Well, I had it coming; I was going to have to get my bike serviced. I’ve been driving it around in Delhi for the last three or four months ever since I moved back to Delhi from Pune. After a particularly hard day of driving a few days ago, my bike pretty much gave in and it was all I could do to coax it back home without breaking down. Today being the only free day I have in my schedule for this week, I forced myself to get the required work done on my bike. Going to a mechanic is not a simple issue for me, while most just put their faith in the mechanic and leave their bikes to be worked on, I don’t trust them to do a good job without supervision, so to get a servicing, I require a full free day.
Since this was the first time I was getting my bike worked on in Delhi, I was going to have to look for a mechanic. Company authorised showrooms are no good (see Original Duplicates), so I found myself looking for a regular mechanic. The one I found and settled on was a small shop, in an area full of mechanics. Unfortunately his shop was downwind of a meat shop, as a result, when I first entered the shop, it was to the accompaniment of screaming chickens being slaughtered, in an atmosphere dense with the stench of chicken faeces and rotting blood. As the wind blew, it brought with it a storm of feathers and intensified the smell. Hardly an auspicious start.
Explaining to the mechanic what it was that I wanted done was typically complex. Indian mechanics have their own dialect, half of their vocabulary is bastardised English and the rest is unintelligible Hindi. For instance a worm gear is a garare, nose pliers are plas and the muffler becomes a pungli. You would think that their lingo would be easy to pick up but the problem is, their jargon varies from one place to the other. Pungli for example is used in Pune, in Delhi, no one knows what it means (and this suits me fine because, frankly it sounds a bit obscene), garare on the other hand is used exclusively in Delhi, Pune mechanics (thankfully) still call a gear a gear. Plas are more or less universal.
Mechanics are a wide and varied bunch, while most are inept to the point of seeming retarded; some in particular are really special. I found one such special mechanic in Pune. I was really far from my usual garage (pronounced gaa-ridge) and I found that my kick (kick starter) had stopped working. Since my bike has no electric start, I was pretty much stranded. Somehow with a friends help, I got my bike started, not willing to risk the long ride back home, I decided to drop my bike off at a nearby garage that my friend claimed was very good. Entering, his large compound, the first thing that I saw was Lambretta (a classic Italian scooter) in decent condition, this got me really excited, I was thinking to myself that the guy must be a great biking enthusiast to have a classic like the Lambretta in such good condition. Inside there were hundreds of photos of his father (a veteran bike racer), with Jawas, Thunderbirds, Nortons and dozens of other classics, I really thought I had died and gone to heaven. The man himself impressed me to no end, he spent the whole evening jawing about what a great guy he was, what he’d done and how much more he knew about bikes than anyone else while two friends and I sat enraptured, listening, worshipping; silently. He had made himself out to be such a superhuman that for a while I was under he impression that he was a character straight out of Ayn Rand, Howard Roark or Hank Rearden maybe. I was actually worried about how I was going to pay him, the way he talked, I half expected him to tell me that my money was worthless to him.
The problem with my bike as he discovered was that a small lock that had broken, however since it was late in the evening, I’d have to wait till the next day till the parts-shop opened. It was pouring with rain the next day as I made my way to his shop. Once I had bought the lock, it took him about an hour to fix and re-assemble my bike. With my bike fixed, I braved the rain and drove home. On my way home, I had stopped halfway to meet some friends, standing talking them in the rain, I noticed large purple blobs floating in the water under my bike. Intrigued, I investigated further only to found that it was engine oil dripping slowly out of my bike. The bastard for all his bragging couldn’t even seal my engine properly, something even a mechanics apprentice would be able to do in his sleep with one hand tied behind his back and both legs in plaster.
I filled the engine up with cheap recycled oil and drove back, my mind in a paranoid frenzy, imagining everything that could go wrong with my bike. I could almost see the bare metal gears eating into each other, in every false neutral, every gearshift, I could hear my bikes death rattle. Fortunately though nothing went wrong that day and I made it back to his garage before any serious damage occurred. The major problems that I have faced though have been the result of the bumbling ineptitude of other mechanics; I will leave those stories for another day and another post.
Since this was the first time I was getting my bike worked on in Delhi, I was going to have to look for a mechanic. Company authorised showrooms are no good (see Original Duplicates), so I found myself looking for a regular mechanic. The one I found and settled on was a small shop, in an area full of mechanics. Unfortunately his shop was downwind of a meat shop, as a result, when I first entered the shop, it was to the accompaniment of screaming chickens being slaughtered, in an atmosphere dense with the stench of chicken faeces and rotting blood. As the wind blew, it brought with it a storm of feathers and intensified the smell. Hardly an auspicious start.
