Silencer Boy
“Don’t ever touch the silencer… It’s hot,” said the hippie uncle soon after parking his brand new Royal Enfield Bullet on the street where we played cricket. “It will burn your hands. Be careful.” With two garlands, one tied around the headlight and the other on the rear lamp, the Bullet had a dozen sandal-paste marks on its body. The potbellied uncle was never in a mood to leave the Bullet , foreseeing the possible harm I would have given to his new machine. So he checked the vehicle a couple of times to ensure that it stood firmly on the middle-stand. After walking a bit, he would return and stay close to the Bullet , adjusting the garland around its headlight. He wanted to know whether I would approach his machine in his absence. The action went on for almost half-an-hour, and finally the uncle gave up, smiling at me. I could still feel the heat evaporating from the silencer as...