I hate driving in Mumbai, or rather anywhere in India. Which is one strong reason why I no longer own a car even though I have been persistently cajoled to get one by my mom. I do not like riding a motorbike either, at least as part of my daily office commute, even though my workplace is just about two kilometres from my place and notwithstanding the fact that it’s my low-priority hobby listed here. (I’m gradually moving it out of my hobby list because two-wheelers cause the most fatal accidents in India and it’s not great for your health span.) Despite the fact, just last week I rode from Navi Mumbai to Colaba and back just because I couldn’t resist not watching the Director’s Cut of Sholay (1975) at Regal Cinema.

Mumbai roads, or rather Indian roads, are undriveable. The roads are not safe, people on the road do not maintain traffic etiquette as a norm, and traffic law enforcement is laughable. I also have some hearing loss in one ear, which makes the terrible, ever-present honking a nightmare for me to be on the road, on a bike, car, or even as a pedestrian. This is something most people in India know very well know and yet choose to ignore. What other option do we have?

So it was natural for me to dismiss driving or riding as a fun activity. Until I picked up a scooter in Malaysia last year. Till that point, despite the nasty Indian roads and all that they come with, riding a 450-CC RE Himalayan motorbike in Leh was the closest the activity had come to be called “fun” for me. Maybe it was because I was riding along with two closest friends.

The ride in Malaysia was a fantastical revelation. I was on my extended honeymoon and had reached Langkawi as my final stop. On the second or third day in the duty-free island we decided to eat dinner at a popular seafood joint called Wonderland Food Store near Kuah. Since we had rented a scooter, we decided we’ll ride the 20-kilometre distance, which looked like an interesting route on Google Maps, cutting through dense forest. Without discussing or researching further, we started, around six in the evening.

The next 30 minutes of bike riding, from Pantai Cenang to Kuah, made me realise what professional bikers really feel when they are out and about.^[1]In contrast, I and my friends who biked in Leh, had once biked from Navi Mumbai to Malshej Ghat. On our way back via Kalyan, we took an oath to never do that madness ever again in the city. The ride was such a breeze; thanks to clean, well-marked, and tarred roads, I almost felt like I was flying on the road. The cold wind hitting my chest, making me faintly shiver and occasionally shudder, but also constantly reminding me that I’m not in India and I don’t need to watch out for potholes and that I should take in the scenery that’s around me. However, the sun had set long back on this June day so it was not much of a scenic ride, but still the freshness of that trip has stayed with me and looks like has plans to stay with me till the end.

Other people on the road were mindful of the speed limits and rarely honked. In fact, I don’t remember hearing any kind of unnecessary, muscle-memory honking in Malaysia. This ride to Kuah was near peaceful, save for the usual forest sounds that was making my back passenger a bit more anxious than usual. My successful attempts to switch off the headlights (thereby breaking a traffic rule) to add to the anxiety, notwithstanding.

Maybe it was the route, maybe it was the time. Whatever it was, I had a jolly good time riding a bike that night. I have plans to go back to Langkawi whenever possible and I’m sure gonna be making that trip again. Maybe next time in a more powerful motorbike.

I often think about that ride when I think about all the things wrong with why I can’t pull something like that off in Mumbai. Or even in Kerala, which has a slightly better traffic law enforcement based on my numerous in the state. Does this have anything to do with the thought in the back of mind of wanting to move out of India?