Once upon a time in Bengaluru, my room mate, let’s call him M, and I were finding life to be quite mechanical. The hope of finding a Penny next door to our Sheldon and Leonard’s apartment had completely diminished without a Big Bang! To make it worse, we had practically become the robotic, office going, not-quite-mid-aged-yet-but-burnt-out couch potatoes whom we so hated back in the college. The sense of adventure or achievement was missing and excitement in general was lacking, we concurred. We did try an odd race (me on my beloved RX against him on the bicycle) to home, from opposite directions in peak Bengaluru traffic to get that adrenaline rush going. (For the record, he won the race!). But the sense of an underwhelmed existence could never be kicked out.
Around this time M suggested that we go horse riding. At least go learn it. Now, I have always had a soft corner for horses since childhood, when I used to take joy rides on a particular horse, owned by a person fondly called Gunda in the village. That the joy ride had become not so joyous one fine day, is a story for another day. But the idea of riding horses again struck my cowboy string instantly and thus began our search for the horses that we could ride.
The next week or so was spent finding a school that offered horse riding classes. The hunt finally culminated into us sitting across a desk to a pompous man, in a single shutter, dingy excuse of an office that managed to look shady enough to arouse a genuine suspicion about the whole thing being a scam. However the itch to scratch a horseback was strong enough to make us overcome all our doubts and slay the fear of being conned. Even the severely punitive class hours (7–8AM Sat and Sun) couldn’t hold us back as we enrolled immediately. In the meantime, another friend, let’s call him R, had signed up for the cause. A couple more and we could have formed a cavalry.
We covered the thirty kilo meters distance to the stable in a vehicle pulled by sixty five mechanical horses. The irony was not entirely lost on us. But somehow it all made sense. Of course the boasting point it gave at the office lunch table and the looks of awe and respect that would greet us, made it all worth it. We were quite convinced about that.
The stable had four horses named: Brownie, Cadburry, Caramel and Chacko. We were promptly informed that Mr. Chacko was the hotheaded one and Cadburry was the most calm and matured. Chacko would be put into our service only if one of the others was on PTO. The first couple of days were spent in doing nothing more than petting and walking the horses, learning to mount and dismount them and getting to know the what and hows of the saddles, the reins, the bits, et al. Then there was a period where we would sit on the horse and it’d just wander on its own, without giving a err.. horseshit to our commands or demands. It would stop just about anywhere and whenever it liked, probably to show us the difference between a mechanical and a real horse.
A few sessions into the course and we were getting the hang of it. We were able to trot and gained an illusion of control over our steed. Even Chacko had served us and there wasn’t much drama about it. But it would all come crashing down soon, as one day M fell of his steed, Brownie, having failed to convince it to stop when he lost his rhythm. You see, to ride a trot, you need to develop a rhythm of rising and sitting. And that needs to be in sync with the horses legs — when a diagonal pair of horse’s legs rise up, you should rise from saddle and sit back on as the legs land back. If you lose the rhythm then you’ll be left with a pretty sore arse! When M fell, it did not seem much, as we all had a good laugh about it. But the next day he had a badly hurting back. And that was the last time I saw him on a horseback! The score — Horses 1 : Techies 0.
Another couple of weeks went by and I was growing in confidence about my riding skills. In the mean, a friend was visiting us from Mumbai and I took him along to bear witness my skill-play. When we reached the stable we found out that only Cadburry and Chacko were available for the day, the other two were taking a day off. Confident that I could tame the allegedly notorious steed, I chose Chacko. And soon I was riding a decent trot and even managed to control when he tried a gallop once. With every lap my confidence was soaring high and for a moment it felt like we were in unison, a la Avatar — without the tail-business of course. I couldn’t have been more deceived!
There came a dog and it started running with us, barking, as if to cheer Chacko. But it only made Chacko go batshit crazy as it started walloping and galloping all over the place! I tried to clutch the reins harder, desperately trying to control it, but it wouldn’t give a damn. Ultimately, I had to jump off without knowing anything else to do. Jump I did! and as I rolled away from the crazy mustang, who jumped around a little more, like Virat Kohli after scoring a hundred, as if to celebrate my fall after having decimated my confidence, and bolted from the scene. Horses 2: Techies 0.
Needless to say that was the end of our little experiment. As far as Mr. R was concerned, he never uttered a word about going back to the class. Final score: Horses 3 : Techies 0.