Unnoticed
Updated: Sep 14
I was manufactured in Mumbai, and my manufacturer made thousands more like me before naming all of us “Street Racer”. I wasn’t as popular as my peers, but I had my own merits, like not being too heavy and travelling faster than most. After being shipped to Visakhapatnam along with many others, I was covered in plastic before being put on display as a spectacle in the showroom.
For weeks, I only had admirers. However, since I lacked the strength, many buyers would just walk away, deciding I could not carry their weight. In time, the sales manager informed the main dealer that the Street Racer model was not being bought by the public, and I’ve lost hope of having brothers in the future.
In time, I even lost hope and concluded that I wouldn’t be purchased. I dreaded the thought of being dismantled, like many unsuccessful models, and used as spare parts for upcoming models. However, to my rescue, on 18th May 2009, my master chose me, and his father purchased me.
My master looked weak and was as thin as a stick. Though he lacked strength, he claimed to be a Knight, a child’s dream after watching a couple of historical epics, I suppose. So I was baptised by him as a Knight’s Rider.
When I arrived home, I was offered prayers before being permitted for my master’s first ride. I was glad that my master didn’t weigh much. He weighed hardly 50 kilograms, which made my job quite easy.
For a while, everything was quite enjoyable. My master stayed close to the beach, and the winds were lovely until they started eating my skin. My tyres were substandard thanks to my manufacturer, and my master even lacked the intellect to select his streets wisely. He would take me over shards accumulated from liquor bottles.
Once every two weeks, my tyres needed servicing, and patches soon became routine. During the first two years, my master didn’t hesitate to spend money on me, but his parents eventually calculated the expenses. They asked, “Why did I need so much investment considering I haven’t even served a couple of years?”
I felt terrible for being accused of the way I was. Fortunately, my master’s family moved to the city’s interior. I thought I would be safe becoming free from the beach, but my life in this place was even more difficult.
My master started using me so intensely that I almost travelled twelve miles every day for about two years straight. There wasn’t a day that I didn’t wish for a long break to rest, and eventually the Gods did bless me, and my master joined his high school after finishing school, before he flung me away into an open corner.
This long gap left me with nothing. My tubes went flat, the rubber tyres were worn out, the brake covers were worn out from rainwater, and my brake wires were congested. My seat now had a big hole, and I had crows’ shit upon me day after day.
I spent two years deprived of attention and almost dead. I understood that I could be of no more use to my master and presumed he would soon sell me for any price he was offered.
My thoughts came true when two children approached my master asking him if I was for sale. Fortunately, my master realised my existence before stating that I was still employed.
The next day, with an investment of six hundred rupees, I was taken to a local mechanic for servicing, but this cheater used the cheapest possible replacements to save as much as he could, and I was returned in worse condition than my manufacturer intended.
I had one more plenteous jackpot; my master now weighed seventy kilograms, thanks to no physical work for a couple of years. I must admit, the Gods protected me for a month, and I offered my best to support him, but I couldn’t bear him any longer.
Though we never spoke, I think he heard me this time. Considering his investment was worthless, he threw me back to the corner, and two weeks later, I was snatched by two children.
They sold me for four hundred rupees, and my new buyer sold me to a metal worker for six hundred rupees. When I was being dismantled, I wished my master had told me once that I had assisted him well. At least I would have felt happy for my existence.
When the last of me remained intact, I said my last words, “I love you, master. I hope to serve you again. Your humble servant. Your Knight Rider.”
Credits
This contribution was written by R. S. Chintalapati, edited by Sreekar Ayyagari and photographed by Ravindra Patoju.
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