The spirit and the Mania

A lazy guitar arpeggiates in the background of the blue-hued screen. Two motorcycles leap on to the scene with poetic grace – with nothing abrupt or jarring about them. The pace picks up – helmeted stunters pick the front wheel up on cue as the drums enter, and break into an array of never-seen-before tricks. The montage reaches a crescendo of action and soulful music, and by the time we’re through with the seventy second audio-visual treat, the hair on my arms is standing on ends.

This has been my reaction every single time I have seen the Pulsar Mania commercial. It been a while now, the commercial off-air even, but I caught a glimpse of Varad watching it on YouTube just the other day and the six-month-old nostalgia returned with a vengeance. Ok, so this is a little dated, but I’m glad the topic is still perfectly relevant because the ad, in so many ways, stands for the changing face of Indian motorcycling. Before we get to that, let’s take a look at the talent behind this stunning piece of television footage.

Abhijit Awasthi, National Creative Director for O&M India has been the man behind the Pulsar brand’s ads through the years – right from the ‘Definitely Male’ campaign, beside other funky ads for Asian Paints and Fevicol. His foreign comrade in arms and the director for this commercial shot was Lourens Van Rensburg, an award-winning director for Velocity Films and Ogilvy Johannesburg, and a die-hard biker himself. A special mention for the super-cool duo of Paul Norwood and Craig Hawkins of the Audio Militia, two immensely talented South African youngsters responsible for the music. And how can we forget the stunters on screen – a select group of six including European Stunt champ AC Farias and Irish stuntman Mattie Griffin, all superstars in their own right.

Did I say stars? I should rephrase that. No respect lost for the men on screen, but the ad treats them all as faceless, helmeted men. Once the awe of the magnificent stunts is over, the bikes emerge as the true stars of the ad. Not in a USP-selling, product glorifying manner. The treatment is so much more honest – it is all about a bunch of guys having some (very graceful and spectacular) fun on a bike.

And it is this honesty that appeals so much to a biker’s heart. Not a word spoken. No stereotypical heavy metal riffs, no sweet college girls to woo onto your bike, no mileage claims and no macho film stars splashing vengeful mud on the bad guys. For once, the ad is not about what the bike can do for you, but about what you can do on a bike. That is what the mania of being on a motorcycle is all about. For replicating that mania through this commercial, here’s a huge kudos to the team, and heartfelt gratitude for the pleasure.

[To revive the rush, here's the ad on YouTube.]

Us and Them

Why differences between bikers do not matter as much as the one all-important similarity

"You still own your Bullet, right?" came the half-concerned, half-threatening question from the big, bald, bearded guy. "How come you're riding a Pulsar then?"

A few years back, I would have actually worried about being asked the question. My 2003 Std. 350 was my first bike and my first love - intense and passionate. Every word against it was hated and every shortcoming defended fiercely. The trend was uniform amongst all my Bulleteer brothers - this was a form of collective worship, and boy did we worship. By those standards, my current situation on the ‘plastic bike’ was sacrilege.

The dumbing down between the big bike and the small ones was mutual. The sport riding buddies that I made later were all very proud, and deservedly so, of how much quicker their bikes were around the corners, in how much more efficient a manner, especially without parts falling off the bike. The fact that most Enfields also came with PYT’s on the pillion seat as more or less standard ensured that no love was lost for the thumpers.

There is no right or wrong here, obviously. It is not difficult to understand that wherever there are differences in the persona of a bike, there will be people who will either like it or dislike it. Such differences are what stand the machines in good stead, and are justified, celebrated and even glorified occasionally. The problem begins when this love for one brand begins to translate into hatred, or worse still, ignorance of the true and genuine abilities of whatever else exists in the market.

Such a trend is almost universal – rarely will one spot a true blue Harley H.O.G waving to a ‘crotch rocket’ sport rider screaming past him, and vice versa. Bikers are supposed to be good people – why do the badges on our bikes make us feel such animosity for our own kind then? Because past the badges and our weird need to find security behind the labels that they give us, we are all the same people. We’re all convincing our families that our passion is not life threatening. We are all saving up fuel money for the next ride. We are all looking for that indescribable blissful place, when the rider feels one with his machine, and everything else stops mattering.

It is difficult to move past our differences, but there is no need to. Realization of just a few things ought to suffice. What we ride is important, but not as much as the fact that we ride. It is good to love motorcycles, but it is far more important to love motorcycling.