Anvin
Dated: Jan 19, 2010
I thought generosity was dead as I smiled back and hitchhiked a ride on the stranger’s bike. He had voluntarily stopped it in front of me as I was waiting for an auto and offered to drop me at the stand. The guy had a helmet on so I couldn’t see if he had rape in his eyes and on his mind. Yes, rape. Word around the place was that quite so similarily, young, nubile boys were picked up in this area and made to act out that scene from Pulp Fiction. Pure hearsay, but still, it was surreal when it dawned to me. Naah, not in broad daylight, I thought as the bike sped off.
Now, if you know me at all, you know of my mild phobia of bikes ever since the accident. Needless to say, I wasn’t quite so comfortable sitting behind a strange, possible homosexual rapist zipping through traffic without so much as gently tapping the break wires. “Sit up closer”, he said seeing me hanging on to the tail of the Pulsar for dear life. “Uh, ok.” Does he want me to grab him instead? No no, I am not giving him that pleasure, homo or no homo. On the way to the stand, we made little conversation - what I did, where I was going and such. I didn’t ask him any questions, it was awkward enough already, worse when he turned his head to hear me clearly taking his eyes off the road with the hand still on the throttle. “Nothing, nothing, watch the road, sir. Please.”
The guy sped on and I closed my eyes. When I opened them and looked back, I saw the auto stand disappear behind me. “Hey, you had to drop me there, boss.” “You said you were headed to Kaloor, right?” “Uh, yeah” “I am headed that way, I’ll drop you there.” Uh oh. He’s taking me to his secret rape dungeon! HALP! “Look, it’s ok, thanks, I’ll just take an auto, wouldn’t want to trouble you.” “Just sit and relax, young man.” What could I do, really! There was no way I could jump off at the speed he was going. So, I sat there for the next 30-something minutes, eyes closed for the better part of it as the man cut his way through afternoon rush hour traffic and jumped signals. “He sure is eager to get me someplace.” On a Pulsar. What is that they say about Pulsars? Definitely male? What if he meant to ride one for the sake of irony.
In situations like this, the mind thinks what’s the worse that could happen. Here, obviously it was that the hearsay Pulp Fiction reenactments were actually true. I began to scan the guy to look for signs. He was dressed in what you’d wear to an office setup. Had a backpack around his neck. Nothing too suspicious there. I remembered this thing I once read on the net about digit theory and its co-relation with homosexuality. Simply put, if you’re gay, it’s likely that your ring finger is longer than your middle finger.
(How many of you checked your hand right now?)
The stranger’s hands were gripped around the handles of the bike so I couldn’t get a look at the length of his fingers. However, his stronghold grip on the bike throttle did bring up a totally unwanted and nasty mental picture of what could be my near future. Ugh. No, I wasn’t going to let that happen to me. Escape strategy. Think escape strategies, Nitin. I certainly didn’t have the option of using a samurai sword like Bruce Willis did in the movie.
I looked at the guy again. He looked kind of frail. Yeaaaah, I could take him down in a fight if it came to that. What if he has backup? The lungi wearing moustache twirling oily curled hair kind of backup? For all I know, the guy might just be taking me to a group event. How well versed am I in martial arts? A little Karate, Kung Fu, Drunken Monkey Boxing, perhaps? Didn’t take long to realise that the closest I had to actual martial arts training was going “O fuck, he didn’t just do that!!” during Tony Jaa movies. That and whatever little I learnt from Chandni Chowk to China, but that just mostly had to do with never watching an Akshay Kumar movie again. Maybe, I could go Fight Club on his ass and just pound skulls till I crack. I’ve read stories where in desperate times normal, everyday people become ace bare knuckle fighters to fend off muggers from hurting their kids. I began picturing my rolled up fist cracking jaws and breaking teeth. It’s funny how I was soon decapitating their heads with a machete, in my head. Man, am I violent! These gayboys are going down!
In all that thought, I didn’t feel the bike slow down. I looked up, looked around and saw that we had reached Kaloor. I sat their awkwardly for a while before realising I had to get off here. Got off the bike as he took off his helmet and I saw his face. Not at all, what I had pictured. The man looked weary and tired. He had a pleasant smile on his face. “Nitin, by the way. My name’s Nitin.”, I said. “I am Anvin, I work at the JK Paper Company.’ I shook his hand. Anvin, strange name. Un-win? Like FAIL? Like how wrong I was with my snap judgments about this guy who was nothing but a kind-hearted, generous fellow who offered a 30-minute hitchhike. Probably he just wanted some company for the ride and I failed at that as well, immersed in my own thoughts for the length of the ride. As guilt began to wash over me, I thought I felt something. He hadn’t let go of my hand and it’d been longer than the usual 2 seconds.
And then, he gently caressed the back of my hand with his peculiarly long ring finger.
