Of Motorcycling...

In 1971 in Hindu College a fresher was being ragged.  Someone asked him an obviously embarrassing question,” What is it which throbs between the legs?”  Without a blink the fresher said," A motorcycle."   

In 1977 I bought my Yezdi 250 cc, Registraton Number DHT 4265, for Rs.6500.00 from M/s Harbans Singh & Sons, Hamilton Road, Delhi.  Barely had it run-in, that I alongwith my friend Lavinder jaunted off to Hardwar on the bike.  We left in the early hours, and were back by 6 pm to watch the movie on Doordarshan, the only channel then.

In 1978 I started a motorcycle club in Delhi for long distance motorcycling, a sport which was unheard of in those days. The first meeting was held in Ramble, a restaurant in Connaught Place which exists no more - where it stood stands the underground Palika Bazar.

The Club came to be known as MMC: Merry Mobikers' Club. As chance would be, the majority of the motorcycles were Yezdi. And without a question, therefore, the wheel of Yezdi became our logo.

Over the succeeding years we organized RUNS. The first ‘run’ was to Jaipur,then to Agra,  the next year to Kathmandu, and a year later to Kanyakumari, grandly named by me as “The 9000 Km Southern Run”.  It was flagged off from Hotel Oberoi by Kapil Dev.  We had turned experts: we came out with a brochure, raised funds and sponsorships, managed our PR pretty well.

Somewhere between Hyderabad and Bangalore, 1980

In 1981 we did the quite impossible: we drove to Ladakh.. The ‘run’ was flagged off from Hotel Siddhartha Intercontinental by Mr. Vasant Sathe.  We reached Leh, drove to Pangong-Tso where we had to stay with the Army.  And then we crossed Khardung-la, world’s highest motorable road and entered Nubra.

At Khardung-la, 1981

 In 1981 the Khardung-la road was but a stretch of fine dust with two ruts made by the convoys running all the way up.  Driving a bike on this stretch was dangerous, considering that I carried on my bike 5 litres of fuel, two spare wheels, spare parts, enough tools to rip open a bike, water, an oxygen cylinder and a field telephone, both of which were given by the Army.  

Motorcycling gets into the blood.  Today I drive a car, but it resembles a TV screen, whereas a bike becomes an extension of your being, your body, and even your thoughts when it responds without you being consciously aware that you have shifted gears, applied brakes, or tilted your body to negotiate a turn.

And I think that it gets in the family too: my father had a Norton, my Uncle an Indian Chief , I have a Yezdi and my son an Enfield. 

A few weeks ago I gave my Yezdi to Suraj, who has renovated it and is driving it.  


Now I drive a car long distance. Sometimes I wonder if I had been a long hauler trucker in one of my previous births. 

Arun Naik, Worshipper of the Mystic Fire.