When I was 21 years old,
Typically rash stupid and bold,
I went through a phase called the double 'A'
My automotive adolescence so to say.
As a compromise between power and money,
I was given the Rajdoot Yamaha 350,
Yes, the one with the miserable fuel economy.
Though the four figure petrol bills, gave my wallet nasty chills,
The machine doled out amazing thrills.
The bike was built for mad, suicidal speed,
And that was my strongest need.
Under me, my Rajdoot Yamaha,
And the road was my virtual Suzuka.
You feel an incomparable high,
When on the road in harmony, you fly,
The bikes an extension of your body,
you two are one, You think about changing a gear and it's done.
Roaring into a corner you come,
The wind in your ears a loud hum.
Physics says you have to fall, and gravity does try,
But you make poor old Newton sigh,
He rolls over and over in his grave,
Wondering why, according to his laws you don't behave.
Your confidence soars, Louder the bike roars,
The throttle is like a baton in your hand,
The pistons and the crank, the best orchestra in the land.
And it is Wagners opera to your mind,
The sound of the engine screaming toward the red line.
The adrenaline in your blood makes it boil,
But, on the next corner there's spilt diesel oil…
Then comes the fall,
With a shower of sparks, bike, you and all.
You hit the tar at a hundred and one,
Dragged along with the bike,
remember you two are one,
But now it isn't so much fun.
You have burns due to friction,
And pain has reached a new dimension.
You are laid up in bed for quite a while
And now it is old Newtons' turn to smile.
[The Yamaha RD350 was a cult bike the world over. In 1983, when Escorts introduced it in India as the RAJDOOT YAMAHA RD350, it gave the Indian youth a taste of the wild, haywire and exhilarating speed and acceleration that motorcycling is all about. Affectionately called the Rajyams (or fearfully the Yamraj), it built up a rep that no other Indian bike even comes close to. Ask anyone whose owned one and then graduated to a superbike. Chances are they'll tell you the Rajyams was more thrilling, because it demanded respect arising from the fear of death that always rode pillion. There are short streets near my house which still make me smile when I remember how effortlessly she used to do three figure speeds in so short a distance.
Even today, almost 10 years after the last one was produced, for those who have experienced it there is no sound as sweet and exciting as that of a Rajyams screaming at 8,000 rpm.]
