She lives!

And how?well,to be honest,her heart is still in bangalore,but most of here is still here.I'm gonna be uploading a shitload of images in the next hour or so.Kinda keeps things in perspective.If anyone bitches about the colour of the frame,tough shit.It's done and ain't gonna change.The tank is going to be matt black and the wheels are going to be powdercoated black too.Same with the front forks.
And,no I'm not selling my stock exhaust pipes,because I sold the bastards when I took the bike apart.So there.
Note:Those are TZ350 F pipes.Yamaha factory.Don;t ask how much or why or when.My credit card statement haunts me.

She does look kinda hot,though,doesn't she?

Depression days.

Well,it's been a long time.Commitments at work,including bizzare work hours and keeping up with the parents during the day has started taking it's toll.I'm grouchier,nastier and generally spend my waking hours in a foul-bordering-on-pissed-off mood.

2 weeks ago,I celebrated my 28th birthday.Total downer.No girlfriend,no bike,quit booze(long story) ,almost turned vegan(I though it had something to do with Las Vegas,but we'll get to that) ,friends were at work and to make things funnier,I was wide awake with nothing to do.

When a person tries quantifying what he/she has achieved at the grand age of 28 on said individual's birthday,it generally leads to disaster which could cause bouts of depression resulting in temporary insanity.

It's going to be a year and a half of no bike.I'm driving a new Wagon R(nicknamed the Nerdmobile) by me and I've started hating it.It's a nice,quiet,comfortable and boring car.Nothing like the old souped up 800 of yore,which used to run a blatty exhaust,free flow filter,dropped head and body panels which would be hanging on by some unknown law of physics.It was crude,loud,agile and a complete hoot to drive.I had many happy memories in that car.First necking session.First speeding ticket at 138 kph in front of a hospital.First major accident in which the floor got ripped open.Blasting down the road in front of the lotus temple at 2 am with the rear end fishtailing around corners.Pitching it wide and barelling up a dirt road sideways,like Tony Pond in one of the great lakes rallies.

Sigh...all the fun thingsI used to do have been away from me for so long,that I'm beginning to get worried if I'll ever be able to do crazy ass shit again.Maybe it's a sign of aging.I'm definitely crabbier and I keep on lusting after things I'm not supposed to do for all practical purposes.Like get piss drunk and drive down to Rishikesh to get high on some good hash.Then stop by a sugarcane farm and buy a kilo of fresh,hot jaggery and eat that on the way back home.Like listening to metallica at earsplitting volume while gargling with beer and cigar smoke,trying to sound like Hetfield.Or that one night of unlimited drinking resulting in me waking up in bed with the office whore with "Stud muffin" written on my chest in red lipstick.
You know.Crazy,fun shit with not an iota of thought spent on the possible consequences.

That's when I start thinking,the Rd will come back and chaos will rule again.Girls will start calling .Dope will show up in the mail.Alcohol will be administered by IV,the Rishikesh cops will start calling home.The Doon sugarcane farmers will rejoice.The mind will be at peace for it will be too tired to think.Brain dead riding for the last 300 kms.The word "smashed" will take on a much more peaceful meaning.

Ron,I hope your reading this,becuase I need my bike.Bad.Just like that fucked up offspring song.

Still going on!

Phew,It's been a hectic few months,what with the recession and the other palaver.My rolling frame is ready,will be adding pics shortly.Now to score some rearsets, tyres and a seat and I should be pretty much set.
I got an interesting call from Ron today.Mostly filled with invective and something about thermocol beads running around the house and landing in his fishtank,the neighbours' house and infiltrating his living room and something about rooting around in a bucket for carb parts.
I managed not to laugh,but had to give in because my lungs were about to explode.
It was just too funny for words.To make matters interesting,he kept on ranting about having little balls all over the place.
The fact of the matter is that I prefer packaging delicate parts in thermocol beads from my deflated bean bag.If that thing can cushion my butt,why can't it cushion a few parts?
Using this deadly logic,I forgot to warn him the first time I sent my bike's crank to him.
Result:complete pandemonium when the crank was fished out.Except this time the fishtank wasn't setup.It led to a few laughs initially,with Ron getting his maid to clean up and the Mrs looking on with a benevolent(if slightly irritated) eye.
When the second package was opened,old Ron didn't have any warnings then as well.Except this time it was opened up outside with a mild breeze and I had taken the liberty of compressing it a little this time.
Result:One invective filled phone call that left me holding onto my ribs for the better part of the day.
You haven't truly lived until you've sent the old man a parcel packaged like that.