Pestonjee was thin, almost frail in appearance, with a
slightly comical look about him. His mannerisms were unusual and exaggerated,
and people often found them funny and amusing. He owned a small poultry farm
and supplied eggs from his farm to local shops, bakeries and restaurants. He
remained largely occupied, spending most of his time moving between his home
and his poultry farm. Though the villagers found him strange and often laughed
at him, very few actually knew him well.
He was born in 1915. Though he was a good student and wished
to become a doctor, due to the financial limitations of his family, he had to
discontinue his studies while still in college. Before leaving college, he had
fallen in love with a young woman. He wanted to get married to her but, since
she was not a Parsi, neither her family nor his agreed to their marriage. The
separation affected him and he became quieter, but he accepted his fate. All
his life, Pestonjee had accepted what life threw at him. He had accepted
leaving his education midway. He had accepted not marrying the girl he loved.
Whatever small work and businesses he undertook in his early years, most of his
earnings spent on his parents’ medical expenses and the education of his
younger siblings. Very little remained for himself. Yet he never resented this.
He accepted everything quietly.
To the outside world, he appeared miserly and obsessively
frugal. Burdened with responsibilities, he had to account for every single
rupee. People saw only a man who clung to money, not a man who was dependent on
every coin for survival. He knew well what others thought of him. He accepted
that too.
Eventually, at his family’s insistence, he married a Parsi
girl, Delnaz Mistry. Delnaz’s family was from Bombay (now Mumbai). In the
beginning, he felt no particular attachment toward his wife. In every way,
Delnaz was an exact opposite of Pestonjee. While he was lean and quiet, she was
heavy, quite jovial and talkative. She also had an innocent and pretty face. While
he did not understand it, in a lot of ways, Delnaz completed Pestonjee and he
could not have asked for a better companion. She would take care of him, the
house, his parents and siblings and would always have a smile on her face. A
very innocent and sweet smile. When he would return from work, she would serve
him food and will sit with him. She knew that Pestonjee was incapable of
expressing himself except through complaints - about bad deals, losses in
business, and the constant worry over money. So, instead of waiting for him to
say anything, she would do the talking. Pestonjee found it strange, but he
listened.
It took some time but over the years, as he lived with her
and observed her nature, he grew fond of her but in his own quiet way. He would
not express it, but Delnaz understood it.
Years passed in the struggle of dutifully fulfilling the
responsibilities. He took care of everyone. He was a good son, a good brother but
probably not a good husband. While focusing on his responsibilities, he
subordinated all his wishes and never even thought of the desires of his wife. He
was so absorbed in caring for his family and meeting his responsibilities that
he never built a family of his own. They remained without children.
Within a brief span of time, his life underwent a series of significant
changes. In 1967, his mother succumbed to tuberculosis after a prolonged
struggle. Over the next two years, first his brother and then his sister
completed their education and moved forward in their own lives, never to look
back. Then, in early 1970, his father passed away from complications arising
from high blood pressure.
At the time of his father’s death, Pestonjee was about fifty-five
years old. It was then, perhaps for the first time with clarity, that he
realized he had never truly lived for himself or for his wife. They had no
children. Their lives had revolved entirely around duty and obligation. Delnaz
had cared devotedly for his parents and siblings, managing the household with
sincerity. She herself had always struggled with her health. She had put on significant
weight and was suffering from diabetes. She was extremely fond of sweets and would
often secretly have sweets or candies. Pestonjee knew about this and would
often express displeasure but would immediately feel bad after looking at her
innocent and child-like expressions. Her condition had deteriorated to the
point where even walking properly had become difficult.
Pestonjee has started to feel that his life had slipped past
him without any joy. They had never traveled. Not to a hill station, not to a
seaside town, certainly not abroad. They had not even indulged in the simple
pleasures of brief trips to nearby cities - small outings that bring quiet
happiness to a couple. They had never even watched a movie together.
He had begun to strongly think that he should at least take
his wife somewhere, that they deserved to see something beyond the narrow lanes
of their village. But her declining health made such plans seem impossible.
Once, the thought occurred to him that perhaps he could buy
a car. It was far beyond his modest budget, yet he reasoned that it might ease the
operations of his business as well. Owning a vehicle could help with deliveries
and perhaps allow them small journeys. He tried to convince himself that it
would not merely be an indulgence, but a practical necessity.
