As I slowly released the clutch from my hand, the instincts took over. There is kinship in the dynamics of the rider and his machine. But the machine is just another means to an end. Although I was committed to follow the rules of the road , the impediments existing in the circumstances never favored my liking. Embracing the wrong side of the lane seemed like a pretty easy decision. I had the zeal to face the perils and eulogize myself as a rider in the storm.
The fervor was slowly curbed by the fear of the uncertainty of misfortune. There were myriads of riders from the other direction, riders like me but it doesn't make a difference to them if my life was worth more than that of an insect. I lamented every blinking second for being on the wrong side of the lane and reaching my destination seemed like a shot in the dark. I survived the predicament inconceivably. If the vehicle or my skills had failed me, it would have been fateful. Would every decision I take be venomous? How many times can a man survive on erroneously ill-planned decision? If I were a free man, I would rather be in chains for a free man doesn't follow any particular direction.
As I disembarked ,I was taken aback by a startling revelation. The road signs were pointing to the same direction as I was following and everyone else was in defiance.