Aseem Kumar is a rebel in his own right. He leads a fairly unconventional life in a conventional setting. An exporter by profession, and an explorer by heart--he’s done well in life.
“People meditate, pray. My Zen moments come when I ride my bike,” he puts it poetically. That state of calm attentiveness. Every day, at the crack of dawn, he sallies forth biking on the Noida-Greater Noida expressway or the Taj Expressway. To witness the rising sun cruising on a bike is an angelic experience. He does it every day, all round the year. He has organised his life around his biking schedule.
Apart from his supportive wife, Tulika, and two wonderful daughters, he has had another constant companion-the Enfield bike. Though he purchased more than a couple of dozen of them in his past 30 years, currently there are 4 and plans to buy a new model that’s recently being launched. One of the four bikes is a 1965 model of Enfield Bullet–just a year younger than him.
His love affair with the Enfield bikes started even before he learned to talk. When he was a toddler, his father rode a vintage BSA bike. He would take Aseem along with him on long bike rides from Ranchi to Jamshedpur. Aseem grew up hearing the characteristic thump, low revving sound–the excavation beat of the engine. That sound echoed in his mind long after the bike ride was over. It ingrained in him like the comfort of the staple food. That sound he grew up hearing was quintessentially similar to that of an Enfield bike. His love for the bike has a lot to do with its acoustics. That explains why he didn’t enjoy riding a BMW superbike, recently. “It failed to impress me,” he said. The bike can’t sing, he meant.
The childhood association with the particular revving of a quintessential bike became an obsession in his youth. A friend of his would ride his father's Enfield to school, and they’d roam around the city, and gained the dubious distinction of ‘two adolescents riding a big bike’ in Ranchi. Must have been quite a spectacle.
As the years rolled by, he mastered the art, not really, of riding an Enfield without holding the handle. He tried to perform the same stunt before his erstwhile heartthrob to impress her when he was barely 20 years old, resulting in a loud crash that cost him four of his front teeth. His front teeth are artificial, he revealed a family secret for this writeup.
The good thing is that he learned his lesson. A responsible biker, Aseem wears protective gear and takes all necessary precautions.
“People meditate, pray. My Zen moments come when I ride my bike,” he puts it poetically. That state of calm attentiveness. Every day, at the crack of dawn, he sallies forth biking on the Noida-Greater Noida expressway or the Taj Expressway. To witness the rising sun cruising on a bike is an angelic experience. He does it every day, all round the year. He has organised his life around his biking schedule.
He does two long bike journeys a year, one to Ladakh in the summers–where the best comes after the hardest climb, and in winters he rides across the arid landscape of colourful Rajasthan with a bunch of his friends, most of them expats.
A caravan of a dozen bikes, one person per bike. It’s a solitary journey done in a group. Next year in February, he plans yet another such trip. The trip culminates at his home in Noida, where his biker friends are treated to a feast–Sikandari raan–before they disperse with a promise to meet again.
He made friends with some wonderful people, who seek stillness-solace in the motion of a bike. Aseem’s house is a reflection of the choices he’s made, bit of an art collector. A connoisseur of good food, Aseem has a lot to say about things, has well-formed opinions and is forthright about them. An inhouse café in the front courtyard is adorned with the parts of Enfield bikes.
Abdul is an artist-mechanic of the Enfield bike–the best in NCR—is a childhood buddy. Decades have passed since, both shifted from Ranchi to Noida. They speak in a language of their own–they discuss bikes as common friends. Like Robert M. Pirsig in his seminal book Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance had so eloquently stated, “Each machine has its own, unique personality which probably could be defined as the intuitive sum total of everything you know and feel about it. This personality constantly changes, usually for the worse, but sometimes surprisingly for the better, and it is this personality that is the real object of motorcycle maintenance.”
Abdul is the guardian of Aseem’s bikes who visit Abdul fortnightly, are, therefore, in mint condition. Abdul and Aseem are all weather trusted friends like the Enfield bikes.
This long association with multiple Enfield bikes–is like a serial monogamy with bikes. It wouldn’t have been possible without the support of his wife Tulika and two daughters. Tulika encourages his tryst with long bike journeys, for he returns with a tanned and toned body, his spirits soaring high, he’s high on life, rejuvenated. Aseem seems to get younger by a decade or two after his long voyage on bike. He can’t do without these periodic ‘overhauling’ trips.
Therefore, it goes without saying, Aseem looks much younger than his age, both in spirit and looks—despite the long greying beard that carcasses his neck titillatingly when he rides. He is like his bikes–gets better with age.
He’d be entering the seventh decade of his life in a little over a year. And plans to pen down a graphic memoir about his various journeys on his Enfield bikes. He kept going on at a level pace through the ups and downs of life. It promises to be India’s equivalent of Jack Kerouac's On the Road who famously wrote, “Nothing behind me, everything ahead of me, as is ever so on the road.” The road is life, and the bike's revving engine is the heartbeat.
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