Day 1

Two motorcycles.
One Yamaha, one Splendor, both as ready as they were ever going to be. Given cash constraints, that is.
Clothes, check. CD player, borrowed from Binoy, check.
CD's, hurriedly written, check. First aid kit, check. Toolkit, check.
Spare headlamp, spare accelarator cable, spare clutch cable, check. Two bottles of water, kept in the refrigerator, Electral duly mixed in, check.
Dinner at Roopali done, petrol filled at the Bharat Petroluem pump, using the Petro Card - check.
All done, all ready to go, all bags packed, and the time is 11.30 p.m. We leave at 4 tomorrow morning. Check.
OK, g'night all.

You can't see the ceiling when the lights are off. You can see streaks of light slant across the wall, as they filter in through the window. You can see approaching headlights bounce off the wall, and you can hear the engine. You can hear people talking as they walk out of Good Luck - we were sleeping in Naani House that night. You can go over the checklist a million times, you can think of the drive, you can think of possible problems, contingencies, about the bike, about Descartes, about Knopfler, about bikini clad babes on beaches.

You cannot sleep. No matter what the bloody hell you do, you cannot sleep. You lie awake, thinking, fearing, wondering, counting sheep. But no sleep.

At two in the morning, out of sheer exhaustion, you finally doze off. Only to bolt upright with the alarm at four in the morning. The adrenalin flowing, you wake the others up and start to get ready. Only to realise that Ketan is fast asleep still.
Naturally.
Girish and I are ready and raring to go, but the Australian version of Santa Claus refuses to stir. You prod, you yell, you scream, you rant and you rave.
Tickling him worked.
Biraadar woke up, insisted on having a long drawn out bath - we were to find out later that he was puking in the bathroom, oh joy - and finally stepped out.
Girish was to sit behind me, and the bag that held our clothing was to sit behind Ketan.
Which was to be affixed to the Splendor using what are known as bungee cords. The point is, they are easily stretchable, easily hooked up, and they save you time.
So half an hour after we started tying the bag up, we were all set to go.
I took the Yam out of the house, Girish sat behind me. I started her up.
Ketan dragged his baby out of that little gate, and started her up.
One quick glance, raised eyebrows, slight grin.
Gallic shrug of the shoulders, and off we go.
Out of the small lane, past Maharashtra Bank, on to Lakdi Pool. Up Tilak Road, turn right and head off towards City Pride. Away and beyond, out of the city, past the truck lay byes, and hit Katraj Ghat.
Onwards, you Philistines.