“I missed you too, darling. How was your trip?” asked Shikha. “Fruitful but tiring. And what about your project?” he replied. “I finished it today and it was approved. I am going to laze
around for the next few days.”
“Shikha, that's great. We have both been working too hard and
need some time to ourselves.”
“You do appreciate the fact that both of us have turned into
automatons. We are puppets at the beck and call of the monstrous
entities known as our respective employers!” intoned Shikha. With
a past ambition of becoming an author, she was fond of being verbose. He smiled, amused by the turn of speech. He still found her trait of using long words endearing.
He had a sudden brainwave. “Tell you what. Tomorrow is a holiday. That is Friday, making this an extended weekend. Let's push off.”
“But I have so many chores at home. I have been accumulating the washing. Our bags are not packed. And all the resorts will be full. Where will we go? And how?” As usual she had many questions.
“Don't worry. Just put the clothes in the washing machine after dinner. Pack our toothbrushes and a couple of jeans. We'll start off at five in the morning and drive to Kasauli on my Bullet. We'll find some place to stay.” He was impulsive as always.
“But your bike has been lying in disuse for months,” she protested.
“It's fine. I know my bike. It won't fail us. After all it's my first love and you are my second. Remember our honeymoon?”
She wavered, remembering those magical days when they had driven off on the Kalka-Shimla highway on that bike immediately after their marriage without any plans or care about the world. “Let's take the car.”
“Please, please, let's take the bike. I have been dying to ride it with you clutching me. We both need a lot of fresh air. Now be a good girl and do the needful. We got to get up early tomorrow.”
The spirit in the planchette had predicted a journey, Shikha couldn't help recalling, and that had already proved correct. Would the predictions about the promotion and having no children also prove to be correct? She felt a pang of sadness at the prospect but dismissed the thoughts again.
Next morning they were on the road with only a backpack slung on Shikha's shoulder for company. As they left Ring Road and drove onto the Grand Trunk Road, Sachin felt a sense of liberation. It had been too long since they had done this.
“We should do it more often,” murmured Shikha, echoing
his thoughts. As they roared down the highway on the motorbike, Sachin felt inexplicably happy. He felt the tensions of his office, with its petty problems; ego clashes and needless squabbles melt away into the rushing wind.
“This is life! This is what I am. And I am going to do this more often,” he thought, as he throttled the powerful bike. He rode skillfully, enjoying the raw surge of power of the bike and the touch of Shikha's body as she clung to him while he tackled the highway traffic. Sachin couldn't remember feeling this passionate in a long time. Shikha's round cushiony breasts stuck firmly on his back. Through his thin, slightly sweat-soaked shirt, he could almost feel them in their entirety. For a second, he was tempted to let go off the bike, turn slightly, cup them gently in his hungry palms and give them a hard squeeze. But then realizing it would be a pretty hardcore act of PDA and they were perhaps too grown up for it, he somehow swallowed the rising passion in his dry throat.
On the way, they passed a number of trucks that had turned turtle but even those ugly sights could not dim their enthusiasm. Shikha giggled and squealed like a teenager while he wove his way through the moderately heavy traffic.
They stopped for breakfast at Sonepat and hit the road again. Soon they were at Panipat. The G T Road had been raised to form a flyover that bypassed the congested main road of the city and Sachin did not have to slow down the pace of the bike. They continued riding and before long they had crossed Karnal and Kurukshetra. An hour later they were at Kalka. There was the usual traffic snarl as the road narrowed down to wind its way through the congested main bazaar. Sachin chafed internally as he crawled along with the chaotic traffic. Cars, scooters, motorcycles and pedestrians jostled for space and the situation was further complicated by presence of huge tourist buses on way to Shimla and back.
“Nothing has changed in five years,” he cribbed. “If anything, things are worse than before.” He felt hot in the helmet and took it off and handed it to Shikha. It took them almost thirty minutes to do the two-kilometer stretch but finally they were free of the traffic and found themselves at the tollbooth which guarded the entrance to Himachal Pradesh. They paid the toll and zoomed off. The hills began almost immediately and the air became cooler as the road curved upwards. Sachin was still frustrated with the time lost at Kalka and vent his spleen on the throttle and the powerful bike roared uphill. Shikha tapped him on the shoulder and asked him to take a break at Parwanoo.