All bikers have one of
the two approaches to bikes – some own them merely to show off, while the rest are passionate about being one with their machines. Then, there was Cherian.
Photo Courtesy: Blueprints.com
Day 2 in Wayanad. The boys were
mesmerized with the raw and rugged charisma of this quaint town – where the
exploits of tourism had not yet destroyed its natural state of beauty. They had
ventured a little further from their original plan to visit the Chembra Peak.
They visited a nearby Wildlife Sanctuary and had managed to see bisons, deer
and the Hanuman langur at fairly close range but they wanted more. They
figured, a trek to the Peak would add another dimension to the trip before they
called it a day. The humility with which nature presented itself with open arms
to intrigued souls who wanted to understand it better. Not that it mattered,
when you have a bike, and not just any bike but the Kawasaki Versys 650 which
they affectionately called Howler. This was Howler’s seventh long bike ride.
Even before Jai gifted himself the bike on his 23rd birthday, he had
meticulously prepared a list of the 20 bike rides that he wanted to do within
India, complete with route maps, best-time to travel, stops required, places to
visit on the way, etc. In parallel, he had also begun his physical and mental
training to be part of the Iron Butt Association (Yes, it is a real thing!)
So once Howler was delivered, the
riding scene set itself in motion. Being in Bangalore, it made sense to cover
the lower half of the country first and slowly move farther with every trip.
Plus, there was never a dearth of places here. So after covering most of
Karnataka and Tamil Nadu, Jai chose Kerala. This time, however, he had a
pillion rider – his Veeru, whose actual name was Amith. Amith had met with a
minor accident eleven months ago that led to a hairline-fracture in his ankle.
Since the accident, Amith restricted his riding to very short distances around
the city but Jai didn’t want his Veeru to miss out on the trip. So here they
were 2 days and 350 kms later, on the Vayavatta Road towards their resort after
a fulfilling day.
It was now Amith’s turn to ride
and Jai looked at his watch. ‘7 pm Veeru. We should’ve started a little
earlier. The whole damn town switches off right after sunset here’. Amith
however remained calm. ‘Why worry, when Google Baba shall show you the way!!’ he
said poetically. ‘Only 20 kms. We should be there by 8. In time for hot appams
and mutton stew. Just make sure you get the route right.’
After a while though, Amith
started to get a little suspicious. ‘Hotel Dubai?? I don’t remember seeing this
in the morning. You sure it’s the right route?’, he enquired. Jai, having had
enough of Amith’s constant questioning, simply chose not to reply. Almost half
an hour later and with no Roseberg Resort or people in sight, they stopped to
look around for familiar places. Network was patchy here and Google Baba
couldn’t do much about it. Most of the hotels and shops were closed but for one
teashop whose owner was also just closing down. After much explaining in
Kannada-Hindi-Tamil they realized they were in Padivayal, 16 kms away from the
resort. 16 kms in Bangalore would have been a cake-walk (minus the traffic),
but in remote towns and villages, it wasn’t that easy. Especially so since they
were also running out of petrol. They asked the teashop owner (again in awkward
Kannada-Hindi-Tamil) if there were any petrol pumps around. The owner smiled
and said, ‘1 km straight and then first right. 3 kms, reach Cherian house.
Petrol there. Then straight to Nedumbala. Roseberg Resort 6 kms from there’. So
the shop owner knew English after all!
Although it took longer than
expected, by combining the information from (the still patchy) Google Maps and
the owner’s instructions, they reached their first stop. A small villa styled
house with a board hanging from the tiled roof that said, ‘Cherian House’. The house in itself was a simple one-storey cottage
with a verandah on both sides and a long sit-out in front. The decoration was
minimal and consisted of a large wooden cross above the main door and two
hanging flower pots with money plants. The garden had rows of neatly trimmed hibiscus,
bougainvillae and rose brushes. The garden and entrance were lit by soft yellow
lights which gave the house, a colonial Portugese look. The boys however were
not interested in the house. They were instantly drawn to the garage on the
right end of the house. A firm structure, which housed not one, not two, but
four motorcycles gleaming in the moonlight.
Jai let out a whistle. It was an
unbelievable scene, according to him. “Look at those beauties Veeru”, he
exclaimed. “Damn it! All of them right out of my wishlist man!” Veeru was too
stunned to reply. A moment later, the main door of the house opened and a smiling
man in his mid-30s walked towards the boys and opened the main gate. Jai was
the first to talk. He explained how they ended up in the wrong route and their
desperate need for petrol. It would be great if Cherian Sir could help them.
The man, still smiling,
introduced himself as Koshy, Cherian’s son. “You youngsters depend too much on
GPS and phones these days, you don’t realize that in rural areas, the best guides
are local people.” Jai quickly made a mental note – Less Google Maps, More
Google Translate. You still had to have technology though! Veeru, however, couldn’t
get his mind off the garage - “We were actually admiring the bikes in your
garage. Straight out of my wishlist, Sir!” To this, Koshy laughed. “I have a
Carwash and a garage in Kozhikode but in our hearts, we are a family of bike
enthusiasts. Plus I like to keep them here so Appa can see them.” Koshy then
took them to his garage where the boys spent a good twenty minutes fussing over
the bikes, comparing the models and asking for reviews.
