Cylinders, Rations and Scooters – Middle Class Memories

I have come to realize that The Wife’s narrations about our horde of middle class memories, are far wittier. The tremendous response to one of her earlier narrations here, is enough cause for me to step aside and leave matters once more, to her. Read on.

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Let me start with one of our first middle class memories, and from where I left last, our first house.  I recall that our total ‘take home’ pay those days (1990/91) was about Rs 2200/-. And once we had settled all mandatory bills such as electricity, groceries, and those darned club bills, there was little left for other things.

Resultantly, we had to spread out our shopping for household items over several months post marriage.

Middle Class Memories – The Scooter and the Shopping

Most of our purchases were via the fauji canteen, located about 7-8 km from our first house. We did not have a car, and could not afford a taxi. So, everything had to be lugged across the distance on my husband’s most prized possession, his trusted Garuda – a LML Vespa NV scooter.

You would think that driving a scooter is a more difficult task than riding pillion. My foot! Obviously, you have then not tried to balance baskets and bags; and coconuts and water melons and utensils; some in your lap, some in one hand, and some strapped across your shoulder  – while trying to maintain balance on a scooter.

I recall a particularly harrowing experience when we had to buy those large plastic drums (those 200 litre ones) to cater for the erratic water supply in Mumbai. My husband tends to take over 2/3^rd of the seat. So here was I, sitting on the remaining 1/3^rd both my arms around the huge blasted drum in a very indecorous hug, desperately hanging on. By God, it was embarrassing! Especially as we meandered through the tony areas of Marine Drive. Was I happy when we entered our building compound!

Middle Class Memories and the Gas Cylinder

A gas cylinder threw up even more peculiarities. The Navy gave us rations, which included cooking gas. However, instead of actual gas, the Navy gave us coupons. Not to light a fire with of course, but to exchange them for gas at the godown. No home delivery.

Those of you who recall the Vespa/Bajaj scooters, will know that they had a foot brake on the right side. Any small briefcase, or shopping bag, or in this case the infernal cylinder, could therefore only be kept on the left side. What with the diameter of the cylinder being much more than the width available on the scooter, more than half the cylinder would protrude beyond the footrest.

So where does one put one’s left foot?  Different drivers exercise different options. My husband preferred wrapping his left leg around the cylinder. The off centred 25 kg cylinder would of course make the scooter wobbly and I often saw Rakesh struggle to drive, with his left leg sticking out to one side, as if in a cast. He used to look amusingly idiotic.

Ah! The Rations

Having mentioned rations, allow me to list some more middle class memories.

The Navy would provide fresh rations once a week which, in those days, needed to be picked up from the victualling store. Occasionally, one needed to pick rations for the whole month. Cornflakes, Jam, Eggs, Horlicks, Condiments, and the like. But add about 15 kg of rice,1.5 kg dal, 3 kg potato, 5kg vegetables, etc. and it becomes quite a heavy and unwieldy bag. Result – the same awkward left leg sticking out pose on the scooter.

The degree of difficulty was compounded by the fact that, with the bag overflowing with rations, every speed bump would see some of the items roll out onto the road. Rather like Gretel sprinkling bread on the way to the Wolf’s house. Only in this case it was Rakesh, not Gretel, leaving a trail – a potato there, a tomato there, maybe a trace of leaking cooking oil, then an egg… Yup, long after Rakesh had travelled the path, his trail of eggs/tomatoes would linger.

Obviously, when one is transporting unwieldy items such as cylinders or rations, the driver needs to focus fully on the task of driving. Rakesh was fastidiously single minded when it came to such situations. Full and complete concentration. I remember I had once got off the scooter at a signal to adjust my saree, a broom and bathroom plunger. The signal turned green mid adjustments and Rakesh, oblivious to the fact that the scooter was 52 kgs lighter, took off leaving me waving the broom and bathroom plunger helplessly.

I shouted too, but my shout was lost in the din of Mumbai traffic. Frustrated, all I could do was watch the retreating scooter and an awkward left leg.

And then, (presumably realising he was a broom and bathroom plunger short), I saw him tearing unsteadily (left leg still outstretched) down the OTHER side of the road, eyes darting hither and then thither. So funny and arresting was the spectacle that I quickly hid behind a sturdy lamp post to enjoy the scene.  Ultimately about half an hour later, I sighted  – the outstretched leg first, and then the scooter, on THIS side of the road and I flagged it down. Dinner that day was a moody affair.

And Yet – Our Scooter Survived it all.

Rakesh’s dear beloved KCF 2823 (he called it she) was with him from 1987 till 2002. She had been with us through cylinders and rations. She had purred effortlessly when he was single, and then as uncomplainingly with me as pillion, and even later as pillion with two kids. She took us wherever we wanted to go.

This wherever, on one occasion, was Araku (a small hill station about 150 km from Vizag).  Seven of us couples (all coursemates) decided to go there over a week end, on their respective two wheelers. Vizag for those who do not know, has three seasons – hot, steamy, and sauna hot. It being the month of June, it was sauna hot. So, most of us were dressed in T shirts and shorts, and packing just a set of night clothes, our caravan set off.

As we approached Araku however, it started getting cold. Midway, it started raining. Regrets started creeping into our minds. By evening it got windier, and wetter, and even colder. The regrets had started morphing into dread.

Worse still, because we got late in reaching Araku, our booked rooms had been let out. We remonstrated through our chattering teeth. Ultimately, we were offered two rooms for the 14 of us. The teeth chattering levels already having reached cacophonic levels, we accepted. Spent a miserable night huddled against each other. The next day saw no letup in the rain. Ultimately, the men having to join office on Monday, we started back in our same soggy shorts and T shirts, without seeing any of the sights Araku had to offer.

But through it all, who stood by us without a murmur? Without heeding the rain and the cold? Without complaining about having to spend the night out in the open? KCF 2823. The noble one put up with more baggage than any marriage. And though we put her to pasture long back, I kid you not – I still picture her in my dreams with Rakesh’s left leg sticking out idiotically. Middle class memories! Sigh!

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And finally dear Reader, if reading this made you smile, please forward it to two friends who take life too seriously.