The Thump That Found Me
I don't know how to explain it to someone who hasn't felt it.
You spend years watching other people ride, nodding at the sound, the posture, the way a rider and a road seem to understand each other without speaking. You read. You watch. You wait. You tell yourself, someday.
And then someday just shows up on a Tuesday.
The Meteor doesn't roar. That's the thing nobody tells you. She thumps. Slow, deep, unhurried, like a heartbeat that's been around long enough to stop rushing.
First time I twisted the throttle, I didn't feel powerful. I felt settled.
Like something in my chest that had been slightly out of place for a very long time just quietly clicked back in.
The Delhi noise, the horns, the heat, the hundred unfinished thoughts I carried into the morning, none of it followed me past the first flyover.
You can't overthink on a motorcycle. The road won't let you. It keeps asking for your full attention, and somewhere in giving it, you forget to be tired.
I've been a fan of this for as long as I can remember. Watched, admired, quietly obsessed.
But riding, actually riding, is the part no one could have described to me.
It just feels like finally.