An entry into the diary of my humdrum existence -- two falls

I have had quite a chequered (though lately more or less idling) career as a highwayman -- on my Bullet that is. I have been careful (in my own recklessly adventurous way) even though I have had my own share of crazy rides (mostly solo) in which I have pushed my endurance while riding; in terms of time spent in the saddle or in terms of surviving aches and jolts all over (as happens when from riding on almost non-existent roads).

But I have been damnably lucky, in terms of falls -- getting away with only one major fall... fell on my nose, was knocked out and saw the stars, but apart from a broken gear lever and a chipped tooth, there wasn't much damage -- in fact I walked the two or so kms home, if a bit groggily (pushing the Bullet along). This is, if one doesn't count the countless falls I have had slipping on black ice in Ladakh, or skidding off while off-roading closer home, both at piddling speeds.

Or maybe I have been living (and riding) under the watchful eyes of my Grandmother and my Gods.

So there, whichever way you look at it, I haven't fallen much and its been a while since I have. But then, as the saying goes, even the Gods have feet of clay; so it happened again, on balmy day in December.

I am getting the Bullet out from the homestead and down the incline onto the road and I am blind-sided by a Yellow Bells / Allamanda shrub that grows right outside our gate and thinks its a tree -- and is sacred (according to my ordinance) since any numbers of Sunbirds and Prinias and Sparrows (and some very timid Tailorbirds) visit it all through the day -- and can't see a school bus coming till its too late. I still manage to brake and take some evasive action by turning the handle in the direction the school bus is going, but still there is an impact and I fall. To make matters weightier (and worrisome) I had the camera bag on, so I must have fallen more heavily than I should.

The bus stopped, and its conductor and one of my neighbours made it to me almost simultaneously. I was a little stunned and a lot shamed, there were no bruises and as expected the Bullet started at first kick. I did go on the ride as planned (to Amma's consternation) and even shot some River Terns at Fox Sagar.

But then, falls are funny things, however innocuous they be -- for its not the physical damage that matters but the mental. And the fear that comes from falling.

And yet, there has to be learning from every fall. My mistake was, I wasn't mindful enough (and I was thinking of the birds, the weather -- it was cloudy and so on). I do it differently now (though the Allamanda is still there blind-siding me), I blank everything from my mind when I am getting the Bullet out. And my father stands out on the road as a spotter.

And I have got my riding confidence back as well, thank you kindly.

Which is really something. For don't let anyone tell you otherwise, success in life is primarily about confidence.

And (oh well, as goes without saying) money, but then I am not qualified to speak of that kind of success, am I?

**********

The second fall was even more mindless and though it did not involve moving wheels, could have resulted in a hell of a lot of damage.

Here's what happened (lifted from my FB status update)

"Was out for a bit of birding today afternoon and walking away disconsolately after finding that neither the pair of Oriental White-eyes nor the flock of Common Ioras were in the Neem where I had seen them yesterday (this tree grows on the side of a deep well and has a wicked perimeter -- of rusty barbed wire and inch long thorn)...was a bit mentally preoccupied to be honest and then it happens, I slip on the uneven ridge abutting the well and crash to the ground.

Must be my luck or my instincts as a biker (or maybe the goodwill of the birds), the impact was totally on the left shoulder and left side of the chest. And though I felt the jar of the fall (I could have been a poleaxed tree for all purposes) nothing happened to the camera and the bazooka lens (which I was holding by the barrel, as usual).

Yes, read that as NOTHING, must be my TLC for my gear (or maybe the goodwill of the birds), it did not even so much as touch the ground (my left elbow did).

So, I brush myself off, shake my head to clear it and walk around a bit wondering if I am too early for the Ioras.

And then retrace my steps, cross the barbed wire (and one inch thorns) and sidle up to the Neem, to find them there again.

Eventful, huh?"

I wasn't exactly exact there -- it was a pair of Common Ioras and flock of Oriental White-eyes. But the rest is more or less how it happened.

And I did shoot some lifers right after the fall, too.

However, I am still thanking my stars that nothing happened to the camera (and lens) and that I did not fall into the well. What was I thinking? Truth be told, I wasn't exactly being a mentally pre-occupied Salim Ali, my thoughts had more to do with my father who has been having major problems with his insulin shots (post his bypass he administers the insulin to himself using an "insulin pen")...with the insulin leaking out at times, the needle getting twisted and bent and cutting him up and so on...we had been away on a trip to my paternal aunt's place (to lovely and quaint Wardha) and also to Nagpur (to my brother's) and it was agreed that the problem was with the pen and my father will get it replaced once we are back in Hyderabad.

But once we are back, he decides to get it "repaired" and I get to see him poking himself with a needle and the resultant blood and tension as the stupid thing gets jammed again, even when I try to give him the shots. Using that pen isn't a very pleasant thing at the very best of times -- you know you are poking a needle into your father and that it is hurting him. And it was sheer torture since I realized it was jamming, because the pressure applied onto the pen's plunger got transferred onto the pen and from the pen to the needle.

All this meant a lot of tension all around (and added consternation for Amma) as we had no idea of how many shots have gone in and what to do when the damn plunger won't move. Naturally then, that morning we had a row at home and my father promised to get the pen "repaired" in the evening.

So you can imagine my thoughts while I was "mentally pre-occupied"...I was mostly blaming myself for not having realized all this earlier and for not having changed the pen earlier. And I was also trying to figure out if my father's irrational, irritable and ill-tempered behaviour for the last month or so was due to wrong dosing. Not that he did not have other cause for worry and tensions (how can anyone who is father to someone like me be totally unworried?), but somehow I was feeling that a large part was played by the wrong dosing...something that I could have spotted and corrected long ago -- provided I wasn't gallivanting all over the country.

Anyway, so that was the second fall and whatever I may say to explain my state of not being mindful, I cannot say I am feeling very dignified about it, even now.

But then, one has to move on, no?

An upshot of that fall was a frank conversation I had with my father. And I am happy to say that there were no arguments this time when I said he get the pen replaced. And the new pen works just fine, too.