Night Rider Chronicles

Aashish Mishra

If, like the scribe, you work irregular hours and have found yourself straddling a motorcycle beneath the celestial spotlight of the moon, you know that riding in Kathmandu at night isn’t just about reaching your destination – it is about soaking up the experience and seeing just how different the city gets after the sun sets.  

One of the first things you notice when you hit the road at night is just how much respect people lose for their lives. Pedestrians are much too willing to jump in front of vehicles at random locations. Zebra crossing, what are those? Overhead bridges? Why take the high road when I can pirouette through traffic? Street-level superheroes don’t take no safety precautions.

Motorists, too, appear determined to remind you that your time on this green Earth is limited and that your pride and ego are hollow in the face of ever-lingering death. 

The two- and four-wheeled chariots plying the night asphalt are oblivious to your existence but committed to emphasising their own. You are but an insignificant insect in front of the mighty gods who were born to rule the roads. They are generous enough to award you the privilege of navigating the thoroughfare during the day, but at night, it’s their time to play. 

Night-time riding also introduces you to the fascinating world of shadows, or rather, takes you into their Stygian depths. Suddenly, every patch of darkness becomes a potential adversary. A bush on the footpath appears as a monster waiting to lunge and a harmless pothole turns into a sinister creature seeking to devour. Buildings suddenly develop frightening faces and every movement seems to threaten your existence. 

Headlights provide a small comfort, but they are no match for the menace the umbral entities unleash upon your psyche. At the end of your journey, you can scarcely fathom the incredulity that you yet persist among the living.

But if shadowy terrors don’t get you, dogs sure will. Man’s best friend by day, bloodthirsty beasts by night, they lie lurking, eager to pounce on innocent motorcyclists who happen to drive by them. And dogs, let this writer tell you, are judgemental animals. They seldom bark at expensive cars and they often let Harley Davidsons and Ducatis pass without interruptions. But for other two-wheelers, well let’s just say that God better be on your side.

Those who regularly drive through alleys after dark know the nuisance of canines all too well. Those who stay on main roads though face another rigmarole – the DUI checks. DUIs, or MaPaSe as they are known in Nepali, are a much needed but highly underappreciated measure for road safety. But one can’t help but think there has to be a better way to check for drunk drivers than shoving plastic implements into one’s mouth. The same breathalyser used again and again on multiple people; the traffic police may as well ask us to French kiss the rider next to us. 

As the machine is brought uncomfortably close to your lips, you see the droplets of spit the previous blower so generously left behind and you begin to regret every decision you made that brought you to this point in life. 

Perhaps this was what your sister meant when she shared that random photo on Instagram with the caption “Random photo or have a bad 2024.” Oh, if only you hadn’t ignored that! And as you’re thinking all this, you realise you’re already tasting the remnants of someone's questionable life choices. 

In the end, after you’ve defeated the road and begin approaching your abode, you find there is one last hurdle to overcome – the need to ride into a residential area after everyone has gone to sleep. Suddenly the purring of your motorcycle engine becomes a roar that quakes everyone awake. You see the lights turning on and hear whispers of people cursing under their breath. One person dares open his window and before he has even uttered a word, you feel the need to explain yourself, “I am not a drug dealer!”

The guy responds, “I just poked my head out to spit out my tobacco.” Ew, he hawks out a black tar loogie from his facial orifice. 

“My good sir, you are a disgusting individual,” you say, “But please rest assured – and spread the word – that this gentleman you see before you does not deal in pills.”

And as you roll up to your doorstep and dismount, you cannot help but feel a sense of accomplishment. You conquered the night and shall live to see another sunrise. 

You open your door and go in, to find an unmade bed and dishes still in the sink from the morning. You remember that you were lazy and now have at least 11 things to do before you can embrace sleep. Oh well.