Stolen Keys & Broken Hearts

Ever since 2007, I wanted just one bike: a Royal Enfield. Back then, owning an Enfield wasn't about Instagram reels or riding jackets. It was simply the bike to have. I even went ahead and booked one. But life happened, and I had to cancel the booking before I could even ride it home.

A few years later, in 2011, after a lot of convincing and one final compromise with my dad, I bought a Bajaj Avenger. What started as a compromise became one of the longest commitments of my life. Twelve years. From 2011 to 2023, that bike was with me through everything.

And just so you know, long before Marvel made the word Avenger world-famous, I was already an Avenger.

Unfortunately, like all good things, that chapter came to an end.

A rainy day on Shantinagar Flyover, or as most old Bangaloreans still call it, the Double Road Flyover. My journey with the Avenger ended there. One minute the engine was running perfectly. The next, it had simply given up. Just like that.

I remember standing there for a while, hoping it would somehow come back to life.

It never did. I had to call for a flatbed tow truck to take it home.

Last Photo of Avenger before it was towed

When it was finally time to buy another bike, I had already made up my mind.

Bajaj Dominar. Not just because I already had the perfect caption ready—"Was an Avenger. Now a Dominator."—but because there was history there. Before the Avenger, my dad had a Bajaj Chetak, and the Dominar felt like a continuation of that "Hamara Bajaj" legacy. Sometimes, we make life decisions based on captions and nostalgia.

Sadly, the Dominar didn't even get past the test ride. It just didn't feel right.

Watching me overthink everything, and maybe feeling a little guilty that my Enfield dream had slipped away fifteen years earlier, my dad walked into the nearest Royal Enfield showroom and booked the bike they had just launched. The Hunter 350.

I wasn't convinced.

Then my dad smiled and said,

"You were an Avenger. Now you're a Hunter."

For once, I didn't argue.

And honestly... he was right.

The Hunter was much better than I expected.

Somehow, almost immediately after buying it, life felt different. The rides weren't long, but they always felt like they should never end.

I bought the Hunter because I wanted another motorcycle.

I never realised I was choosing the next chapter of my life.

After years of riding pillion with me on the Avenger, my mom quietly retired from that seat the day the Hunter came home.

Maybe she thought it was time for someone else to occupy it.

Someone once picked up my bike keys by mistake, thinking they belonged to her father. For a few frantic minutes, I thought I'd lost them. Looking back now, it's funny how protective I'd already become of the bike.

After that, I became ridiculously picky about who sat behind me.

Even today, only a handful of people have.

Not because I don't trust people. Because this bike has seen things. 

It has listened to conversations no one else has and carried silences that words could never explain.

It has seen me at my happiest and at my absolute lowest.

This bike has been there for celebrations, disappointments, midnight rides, and days when I just wanted to disappear for an hour.

Somewhere along the way, it stopped being just a motorcycle.

It became my constant.

And somehow, I've never taken a picture of myself with this bike.

Maybe because it was never meant to be just me and the bike.

In my head, there was always supposed to be someone standing beside me when that picture was finally taken.

I don't regret not taking that photo when I had the chance.

Some memories are better left unframed.

Today, I mostly ride alone.

Not because there isn't an empty seat behind me, but because I don't feel the same connection with people that I once did.

Back when I had the Avenger, there was almost always someone ready for a ride. Conversations were easier. Somewhere along the way, that changed.

Maybe life got busier.

Maybe the people around me changed me. Maybe I did.

I bought the Hunter expecting it to take me to new places.

I never realised it would end up teaching me so much about people.

But the Hunter never changed. 

Every morning, it still waits.

Every ride, it still shows up.

Maybe that's why I'm so protective of it.

Because people come and go. Plans change. Relationships fade.

But every once in a while, you own something that quietly becomes a part of who you are.

For me, that will always be my Hunter.

Not because it's a Royal Enfield.

But because somewhere between stolen keys and a broken heart, it quietly became the keeper of memories I never knew I was making.