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GJM 1831

The advertisements are all over the newspapers and the magazines. Kinetic Honda urged all scooter owners to hand over their vehicles (not more than 20 years old) and than walk out a brand new KH scooter at reasonably discounted prices. This is now part of the hand-over-the-old-walk-out-with- new sales gimmick and the scooter scheme, I was told, was working well. Thousands of scooter owners had made use of the exchange programme and were driving around in their brand new, shiny, Kinetic Honda scooters.

Unfortunately, the advertisement came about 10 years late for me. Otherwise, I might have been tempted to exchange my own scooter for a brand new one. Or then I might not have done it, purely on sentimental grounds. I was very fond of the GJM 1831, my original 'Vespa' scooter which I acquired in 1968. It was the third vehicle which I had ever owned. The first two were bicycles. An 'Eastern Star' brand bike which I bought for Rs 160 was stolen from my home and its successor a green 'Raliegh', the best in the market in those days, was sold after I had acquired the scooter.

Scooters were a rarity then. The two brands, Vespa and Lambretta, were heavily booked and one had to wait for nearly 14 years before being allotted a 'Vespa', which was then manufactured by Pune's Bajaj Auto Ltd in collaboration with the Italian manufacturers. But I was able to get one in just four days. It happened like this.

During my training as a journalist with the Times group, I worked for some time with The Illustrated Weekly of India, edited by Khushwant Singh. We got along well and Singh asked me to do a series of articles on leading Indian industrialists. The series was called 'How They Did It'. The series was a success.

I did a piece on the Bajaj group which, besides its industrial achievements, was also closely associated with Mahatma Gandhi and the Swadeshi movement. The Bajaj bosses were pleased with the Weekly article and promised me a scooter from the management quota. Of course, I had to make full payment.

I made use of the offer as soon as I began working as a reporter for The Times of India, Ahmedabad. The scooter, once it arrived, was the cynosure of all eyes and personified the power of the press. For me, it was a new kind of pleasure. Nor more huffing, puffing, pedalling in the hot sun. No punctures. No dirtying one's hands while changing the cycle chains. What a relief to kick the starter to set the vehicle moving.

History is full of instances of men who loved their vehicles. James Bond, for instance, loved his famed Aston-Martin more than even his girlfriends. Frederick Forsyth's fictitious hero Peter Miller would rather give up his girlfriend, Sigrid, than his Jaguar XE 150 in the thriller, The Odessa File. My poor GJM 1831 was, no doubt, humble by comparison, but I loved it with the same intensity.

On cold, starry nights, I rode by scooter in search of stories. In that stillness that surrounded me, I even talked to my scooter. I was Rana Pratap, she was my favourite horse. I was Ayrton Senna, and she, my speedy 'Ferrari'. For years, together, we covered all kinds of events, farm meetings, political conventions, mid-night defections, prime ministers's meetings, communal riots and so on. Not a single mishap, not one accident.

The GJM 1831 also became a part of my family. My first daughter jumped on the seat, shook the handles and once broke the rear-view mirror. But the GJM 1831 did not seem to mind! She was ideal for moving around in a city like Ahmedabad. Parking was easy, even in the poles (narrow lanes) of the city. Occasionally, we went on long rides.

My scooter was part of my luggage when I shifted home and landed a job in Bombay. She arrived with the other pieces of luggage in a truck. But driving a scooter had its limitations in Bombay. My office was about 25 kms from home and I had to commute by the suburban trains. I used the scooter to reach the railway station where it was parked in an official scooter stand till I collected it in the evening. It was still useful for suburban shopping, visits to the Juhu beach and dropping in at the homes of relatives and friends in the suburbs.

By this time we had a second daughter and the GJM 1831 rose manfully to the occasion. My wife and baby occupied the pillion while the elder daughter stood in front, clutching the handle. Oh, the places we visited thus! Juhu, distant Vikhroli, Mulund, Chembur and, once, even Thane.

Unfortunately, my friendly scooter could not be registered in Bombay. In Ahmedabad, I had no problems with the Regional Transport Office or the traffic cops. One telephone call and a representative would come to my place to collect the taxes for the vehicle. Minor traffic violations like illegal parking were also sorted out because of The Times of India association.

Bombay was different. The first time I went to the RTO premises, I was astonished to find a long queue. Touts pounced on me, promising to do all the paper work provided I paid them well. The man at the counter was rude and made me wait endlessly. In disgust, I decided that I would not change my scooter's registration number nor pay any taxes on it.

The GJM 1831 served me faithfully for another 10 years in Bombay. I got it serviced regularly but, after more than 20 years, the wear and tear could not be ignored. I could not use the scooter during the monsoon. The service charges became higher and higher. Spare parts were simply not available because the Vespa model was no longer being manufactured. My daughters were growing up and we could not ride together on a scooter. The GJM 1831 was plagued by constant starting trouble.

"Why don't you sell it?" suggested my mechanic. "This machine will no longer serve you." But I found parting with the GJM 1831 difficult. We had shared so many experiences; how could I sell it? So it lay in the compound of my building for several months, put into use only rarely. Despite regular coats of paint, it looked shabby.

Finally, when I decided to sell it, I found were no buyers. No one was prepared to risk a 25-year-old scooter without any registration papers. My mechanic took it away one day and gave me Rs 600. "I had to sell it for scrap," he announced. It was a sad blow for me. Today, even as I watch the Chetaks, Kinetic Hondas and other shiny models whizzing along the road, I think fondly of my incomparable Vespa. How sleek it looked in the showroom, the first time I set my eyes on it. But then, all good things must come to an end and so was it with my beloved GJM 1831.

Illustration: Dominic Xavier