No matter how much he tried to reason with himself that a
car would help his business, one truth remained unchanged - it was far beyond
his means. He could not afford it. The thought lingered in his mind as he
continued working, attending to both his livelihood and the routines of daily
life. Yet a quiet question kept returning - what small thing could he do to
bring even a little joy into his and Delnaz’s life?
He shared this restlessness with Delnaz. She, too, admitted
that she often wished they could go somewhere together. However, since they ran
their own business, she did not want him to consider taking a long holiday that
might disrupt their income and cause financial strain. Instead, she said that
if, after a day’s hard work, they could occasionally go somewhere in the
evening - even for a short while - it might help them break free from the
monotony that had overtaken their lives.
Hearing this made Pestonjee feel even more determined. A car
remained impossible. A scooter or motorcycle, however, appeared more feasible,
even if it remained beyond his budget. But every time he considered it, another
worry arose that it would be uncomfortable for Delnaz. Mounting and dismounting
would be difficult. The jerks and imbalance might cause her pain. He discussed
this with her, and she confessed that she had thought of the same idea. Yet she
agreed that given her weight and her difficulty in walking, such an arrangement
might not be practical.
Still, Pestonjee kept thinking. And in his heart, he made a
small promise.
A few years later, at the end of 1973, Pestonjee travelled to
Mysore in bus to deliver goods to a customer. He also had to deposit cash in
bank and purchase feed for his poultry farm. After finishing all his work, he came
to the bus stand. Since the next bus was an hour later, he decided to sit at a
book stall and bought filter coffee from a vendor. While sipping the hot coffee,
he began casually flipping through the magazines at the book stall. One
colorful magazine caught his eye. As he turned its pages, he came across a
photograph of a motorcycle fitted with a ‘sidecar’ – a carrier in which someone
could sit and the sidecar had wheels attached to it. In the picture, a man and
his wife were seated on the motorcycle, and their two children sat comfortably
in the attached side carrier. The wife had a smile on her face.
The image stirred something in him and an idea took shape.
He bought the magazine and went straight to a motorcycle
workshop. Showing the photograph to the mechanic, he asked whether such a
vehicle was available in the city, state or country. The mechanic explained
that motorcycles with side carrier could indeed be found in larger cities.
However, local workshops could also build a customized side carrier and attach it
to any ordinary motorcycle at a lower cost. Though Pestonjee was extremely
delighted and wanted to dance in the streets, he composed himself. Just to
confirm once again, Pestonjee asked whether, if he purchased a motorcycle, the
workshop could build such a side carrier for him. The mechanic assured him that
it could be done. Pestonjee smiled, something which was rare. Promising to be
back very soon, he walked out of the workshop with hurried steps and almost fell
down stumbling on a canister of engine oil. The mechanic – Afzal bhai – and his
bunch of assistants found Pestonjee’s walk and stumble quite hilarious and they
laughed in the background.
For the first time in years, Pestonjee felt a surge of
genuine excitement. When he returned home, he showed the photograph to Delnaz.
A quiet glow appeared on her face – a glow which was a perfect blend of happiness
and hope. Yet she gently and reluctantly asked him to reconsider the purchase and
the expense.
“How long will we think only about money?” he replied softly
yet firmly. “Perhaps it is time to think about ourselves.”
The very next day, he began searching for a motorcycle with
renewed energy. A brand-new one was difficult to afford, so he contacted many
people in search of a second-hand motorcycle. Eventually, he found one within
his budget and in reasonably good condition – a 1942 BSA WM20 500cc motorcycle,
a 496cc side-valve, air-cooled, single-cylinder, shining black motorcycle. It
belonged to a Forest Officer, who had been posted in the village but was now
being transferred to a distant state. Not wishing to transport the motorcycle
so far, and eager to purchase a new one in his new city, the officer was
willing to sell it at a modest price.
Because the officer was in a hurry, he agreed to sell it for
less than its market value. Though Pestonjee wanted to get the bike inspected
by a mechanic, he neither wanted to miss the deal nor wanted to prolong his
wait. He immediately purchased the motorcycle.
Only then did another realization strike him. He did not
know how to ride it!
Pestonjee then approached Zafar, a mechanic at a local
workshop, and explained his predicament. He asked Zafar not only to teach him
how to ride the motorcycle but also to keep it at the workshop until he felt
confident enough to ride it on his own. He wanted to surprise Delnaz.
