Ramblings

It looks like Bijoy's petrolhead genes have skipped a generation. Or have they?

WHEN YOU ARE DEEPLY PASSIONATE about something in life, you expect your children to show some interest in the subject, right? If film actors, politicians and sports professionals can expect their children to follow suit and make merry of the opportunities and exposure that comes easily to them, an honest to god automobile enthusiast can expect his children to like cars and bikes, right?

Not that I was intent on force feeding my son car and motorcycle stuff all the time. But the fact remains that he had access to car games, automotive publications and test cars and bikes of all kinds over the last 20 years. I dutifully bought him the rarest of rare Hotwheels machinery and vicariously enjoyed the sheer joy of playing Need for Speed hours on end. But somewhere down the line my son lost interest in cars and motorcycles and started playing God of War. To me that was sacrilege since video games meant NFS or Colin McRae. I couldn’t understand why one would play a game where you relentlessly beat up people or shoot them. But he did find sheer enjoyment in this and progressed to playing DOTA (Defence of the Ancients… for the uninitiated). And that is when I realised that my son has as much interest in internal combustion engines as Donald Trump has in Mexicans.

But I still had hope that when he turned 18 he would want to drive or ride. He showed early interest in riding and could wrestle my RX 135 with off-road tyres around a mud track. Before I could emit a silent victory cry, he lost interest in motorcycles. Then I decided to teach him driving. Mind you, driving as a life hack and not emulating Jacques Villeneuve, my hero. I told him if he learnt to drive he could have one of the family cars to go to college. He

I offered my son the key to my HarleyDavidson and even suggested that it will suit his physique... to

no avail

took the Volvo bus intead.

After tremendous amounts of coercing he started to take lessons with me in my Logan. He was surprisingly good behind the wheel (all that NFS time did not go wasted, I told my wife proudly). One day he drove the Logan brilliantly and parked it. That was it. He was not interested in driving any more.

So he walks, takes ricks and trains and in the worst case scenario calls an Uber or Ola to move around. He is a big boy at 20 and I offered him the key to my Harley-Davidson and even suggested that it will suit his physique… to no avail.

Devastated? To some extent, honestly, I am. But I am beginning to understand the fact that he has other interests. He loves 3D animation and graphics and that is what he wants to practice and pursue. And not hand-brake turns and third gear wheelies. And I am grudgingly accepting the fact.

One day I was lying still in my bed and contemplating what to do with all the motorcycles I have been hoarding over the years, when my wife spoke. ‘Goodnight… (long pause) by the way your daughter wants to ride your Harley when she turns 18’. I didn’t utter a word. A cool breeze danced across the room. Needless to say I had a rather peaceful sleep. Hope? Justice? Silver lining? You betcha!L