How to break a guy’s ego in 5 seconds flat!

Disclaimer: This does not apply to all guys.

While on the way to the dungeon, ( my kingdom of the cubicle #4603 ) I saw a girl riding a motor cycle. Now, the girl wasn’t the typical biker-chick image one would have. No leather jacket and leather boots, no tattoo, no aviator sunglasses ,etc. (You get what I’m saying). The girl was as normal and as plain as can be. She too was perhaps heading towards a similar IT dungeon where she’d code till death did her apart (from the keyboard). This made me remember the exact point in history where I remember hating my Dad for what he did to me. (One of many embarrassing things parents do to ensure you’re at the top of the uncool ladder, but this is definitely among the top)

Rewind : November 2005. I got my first two-wheeler. After years and years of nagging, begging, pleading, throwing tantrums, holding my breath till I turned a shade of royal blue, my dad finally relented and decided to buy me a bike! (That was after mom gave him a piece of her mind. I can count on my fingers the number of times mom has given dad a piece of her mind. This must be like the 4th or 5th time in their 26 year marriage, God bless them! I think she keeps it stored for future use, like fairy dust or something. Whatever it is, it worked. Thanks mom!)

I was all too delighted at the prospect of owning a two-wheeler. Even without one, I would return home after midnight, go everywhere possible,…the model vagabond ( in every sense). I immediately began the great hunt for the perfect bike. I remember narrowing it down to “the Enticer”, a nice new cruiser which had been launched and boy did she look gorgeous. I remember day dreaming in class and at home. Me on a cruiser riding into the sunset, leather jacket, zipping past all those mortals who had to wait for a bus. Muhahahaha.

And then came the heartbreak! I went to dad with the price and what bike I wanted, (If I remember right, I went skipping) and he saw it and said, “You don’t know to ride a geared vehicle! I’m buying you only an auto-geared vehicle! Take it or leave it.” I went,” Mom!!!!!!!!!!!! Dad’s making jokes again when I’m being serious!” And mom decided it wasn’t time for the fairy dust, so she didn’t respond. I was so distraught over the idea of driving an automatic geared scooter, I vaguely remember hearing dad mumble something about,” You youngsters have no respect for speed….” (Or something of that order).

So after a few days, it was decided (not by me…I was still holding my breath,turning blue and not talking to dad) that I would get a Honda Activa. (The ultimate chick magnet in auto-geared scooters). And no black! (Whhhhhhaaaaaaaaaaaaaaatttttttt !!!!) How about you buy me a damn pink lady bird bicycle with a basket in the front so that I can put a bunch of daisies in it and hit the open road….born to be wild!!!!

When the bike was finally delivered home, I wasn’t allowed to ride it on any of the main streets for a week till I got “used” to it! When I was finally allowed to remove the training wheels dad had screwed on the Activa out of the extreme love and care he has for me; I hit the open road. Despite the choice of bike, I was still fairly pleased. I wore a big smile on my face and remember driving it all around town that day. Went and showed her off to all my friends and their parents. After a long day of grinning like a kid who got the latest action figure that nobody had, I was returning home I was still wearing a big smile, showing off my pearly whites. I came to a traffic signal and stopped. Was humming a happy tune to my self ( something on the lines of ….:” I’m singing in the rain!”) when slowly I saw a red Enfield Thunderbird motorcycle slow down next to me. Now, that’s normal right?

NO! The difference was the rider. It was fairly attractive girl, maybe a year older than I, wearing a sky blue top, a denim skirt, red canvas shoes and aviator glasses. Her build wasn’t that of the typical person one would expect on an Enfield Thunderbird. She had a pretty normal build for an attractive girl. And there I was bobbing my head and smiling away. I was all, “ Hey lady, check out me on ma new bike…pretty rad huh?” (obviously the smile said it all, not a chance in the world I would say those lines out aloud)

And she stared at me like she were looking at glass. And with one swift movement of her wrist, she made the bike go, “ VRRRRRRROOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMM!!!”


And then, she gave me a smile. That was that. The killer blow. The end. Armageddon. Ragnarok. I switched off the engine and stared at my bike. What the hell have I done? Of all the vehicles in the world, I purchased the worst one. And it wasn’t even black. My ego went from hero to zero faster than light travels through glass. I knew, this was definitely not going to further my cause for coolness. My ego had been broken, bruised, shattered, scarred, and traumatized. Why dad why? What did I ever do so wrong? I wouldn’t have cared if a dude did the same, but a girl who was built smaller than I, driving a motorbike bigger than I. And she just stood there smiling till the light turned green. The light turned green, she revved up the engine and sped away. I hung my head in shame, started the bike with the auto start, all it made was a slight coughing sound and well I sped away too
( yeah right….I sped away….It was the topmost speed I can get from an Activa).

I’ve hated my bike, for no fault of hers, ever since. And have hated dad for doing this to me. He could have invested the same amount in a mediocre motorcycle, but he decided he wanted to further my cause of being uncool and ensuring my social status remains at the same place where it was when I was 6 years old. I’m sure it’s one of these mean tricks every parent plays on their kids. Its revenge for something their folks did to them. And now that I really can’t do anything back, this is one more of those torturous things I shall be doing to my offspring to heap revenge on my father. I think parents take great pride in actually executing such an exercise and taking the extra effort to embarrass their children.


Come to think of it, I was better off when I was 6 years old. Being the nice fair chubby kid, I had a lot of girls kissing me back then (You heard me…I was adorable back then….then puberty hit and it wasn’t very kind to me).


I still suffer from major ego problems and an inferiority complex with this Activa. It’s slow, it’s unattractive, it makes a coughing sound when I rev it up and it’s not black. It’s a classic case of ‘beggars can’t be choosers’ hence I still drive the Activa around and yell at her for being her every time a nice motorcycle passes by/overtakes us.

And that is how you break an ego in 5 Seconds flat, drive up to it with a better motorcycle and go,

“ VRRRRRRRRROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMM!!!!!!!!!!!! ”