Zafar was reluctant. He agreed to ride the motorcycle to his
workshop and keep it there but felt that teaching Pestonjee to ride would be
too much effort. He also knew Pestonjee’s miserly ways and thought that he
would not be adequately compensated. To get Pestonjee off his back, Zafar
quoted a fee at least three times higher than what the work warranted. He did
not expect Pestonjee to agree. Sensing his urgency, he also saw an opportunity
to profit from the situation. For a brief moment, Pestonjee remained silent.
Then, to Zafar’s astonishment, he accepted the amount without bargaining.
Zafar was taken aback. Everything he had ever heard about Pestonjee
suggested that he would argue over the smallest sum. Yet here he was, accepting
a high price without protest. The contrast between rumour and reality unsettled
him. For the first time, he sensed that there might be more to this quiet, thin,
awkward man than the town believed.
Zafar rode the motorcycle to his workshop. From the very
next day, early in the mornings - and often again in the evenings - Pestonjee
began learning to ride under the mechanic’s supervision. Within twelve days, he
had gained enough confidence to handle the motorcycle on his own.
Zafar would frequently caution him. The motorcycle, he said,
was rather heavy. Given Pestonjee’s thin frame, controlling it might prove
difficult. He advised him to remain careful. Pestonjee would simply smile at
these warnings. There was something he knew that Zafar did not.
Once he felt sufficiently confident, Pestonjee decided that
it was time to take the motorcycle to the workshop in Mysore. Although he could
now ride within the village, he was not yet comfortable enough to make the
journey to Mysore on his own. So, while settling the payment for the riding
lessons, he asked Zafar to accompany him.
Zafar did not know the purpose of the trip, and the journey
would disrupt his work at the workshop. Yet, sensing the quiet excitement in
Pestonjee’s voice, he agreed - and insisted that he would do it without charge.
Pestonjee smiled, his eyes filled with reluctance and gratitude.
Zafar understood that had he asked for it, Pestonjee would have willingly paid
him for the additional help.
Together they rode to the city and reached the workshop
where Pestonjee had earlier inquired about the custom attachment. There, they
met Afzal bhai, who was surprised to see Pestonjee return so soon. Pestonjee
explained his requirements and showed him the reference photograph once again.
Zafar, who now understood what Pestonjee intended to do, was
taken aback. He did not fully grasp why Pestonjee wanted a side carrier fitted
to the motorcycle, but he chose not to question him. Quietly, he took his leave
and got up to go to the bus stand. However, before Zafar could step out of the
workshop gate, Pestonjee ran after him in his familiar, awkward manner and gave
him a tight and silent hug. As Zafar walked away, he glanced back to see
Pestonjee standing at the workshop gate, one hand resting on his chest,
watching until he disappeared into the busy street.
Afzal bhai informed Pestonjee that building and fitting the
side carrier would take about twelve to fifteen days, and that the motorcycle
would have to remain at the workshop. With that decided, Pestonjee left to take
care of some work in the city. However, before boarding the evening bus back to
his village, he returned to the workshop, quietly hoping that the side carrier
might somehow have been magically fitted by then!!
He returned to the village but the wait was unbearable. Pestonjee
felt as though those fifteen days were the longest of his life. Delnaz could sense
his anxiousness and was a little suspicious that something is cooking but
Pestonjee managed to cook some good lies. When the time finally came, he
decided to travel back to the city to collect the motorcycle. For a moment, he
wondered whether he should ask Zafar to accompany him again. But by now, he
felt confident - especially about handling a motorcycle fitted with the
carrier. He decided to make the journey alone.
He reached the workshop by bus and saw the motorcycle
standing ready. Attached to it was a matching black side carrier. The sight
filled him with joy and left his speechless and teary-eyed. In his mind, he
could already see Delnaz seated there comfortably.
Afzal bhai explained the structure in detail. The
attachment, though fixed, was detachable. If Pestonjee ever wished to remove
it, it could be separated from the motorcycle. After understanding everything
and settling the payment, Pestonjee mounted the motorcycle and began his return
journey to the village.
He rode cautiously at first, still unsure of himself. But as
the miles passed, he realized that the added carrier made the motorcycle more
stable. The risk of losing balance felt much lower than before. Encouraged, he
allowed himself a brief moment of boldness and picked up speed.
As the wind rushed against his face, a faint tear formed in
the corner of his eye. It could have been the force of the air. Yet it was not
only that. He felt, perhaps for the first time in his life, a sense of
liberation. A quiet freedom. And beneath it all was the knowledge that he would
now be able to take Delnaz out, to give her at least the small joy they had not
even known was possible.
