The Biker

They were the sole reason for my being less respectful towards the bike-riders. Before you take offence, I am only talking about those bike-riders who cut lanes and zoom past traffic lights without paying much heed to their colour. They generally ride alone, making their way through the busy streets, twisting and turning their bikes through the narrowest of gaps. Most of us with a sane eye can tell when the traffic was bad or worse and when it was a delight to drive. For them, it’s a “freeway” all the time; literally.

I saw him frequently. I never saw his face; but his brown jacket, black shoes and helmet (with a peculiar image of an orange cross), was enough to indicate that he was indeed the same man. Like an outlaw, he cruised his way ahead and vanished out of sight before the curses mouthed by his fellow commuters reach his ears. He zoomed past the traffic lights as if he never noticed them. I remarked in half jest and half disdain, “he must have told his folks he’ll be away for a long time or that he may not return at all”. Little did I know that someday I would find some truth in these words.

It was not just another day with peak hour traffic. It was special; a VVIP was in town and a part of the VVIP treatment he received was to cordon off “harmful” people like us. We patiently waited for him and his entourage to pass. Suddenly, all hell broke loose. We heard a gunshot and sirens! Someone tried to take a shot at the VVIP (must be a good soul, the bad ones never make it to the hit-list). I saw cops rush into this tall building beyond the junction. With this chaos we weren’t moving anywhere closer to our destinations any time soon.

It had been a long day. The fatigue was taking its toll on me as I switched to the news channel to see how the media portrayed this incident. The VVIP was safe and recovering. The cops got lucky this time to have the sniper in their custody. But they still had to make him sing to their tune. The news correspondent jostled to get a good view of the cop making a statement to the media. In the next frame, the cop was saying how they chased and caught hold of the sniper. It was a tough chase. But the sniper got obstructed by this bike which made things a tad easier for the cops. When the news correspondent asked him about the biker, he said they did not know much because they couldn’t catch the vehicle number. Just that he wore a brown jacket and a black helmet with some sort of an orange cross...

When I woke up next morning, I could not figure out whether I heard his mention for real or in half sleep. I scavenged through the morning newspaper to ascertain it. It was for real. It seemed to me like he was some sort of a masked hero who wished to do good. And definitely deserved more respect despite being the outlaw that he was. I still see him oftentimes... and the rude remark of mine, I cannot get myself to utter it anymore.