To Veronica - Because Some Stories Are Very Special

On the stretch of highway from Imphal to Silchar, there is a patch of around 40 Kms where its just a dirt road.It was highly slushy when I was traveling, due to the rains. I had been advised not to take this road by the hotel staff in Imphal. I had ridden through a few bad stretches across the country and a tinge of arrogance did creep in. I ignored the advise in my arrogance and I can only curse myself.

Now these weren't the worst of roads I had faced. Elsewhere bad patches extend for about 4 - 5 Kms to a max of 10 Kms. This one stretched a whole 40 Kms and my patience is tested. When your patience is tested, you start with a sarcastic just my luck kind of a look. In a while you start abusing your luck. After that you start pleading with God to change your luck. Then you just stop complaining and start giving yourself a pep talk. This stretch did all that and some more. But somewhere in these slushy roads there is a small village called 'Barak'. You have cities and you have tier 2, tier 3 cities. Similarly you have villages and tier 2, tier 3 villages. Barak was one of them. By the time I reached there it was quite dark and the security situation in Manipur being what it is, the sentry in the CRPF post did not allow me to travel further. I had to wait till dawn to start off again. Frankly I was relieved. The slushy stretch still had another 10 odd Kms and some rest would not hurt me. I just had to find a place to sleep.

I ask the CRPF personnel stationed in that check post if there is a hotel or any place nearby wherein I could spend the night. He replied in the negative. Not that I expected a hotel in this village. I was just trying to warm up to him and ask him to give me a place to rest for the night in his bunker or along side his bunker. I had a sleeping bag with me and just needed a roof to rest till dawn and continue on my way to Silchar. So I asked him if I could park my bike near the sentry post somewhere and if he could offer me a place to sleep. I slipped in the fact that my father was an ex Army officer just to shift the odds in my favour. I overestimate my shrewdness. None of the tricks work. The rules dictate that no civilian is allowed in those spaces.

Rules and procedures I believe, should be followed more in spirit than in letter. People in the ground should be trusted enough to make that call. I could sense the discomfort in the CRPF guy. In my heart I knew he wanted to help me out but he just couldn't risk bending rules. One often thinks the world is an unkind place. But im my experience of  this bike trip, whenever I have needed help, be it big or small, people present over there have risen up to the occasion and helped me. I know from his looks that he wants to help me but he does not have the authority to help me out. I still know I can get a place to sleep there if I persist with him. I'll just have to talk to a few other colleagues of his, some seniors, maybe talk to some other senior in some base location on the phone, tell my story to everyone and prove my identity to half of them. I was dead tired and I neither had the will nor the inclination to do all that. I just decided, I'll go to those small shops on the other side of the road and ask them if they could give me a place to sleep for the night.

The CRPF check post is on the left side of the road just before the steel bridge over a river. On the other side of the road, I head to the first shop I can see to try my luck. It is actually a small two room hut with a window cut out for a makeshift shop- the kind which will have some biscuits, cigarettes, maggi packets, some tetra packs of fruit juices and possibly tea. The door is open and I have a sneak peek of the other room. It is mostly empty. Maybe there is a modest dining table and a bench somewhere in the corner. Also the thatched roof of the hut extends a little from the front wall. I could use that space to park my bike. This place was perfect. I just have to say the right words and my problems are solved. With a hopeful look and the politest smile I could manage, I go up to the window counter of the shop.

There is a lady, presumably in her early to mid 30's running the shop. She smiles. It is a very kind smile. We exchange simple greetings and I  ask her if she has a place she could offer me, where I could sleep for the night. Before I could say anything else she says "You are most welcome". I ask her how much it will cost me. She replies "You are most welcome". I have a feeling that she did not understand my second question. But then I decide to deal with it in the morning. For now I needed a place to sleep very badly. I thank her and I ask her if I could bring my motorcycle to the shop and park it in the space alongside the wall of the hut. She says "Yes". I am a bit relieved - one for the fact that I got a place to sleep the first place I enquired and secondly the fact that I managed it in under 2 minutes. I mean if there is a record for the shortest time you negotiate for a place to sleep when stranded in an unknown village, for all I know I just might have broken it.

Meet Veronica

(To be continued....)

You can check part 2 of the story in the below link
http://thecluelessrider.blogspot.in/2014/08/to-veronica-because-some-stories-are_22.html

About Me:

A 7 month motorcycle ride that took me to every state in India, parts of Nepal and Bhutan and one town in Burma. These blog entries are inspired by this trip. Stories about people I met, stories about places I saw. Things that intrigued me, things that amused me. They say traveling changes you, they say traveling inspires you and they say a lot of other stuff. I don't know. I think a gun on the head is a better way to change people. I just hope that my travel stories entertain you

Right now I am in the process of writing a book based on this trip and figuring out the difference between a writer's block and procrastination.

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