower in order that I would be allowed in a Hindu temple. Then we went to find one. As always in India there are plenty of people on hand to advise you, so the old lady told us where to park and to leave our shoes (50R please), she also pointed us to the stall where we bought the flowers and the lime (70R please). The chap in the queue then explained that I had to buy a ticket (50R please) and give it to the priest who was moving down the line of what I suppose are called supplicants. He took my garland and lime, asked my name and offered a quick prayer there and then. He then passed the bits and pieces to anothe priest who whisked everything off into the temple proper where more prayers were said. Meanwhile a separate priest emerged with a candle and flowers and sprinkled the bike with holy water. It was all quite businesslike and relaxed, with lots of advice and smiles. Next to my bike was a brand new car that was also being ‘done’. Quite soon, the blessed flowers emerged from the inner sanctum and, before I knew it, my little Enfield was getting the works with dye and oils being marked all over it very thoroughly, from tyres to instruments to the tank (200R please). The only thing that remained was for me to drive over the two limes that had been placed under the front and rear wheels…for reasons that I didn't and don’t understand.
To be honest, the whole thing was so thorough and professional that I drove away with more confidence that the Puja would look after me in the event of an accident than the so-called insurance policy that we bought from the dealer!
Did I say we? Foreigners are not allowed to buy a new car/bike here. Not sure if this is for anti-terrorist reasons or something more obscure. However I was rescued by Satij, one of Stephen’s ever-helpful rickshaw drivers who has suffered the many bureaucratic demands for paperwork and in whose name the bike is now registered. I think this will make it impossible for me to ship the machine back to the UK when I leave India but I haven’t the heart to tackle the bureaucrats who can, it is rumoured, change registration names for those who are super patient, resourceful and have the necessary paperwork - none of which apply to me.
Sorry, I nearly forgot to mention how it goes! I had a perfect trip planned for our first date - a journey from Mysore to Ooty in the Nilgiri Hills. It’s about 140km and the last 30km involve a climb to about 2000m up a famous series of 36 hairpin bends (I didn’t count them - they are marked on signs). Some of these are extremely sharp - and the camber is all over the place. But what the hell: it was great to be pottering along, independent of buses, taxis, rickshaw wallahs and trains. To take the rest of my Indian adventure at my own pace and go where I want to go has to be worth all the hassle and delay in getting this bike.
The God Ganesha, the elephant God, is the relevant deity here folks. Apparently Ganesha is a kind of ‘sorter out of problems’ and remover of obstacles. Maybe I should have gone to him earlier!
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