Hooked

I would like to share a thought. It stems from the very name of the blog – The Outside Line. If thought be applied, with a modicum of reason, the name could seem to be a error. After all, wouldn’t “The Inside Line” be more appropriate? A person in my position is more likely to have the inside stuff? The real deal? Well, it would and it should be that.

But, the beady glassiness in my eyes shadows every flick of my gaze and every thought. I can’t blink or rub it out of my eyes. As the veil casts itself, I am transported away from every prod of the throttle, turn of the wheel. The knowledge that there is a purpose to be served from this, a benefit to be gained, more so self gratification and megalomanic thoughts choke the joy of driving or riding.

Driving was meant to be a pointless exercise. An opportunity to lose yourself in the companionability of the road and the passing kilometres. Time willing, the machine unfolds its best only as you turn your attention to it. And with passing time you hesitantly part with subtle thanks for the joy you have found in the companionship. Slow pats of the bonnet, kisses planted on the tank or even a caress of the flanks never seemed inappropriate for my silent companions.

Ulterior motives, ego tussles, deft jabs from glib tongues, childish fingers poking and pointing have scarred it all; I sold it all for self-serving purposes. Now, I wince and turn away just as an amateur lady of the evening. She closes her eyes, thinking what she will behind her closed eyes.

This is my Outside. From here I view my pathetic attempts at communicating what “they” have to offer. From up there I keep reminding myself to be true atleast to myself. Welcome to the Outside.