Darwin & Harley

Of late, quite a few balding, middle-aged men riding Harleys have been hanging around Palace Road in the vicinity of a local college. Informed sources say that these ageing Lotharios have been inspired by a recent survey claiming that bald men are sexy. Either the researchers were drumming up business for Govind Hairdressing Saloon located in the vicinity (We shave you top to bottom) or having a little fun at the expense of the follicular challenged brigade; apparently the fuel costs are inversely proportionate to the pick-ups, pun intended.

One of life's great ironies is that when the means are available, opportunities seldom present themselves. Back in my college days at Loyola, establishing a line of credit at Kutty's Café called for the persuasive skills of a Vijay Mallya. Prompt settlement of one's dues for chai-ciggies-bun-omelette at month end involved fiscal prudence of the sort that would have made Raghuraman Rajan envious. Consequently, balcony seats for the latest movie, cab fare and roses for the object of one's lust were fripperies affordable only to a select few. We had youth, virility and a thick mop of hair on our side, but precious little else. ‘ It's sweet of you to suggest a walk on Marina beach when the ambient temperature is 37 C but I thought I'd do the matinee at Regal with Dilip instead,’ cooed this fluffy number with whom I'd rather fancied my chances.  Dilip travelled in an air-conditioned Premier paid for by his proud, ‘Nothing's too good for my boy’ father.

Advancing years and increasing prosperity take their inevitable toll on one's physical attributes: ‘thin on top and fat in the middle’ is not quite the sort of qualities Gen Y looks for in a prospective lover. The wheels are cool, Nandi Hills beckons, but all those corporate dinners have turned that too, too solid flesh into a flabby, if amorous, mass. Gimme back my hair and the lean, muscular look of my college days but let me keep my platinum card, is likely to be the fervent mantra of the ginseng-chewing, forty-plus male well into his Indian summer. A former princely type summed it up quite succintly, ‘Shit yaar, if only I'd met these babes in my college days…’ with all the angst and frustration of missed opportunity.

Getting back to the ‘Harley Factor’ it does seem as if the geek-targeted features in the glossy pages are reflecting this ‘fat bod on hot rod’ trend.  ‘Meet Harmeet, aka Ham, CEO of Z-Tech. He likes to work hard and play harder. On weekends he heads for the hills on his black and yellow Harley 747, his ponytail streaming out in the breeze and ‘Smoke on the Water’ blasting on his inbuilt helmet headphones’, is a stereotypical example. Of course Harmeet would like nothing better than a Gurmeet(Gum?) riding pillion with him on these sojourns but hey, you can't have everything, right? There's got to be something primal about a Harley and a middle-aged dude, some powerful mystic connection between man and machine. Imagine all that raw, unleashed power between one’s legs, the satisfying auditory blast: va-room, when one revs her up, the casual leather-clad leg lifted over the saddle and, of course, the admiring glances from onlookers. I feel it's a great way of sublimating one's ageing anxieties: a nostalgic impule
to relive the memories of one's impetuous youth, while echoing Jagger, ‘What a drag it is getting old.”  Its ok, dude, at least you've got your Harley and your PMS account.

Alert readers will remember the TV show, ‘Whose line is it anyway?’ which ends with the quick-witted participants singing an impromptu ditty to a random theme picked from a hat by the host, Drew Carey. My favourite was a Harley song done by Ryan Stiles, a beanpole of a guy with a prominent Adam's apple, who totally nailed hoedown. If memory serves me right, it went something like this:

 I like to ride my Harley
I like to ride it fast,
I put my bitch on the back
 And whup her in the ass,
 I like to ride my Harley
I ride it in the dirt

 And sometimes on a weekend I’ll wear panties and a skirt. Unprompted, the contestants would harmonise on the final line: Panties and a skiiiiiiiiiirt.