I must have been 10 or 12 years old, visiting Delhi, as always dazzled by the fountains and the grand buildings and the concentrated punch of political power that seems to throb in that city. And I saw her, late 20's perhaps, wearing a crisp, white shirt and tight,tight, faded blue jeans. Dark shades and shoulder length hair in a smooth bob. Brightly haloed with sophistication and power on her Enfield motorcycle. No wimpy moped or scooter for her. She was riding a monster of a bike, black and chrome, its roar deafening.
We were all stopped at a traffic light and she was gunning her engine impatiently as she looked around, confident and sexy. I felt invisible. I wanted to be like her. To be her. I vowed I would learn to ride a motorcycle one day.
I've never even learned to ride a bicycle.:-(