By the time he reached home, it was night. He parked the
motorcycle outside but said nothing to Delnaz. He wished to surprise her in the
morning. After dinner, they retired for the night.
Sleep, however, would not come easily.
Several times he stepped outside to check on the motorcycle.
Like anyone who brings home something precious, something earned with effort
and sacrifice, he felt both excitement and a faint fear of losing it. The
anticipation of revealing the surprise added to his restlessness. Again and
again, he went out to ensure it was safe, that everything was as it should be.
At last, morning arrived. As the first light filtered in, he
turned to Delnaz and gently said, “Come outside… there’s something I want to
show you.” He led her outside and finally revealed the surprise. The moment her
eyes fell upon the black motorcycle and the neatly attached matching side
carrier, she stood still. For a few seconds, she said nothing. Then her eyes
filled with tears.
She wanted to embrace him, but theirs was not a marriage of physical
expressions of love. Often, they spoke through glances alone. Love between them
had long ago settled into something quiet and understood. That morning, their
eyes met, and everything that needed to be said was said. Both were deeply
happy and were almost giggling in their excitement.
Pestonjee declared that he would not go to work that day.
Instead, they would dress up and go out together. Delnaz’s natural instinct
would have been to suggest that the ride can wait but she knew that her husband
had waited long enough. She immediately went inside to get ready.
He bathed and dressed with care, as one does for a special
and rare occasion. He chose a traditional white Parsi ceremonial outfit - the
kind worn at weddings - a long white coat-like garment over white trousers, with
black cap and white shoes. He knew that black shoes would have been better and
appropriate with the outfit but he did not have a pair of black shoes.
While waiting for Delnaz to finish dressing, he stepped
outside with a cloth and carefully wiped the motorcycle, polishing it as though
it were something sacred. As he checked it over, he noticed that the petrol
tank was nearly empty. He did not want any inconvenience once they set out,
especially not for his Delnaz.
He went inside and told her gently, “Take your time getting
ready. I’ll just go and fill some petrol.”
He rode out, refueled the motorcycle, and began heading back
home. On the way, he decided to take a slight detour to check on his poultry
farm. That was not required and the work could have waited. However, he did not
have work in his mind. He merely wanted to give Delnaz enough time. In her
excitement, she would likely try to hurry, though her health would not permit
it. He wanted her to dress at her own pace, without feeling rushed.
He turned towards his poultry farm, parked the motorcycle
outside, and went in to inspect things. He spoke casually with the workers,
asking unnecessary questions. In truth, his mind was elsewhere.
While he was speaking, he suddenly heard a sound from
outside - the unmistakable ignition of a motorcycle. For a moment he did not
know how to react and he stood frozen. Then panic overtook him. His reactions,
often slightly exaggerated and comical, startled the workers. He ran outside as
fast as he could.
Upon reaching the street, he once again froze. He saw one
man seated on his motorcycle and another in the side carrier. Suddenly, the
engine roared and the motorcycle surged forward.
He once again ran – in his typical awkward way - towards the
motorcycle shouting “Arre pakdo, arre pakdo, yeh mera motorcycle le kar jaa
raha hai” (Stop them! Stop them! They’re taking my motorcycle!)
They laughed at him as they sped away.
For a few desperate seconds, Pestonjee ran behind them,
shouting, trying to reach them, trying to stop what was clearly happening
before his eyes. But he was no match for a moving machine. Within moments, they
were far ahead. Soon, they were nothing but distant shapes. And then they
vanished completely.
He stopped running.
His legs gave way beneath him. He sank to his knees on the
dusty road, breathless and stunned. He could not fully comprehend what had just
happened. He closed his eyes hoping that it was a nightmare. It was not and yet
it was. The dream he had nurtured had been taken from him in an instant.
What happened to him afterward is not known. How Delnaz
reacted when she learned of the theft is also unknown. Whether their lives
changed after that day remains uncertain.
What is indeed known from the police and from local gossip
is that the two men who stole the motorcycle were petty thieves who wandered
from town to town committing small thefts. It was almost routine for them. While
some accounts suggested that the thieves were not entirely devoid of a humane
side, they often committed such acts thoughtlessly, rarely considering the harm
they caused their victims.
They were best friends and were known as: Jai and Veeru.
