Of thunderous kicks, upturned moustaches, and the character behind the swagger
Amit Kumar, doctor, soldier and author, expresses the importance of the old Enfield Bullet in India:
What a profoundly impressive thing is the so-called Royal Enfield Bullet! Isn't it? The name itself shoots so many rounds of adrenaline and endorphins through you that even the thought of riding one is sufficient to give you goosebumps. Its majestic appearance, the kick-start, and especially that definitive kick culminating in the unmistakable dud-dud-dud-dud are enough to announce that something extraordinary has arrived. Needless to say, for its admirers, the aura of the Bullet overshadows almost every other brand of two-wheeler.
But what exactly makes this machine so impressive?
Is it its appearance and imposing personality, its sound, or something that cannot be explained through the language of engineering? Perhaps it is a combination of all these things.
Imagine a handsome young man sitting proudly on his Bullet, looking into those two impressive front mirrors and giving his moustache a sharp upward twist. His dark sunglasses, neatly combed hair and confident posture complete a picture that could give any film hero a run for his money.
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| Circa 1986 Enfield India ad for its majestic Bullet. |
And then comes the machine itself. That magnificent body, its contours almost resembling muscular human anatomy, the rounded petrol tank sitting prominently in the upper middle, the leather seat and the thunderous silencer. What an extraordinary combination! (The picture, however, seems incomplete without a beautiful young woman sitting behind him as the pillion rider, her hair dancing in the wind.)
A complete package, almost an AK-47 on two wheels! And the resemblance, at least in my imagination, does not end with its imposing appearance. When the Bullet accelerates in a controlled manner, its measured, rhythmic dud-dud-dud-dud reminds me of the restrained, deliberate character of an AK-47 in its single-fire mode. But when the Beast surges forward with greater intensity, its thunderous rhythm seems almost reminiscent of automatic fire.*
Now imagine the entire combination moving majestically down a road. Could a Range Rover, an open Jeep or even a Harley-Davidson compete with such an appearance? Perhaps in horsepower, technology, comfort or price. But in sheer old-world swagger, the Bullet could give any of them serious competition.
Riding a Bullet was never merely about travelling from one place to another. One did not simply arrive on a Bullet. One announced one's arrival.
I remember my college days in Patiala. Bullets and Bullets everywhere! Inside the hostel premises, handsome, tall Khalsa studs riding their Bullets; outside, on the roads leading towards the market, the thunderous sounds of Bullets reverberating almost everywhere. Our seniors would enter the hostel premises on their Bullets while we were exiting towards the other block. As they negotiated the upward-sloping cemented ramp leading to the hostel entrance, they would invariably give the accelerator an extra twist, amplifying the pitch and intensity of that unmistakable dud-dud-dud-dud. That legendary entrance into the hostel den was nothing short of a deadly announcement of the Beast's arrival.
But I strongly believe that the rider was not merely enjoying and displaying his swagger for others to admire. He was himself experiencing something equally fascinating. That rhythmic dud-dud-dud-dud was perhaps a form of mind therapy, a sound that could lift his spirits, soothe his mind and fill him with an inexplicable sense of satisfaction. The Bullet was not merely announcing its arrival to the world. It was also speaking to the man riding it.
The Bullet was not everyone's cup of tea. And you may certainly count me among them. For me, riding that Beast was something I had to earn. It took almost ten years of dedicated gym training, during which I gradually transformed myself from a lean 57 kg youngster into a 75 kg man. Perhaps my fascination with the Bullet was never confined to its majestic appearance, thunderous sound or masculine swagger. My own physical transformation had taught me the importance of hard work, resilience, grit and discipline. And somewhere along the way, I began associating these qualities with the confidence and swagger of a Bullet rider.
But in my real imagination, the real swagger was never about false bravado. It was about confidence earned through perseverance.
I did eventually ride the Bullet, though only on a few occasions, borrowing it from my friends. I never owned one. But those few rides were enough to experience something I had admired for years. And perhaps one does not necessarily have to live an experience oneself to admire it or pen it down. Sometimes, a story of admiration can be written simply by watching from a distance. Perhaps the Bullet had not changed. But the man aspiring to ride it certainly had.
The kick-start itself was a performance. Unlike modern motorcycles, where the gentle press of a button brings the engine to life, the old Bullet demanded a certain physical effort, confidence and familiarity with the machine. And what if the first kick failed? Well, the rider would try again, sometimes under the amused gaze of those watching him. There was no guarantee that the machine would cooperate merely because its owner wished it to. Perhaps that was part of its charm.
Riding one announced a swagger that was part vanity, part armor. In an era when personal style often communicated more than words, the upturned moustache, dark sunglasses, polished shoes and the unmistakable Bullet became symbols of a man's presence.
The Bullet was not merely ridden; it was experienced. Even today, when motorcycles have become technologically more sophisticated, the old Bullet continues to evoke a special nostalgia. But nostalgia rarely concerns itself with specifications. It remembers the sounds, the people, the moments and, above all, the feeling that followed. For me, the Bullet represents an attitude towards life, a certain confidence and an unmistakable swagger.
I remember telling my wife about a dream in which my favorite God, Bajrang Bali, had descended to Earth on a mission. I asked her, "Considering his charismatic personality, can you imagine which vehicle he would be riding?"
Without a second thought, the only words that came to her lips were, "Royal Enfield Bullet!"
I couldn't have agreed more. Interestingly, even Bollywood seemed to share that imagination. In "OMG – Oh My God!", Akshay Kumar, portraying Lord Krishna, rode a specially customized Royal Enfield-based chopper. Perhaps the association between divine charisma and a majestic motorcycle was not entirely confined to my imagination!
But beyond all that swagger, I have always believed that confidence should be supported by character. And when honesty, empathy, discipline and the courage to stand up for what is right become second nature, they strengthen not merely individuals, but the character of a nation. And somewhere, on an old street, I can still imagine that handsome young man giving his moustache one final upward twist, glancing into those two mirrors and preparing to ride away.
One definitive kick.
Dud-dud-dud-dud.
The machine comes alive. The young man rides away. And the swagger remains. Because a Bullet may announce one's arrival, but it is character that determines one's worth.
*Author's Note: The comparison between the Royal Enfield Bullet and the AK-47 is purely metaphorical, reflecting the author's personal imagination and admiration for the motorcycle's distinctive character and sound.
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| Doctor and Lt. Col. Amit Kumar. |
Amit Kumar is an Indian medical professional, author and armed forces medical officer.
He is the author of two books, "Purely in Love with My Uniform — A Transformation in My Life" (published by The Notion Press) and "Autism and Me — A Journey of Discovery and Growth" presently available on Amazon, but the same script has been approved by The National Book Trust of India and is in its final stages of publication by them also).
His essays and opinion pieces have appeared in The Tribune, Daily Excelsior, Raksha Samachar, The Indian Hawk and The Good Men Project, among other publications. His writing explores military life, personal courage, fatherhood, disability, resilience and the human experiences that shape ordinary lives.
