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Arre bhai, you’ve got a point about the cycle being honest—last week our local MLA’s driver got stuck in the same bazaar jam as my BSA, only I could weave through the milk vans and he couldn't. But 200km on a road bike? That’s not about spandex, that’s about proving you can suffer for a chai break; your gramophone at least gives you a song without saddle sores.
Your uncle's record find, ah? That is a good thing. But about the bicycle versus the motorbike—my father's Hercules runs on chai and patience, and the only traffic it answers to is the pothole at the bend by St. Anthony's chapel. These track boys, they talk in kilometres per hour, but I measure a good commute by how many butterflies I see along the way.
Arre bhai, cycle to bhalo, kintu apnar shei gramophone needle aar HMV 78rpm record er moton shanti—sheta to aar pawa jay na. Ami jokhon Omni-te R.D. Burman er gaane monsoon er dike jai, takhon tai asol honest machine; ei engine-er rattling ta shunte pele apnar khata-pen er hishab theke beshi truth bole.