“Oh I almost forgot!”, Koshy said
and then pointed to a small desk placed outside the garage. On the desk were
ten plastic bottles filled with dark brown liquid, which the boys immediately understood
to be petrol. The boys were so engrossed with the bikes that they missed seeing
the table and only when they saw the bottles did they remember why they were
there. Amith took a bottle and after thanking Koshy profusely for being a
savior especially for tourists like them, he asked how much should they pay for
the bottle. “Not that it matters, Koshy Sir. This is our Liquid Gold for
today”, added Jai. Koshy looked a little surprise. “I thought you knew already.
All the thanks should actually go to Appa and these bottles are not here for
sale. We don’t charge for the petrol, although it would be great if you
returned the bottles. Swachh Bharat and all, you see!”
Both Jai and Amith were taken by
surprise. “How could somebody give petrol for free? Actually, why would they?
In fact shouldn’t you charge more because it is so difficult to get petrol
around here?” Koshy listened to all the questions and profit projections
patiently before he replied laughing – “Thank you for your wonderful
suggestions but like I said, this is something Appa started that we would like
to hopefully continue for a long time.” “Appa sure sounds like a very
interesting man… and super rich”, Jai exclaimed. “Actually on the contrary”,
Koshy said. “Appa’s father was a care taker in one of the bungalows down south.
The bungalow was owned by the British and their son was the first owner of a
motorbike in the region. The first time Appa saw the bike, he fell in love. Since
then, it was his dream to own a bike. Specifically, the 1942 BSA M20. So as
soon as he started working, he began saving as well. But you know how it is those
days. Sisters, Marriage, us kids and so on. Appa’s commitments increased but his
salary, not so much. So although he bought himself a Luna and never failed to
take us all on his friend’s bikes (it was his favorite hobby, by the way!), he
never got to buying his own bike. That, however, didn’t stop him from saving
for his bike, and also from putting in me and most of the kids here, that love
and respect for bikes. What you see here is proof of that deep reverence we
have for this wonderful machine”, he said waving to the neatly arranged row of
bikes in his garage.
“Wow!!” Jai exclaimed. “I am also a total
sucker for bikes too but this is something else. One thing I still don’t
understand, why the free bottles, if I may ask?” “Oh yes! That was a huge
turning point for Appa”, said Koshy and continued “He once got a chance to
visit Goa with his boss and family on a four-day trip. Appa was their driver
and during their time in Goa, they used to reach their hotel late every night after
all the dinner and playing in the beaches. One of the things Appa noticed almost
every night on his way back to the hotel was that some houses had desks with
bottles like the one you see here. He ignored them at first but after seeing
this at a couple of places he wanted to know what they were for. So he asked
about these desks to the people at the hotel. Not sure, if you have heard about
it but these were the locals, Good Samaritans, who wanted to help tourists in
case they ran out of petrol because petrol pumps were hard to find in some
areas. And this was all before Google and Maps. So they figured they would help
by placing bottles of petrol in front of their homes, that too for free! Goa
was a huge attraction even them and most of the Goans made their livelihoods through
the thriving tourism. They hence had a lot of love and gratitude for those
visiting their land and wanted to ensure a warm welcome to all those visiting.
That day, Appa learnt something that would change his life forever. These
people who provided the petrol in Goa weren’t rich landlords or wealthy people.
They were just normal folks trying to make their land friendlier. So after he
returned from Goa, Appa took out all the money he saved for his bike and set up
his table around twelve years ago. So what if he couldn’t have a bike of his
own, he would instead help tourists get to their destinations, safely and
without any worry. And all these years he did just that. He is not too well
these days but still ensures that the bottles are full every single day. I
would like to think we have helped a few people along the way. Making tourists
happier, one bottle at a time!”
Jai and Amith didn’t know what to
say. They wanted to meet Cherian Sir. This man who had a small dream which
morphed into something much greater. His wish to ride his own bike around the
world transformed into a larger-than-himself dream of doing his bit to help
other travelers who visit his hometown. Old age had taken a toll on him and he
had been in hospital for a couple of weeks. However, he was better now except
for his forgetfulness and hearing issues. “He loves to meet bikers like you.
Please have a seat and I shall bring him.” A few minutes later, Cherian emerged
from the room. He was a handsome man, probably in his 80’s and was fussing over
his mundu, complaining that it wasn’t starched properly. He was in a wheelchair
and Koshy brought him closer so he could took a good look at the boys. Cherian’s
face lit up like he was meeting old friends and he gave them a broad
smile. Both Jai and Amith had a lot of
feelings going through their heads but were too speechless to say anything.
After a couple seconds, Amith, in his basic Malayalam asked, “Hello Sir.
Kazhicho?”
“Aa. Idli, 3 ennam”
“Appo idli koode entha?”
“Chutney”, he replied which Koshy
corrected, “Chutney allalo Appa, Sambar alle”
“Aa..chutney poloru sambar,
sambar poloru chutney..”
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