Explaining to the mechanic what it was that I wanted done was typically complex. Indian mechanics have their own dialect, half of their vocabulary is bastardised English and the rest is unintelligible Hindi. For instance a worm gear is a garare, nose pliers are plas and the muffler becomes a pungli. You would think that their lingo would be easy to pick up but the problem is, their jargon varies from one place to the other. Pungli for example is used in Pune, in Delhi, no one knows what it means (and this suits me fine because, frankly it sounds a bit obscene), garare on the other hand is used exclusively in Delhi, Pune mechanics (thankfully) still call a gear a gear. Plas are more or less universal.
Mechanics are a wide and varied bunch, while most are inept to the point of seeming retarded; some in particular are really special. I found one such special mechanic in Pune. I was really far from my usual garage (pronounced gaa-ridge) and I found that my kick (kick starter) had stopped working. Since my bike has no electric start, I was pretty much stranded. Somehow with a friends help, I got my bike started, not willing to risk the long ride back home, I decided to drop my bike off at a nearby garage that my friend claimed was very good. Entering, his large compound, the first thing that I saw was Lambretta (a classic Italian scooter) in decent condition, this got me really excited, I was thinking to myself that the guy must be a great biking enthusiast to have a classic like the Lambretta in such good condition. Inside there were hundreds of photos of his father (a veteran bike racer), with Jawas, Thunderbirds, Nortons and dozens of other classics, I really thought I had died and gone to heaven. The man himself impressed me to no end, he spent the whole evening jawing about what a great guy he was, what he’d done and how much more he knew about bikes than anyone else while two friends and I sat enraptured, listening, worshipping; silently. He had made himself out to be such a superhuman that for a while I was under he impression that he was a character straight out of Ayn Rand, Howard Roark or Hank Rearden maybe. I was actually worried about how I was going to pay him, the way he talked, I half expected him to tell me that my money was worthless to him.
The problem with my bike as he discovered was that a small lock that had broken, however since it was late in the evening, I’d have to wait till the next day till the parts-shop opened. It was pouring with rain the next day as I made my way to his shop. Once I had bought the lock, it took him about an hour to fix and re-assemble my bike. With my bike fixed, I braved the rain and drove home. On my way home, I had stopped halfway to meet some friends, standing talking them in the rain, I noticed large purple blobs floating in the water under my bike. Intrigued, I investigated further only to found that it was engine oil dripping slowly out of my bike. The bastard for all his bragging couldn’t even seal my engine properly, something even a mechanics apprentice would be able to do in his sleep with one hand tied behind his back and both legs in plaster.
I filled the engine up with cheap recycled oil and drove back, my mind in a paranoid frenzy, imagining everything that could go wrong with my bike. I could almost see the bare metal gears eating into each other, in every false neutral, every gearshift, I could hear my bikes death rattle. Fortunately though nothing went wrong that day and I made it back to his garage before any serious damage occurred. The major problems that I have faced though have been the result of the bumbling ineptitude of other mechanics; I will leave those stories for another day and another post.
3 comments:
I guess.... Don't judge a book by it's cover?? is the lesson today....It seems like your bike has been a topic of problems for awhile...Yeah it's hard to find a decent machanic...I remember when I got my oil changed in my car and the guy at the place asked me if it was a coup or a sedan.....I was like uhhhh...it has four doors...a sedan. I mean I am a girl and I know that...red flag hello Keri....
Confusion/Keri
I'm a bit better off that that (i think), i can manage basic electrical and mechanical work on my bike like fixing shot wiring or doing basic tuneups but beyond that i need 'professional' help. Are mechanics there cheats too? I got ripped off badly yesterday, to the tune of a couple of hundred bucks maybe and im still sore about it. I actually had started off writing about that but the incident that i ended up narrating somehow forced itself into the post.
Haha.... dude... you've really described the 'mykinics' well !Having spent a lotta time getting my 'second hand' car fixed from various mechanics, i too had to learn their language. Also true is the fact that you can never trust them with the parts ! Ever ! Therefore as a rule I too watch while my car is being worked on !
P.S. could you please mail your e-mail id to chaddiblast@gmail.com ? There is an 'official' mail that i need to send to you (from the people i represent) regarding your post 'When Mr. Nose met Mr. Truck'. I'll really appreciate it. Thanks !
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