The dilemma of sharing

Few things make my heart cringe the way it does when someone asks for keys to my bike. I have always found this response unreasonable and undignified, and have silently battled with myself to turn less possessive towards what in popular perception is only a machine. But I haven’t succeeded yet. I still don’t know how to stop my face from acquiring the expression which a boss’ face does when asked for leave. My brain involuntarily goes into turbo mode, looking for the best excuses to deter the asker. They range from the usual “no petrol” and “I must go, attend to an emergency” bailouts, to a lot more creative stories. In one instance, I told a guy whom I believed to be superstitious that the alignment of the planets was then inauspicious for riding two-wheelers. He just gave me a disgusted look and walked away. I think past experiences added to this discomfort towards lending my highly temperamental bike to others. Whenever, left with no choice, I have handed over my bullet to someone, the next 10 minutes have always comprised agonisingly watching the person try to kickstart it. With most guys, this becomes an ego issue, and the kicks become progressively desperate and violent. Each kick is directly delivered to my heart, and the incident invariably makes me avoid the person in future. Moreover, I have never had an accident on my bike but three others have, and all three returned with a sheepish grin and a mangled machine. Then, all three offered me money for the repairs. I have long lost touch with all three. Recently, I also realised that I am not the only one troubled by this situation. In fact, somebody I know goes to the extent of straightaway offering taxi fare to anyone who wants to borrow his motorcycle. Another fellow was asked by one of his closest friends for his bike apparently because he wanted to commit suicide by going off a bridge. This guy’s natural response was, “Why my bike?” He never bothered to counsel his pal against the step or to find out about his miseries. What is most annoying is people asking for your bike just to show off, particularly when your steed isn’t even a Harley or a Ducati. I have found people taking my bike and standing outside girls’ houses just to appear as someone who affords a different bike everyday. This problem of ‘borrowed well-being’ is particularly rampant in my hometown, Lucknow, where everyone wants to be called a Nawaab, dresses up like ‘Hum saath saath hain’ characters during weddings, and where being laidback is a virtue. But like I said, I am embarrassed of damaging relationships over my bike. It is, despite all the value I attach to it, a work of man, and no machine can ever match the human touch or feeling. I am working on a more composed countenance and greater tolerance.