🛵 Hamara Bajaj… A Scooter-Full of Stories!☀️

 🛵 Hamara Bajaj… A Scooter-Full of Stories!☀️

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If you're a proud 80s or 90s kid, I bet your mind just sang this the moment you read it:

“Hamaraaa… Bajaaaaj!”
Goosebumps, right?

Those ads were not just commercials. They were emotions. Identity. Aspirations.
And thanks to a random YouTube spiral the other day — I stumbled upon some iconic 90s ads, and bang! There it was — the cement-grey nostalgia bomb called Bajaj Chetak.

And just like that, I was no longer in 2025. I was in my school uniform, dusty knees, hungry belly… and wide eyes, staring at a brand-new scooter outside our house.

Let me take you to 1998.

🛠️ Appa, The Bike Whisperer

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My father was a mechanic — not just any mechanic, mind you. He was the doctor saab for two-wheelers. People from across Hassan would bring their sick bikes to him — and they’d leave cured, humming again.

He had this contract with banks — used to travel across branches in Hassan district, repairing their vehicles. So a new bike or scooter parked at our house wasn't a big deal. But that day was different.

I came back from school, dragging my bag, ready to throw it and raid the kitchen… and I froze.

Right there, in front of our gate, stood a cement-coloured Bajaj Chetak, gleaming like a Bollywood hero’s entry scene.

I ran to him and asked breathlessly,

“Appa! Whose scooter is this?”
He smiled and casually said,
“Nammade kano. I bought it today. From now on, we’ll go everywhere together.”

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💥 Boom! Childhood Upgraded 

That was it. That line. It changed everything.

Suddenly, we were mobile. No more waiting for KSRTC buses that never came. No more standing like sardines in a crowd.
We had our own ride.
And oh boy, we had plans.

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👨‍👩‍👦‍👦 Scooter Geometry: How to Fit Four on Two Wheels

Now if you’ve never seen four people on a Chetak — let me break it down:

• Little Brother in front, sitting like he’s the one driving (his job: keep his hand on the horn and press when Appa nods — "Horn maadu!")

• Me in the middle — the official sandwich.

• Amma at the back, slightly tilted, balancing grace and groceries.

• And Appa, our family’s very own bike stuntman.

Somehow, there was always just enough space. Maybe it was magic. Maybe it was muscle memory. Maybe it was Amma adjusting her sari and sliding just 3 inches back to make room.

Whatever it was — it worked.

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🛣️ The Great Subramanya Journey Begins

One fine Saturday, we had a family function at our grandmother’s house in Subramanya.

School was only till noon, and we were supposed to leave immediately after.

12:00 PM: Bell rings.
I’m waiting outside my brother’s classroom like it’s the last train home.
He runs out, we lock eyes — no talking.
We start walking home like two kids training for the Olympics. Brisk. Focused. Mission Scooter Ride.

12:30 PM: Amma’s packing the bags. Rice and Rasam on the stove.
1:15 PM: Appa still not home. I’ve started circling the house like a lion in a cage.
1:30 PM: Gate creaks. He’s here.
Smile on his face. Tools in his hand. And my heart doing backflips.

Lunch was demolished in record time. Rasam down the throat like energy drink.
By 2:15 PM — Operation Chetak Launched.

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🏍️ Riding With the Wind… and a Backache

The road from Hassan to Subramanya is pure cinema.

Once you cross Balupet, it’s like God switched on the air conditioner. Trees on both sides, coffee estates, mist playing hide and seek.

But here’s the real twist: the seat.

I was perched right on the edge — that cruel bump between the front and rear seat — and oh, my poor backside.
But did I care? NO.
Because I was on a journey. A real one. Not in a dream. Not a game. A live-action adventure.

My brother was pretending to steer.
Appa was gliding like a jockey on a horse.
And I was… shifting left and right every five minutes to keep my blood flow alive.

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🌀 Sakleshpur to Kempu Hole: The Test of Chetak

By 4 PM, we hit Sakleshpur. Took a short break — not for tea, but for back relief.
Then came the ghats. The real thrill.

Curvy roads, blind turns, monkeys on both sides, and one Chetak with a family of four, dancing through it all.
The scooter had hand gears, so you could see Appa’s hand moving like a magician — twist, clutch, shift, accelerate.

Just after Kempu Hole reservoir, Appa opened throttle. The scooter flew.
Well, okay, it coughed and crawled — but in our heads, it flew.

By 6 PM, we passed Gundya.
It was getting dark.
7:30 PM: We reached Ajji mane (grandma’s house) — tired, sweaty, but glowing with pride.

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⛩️ Temple, Tummy, and Trip Back

The next day, after the function and the mandatory 18-item lunch at grandma's place (including that payasa made with love and ghee), Appa decided —

“Let’s stop at Kukke Subramanya Temple before heading back.”

So we did.
We prayed, we clicked photos (on film camera, of course), and then we began the journey back.

This time, I sat with a towel under me — #SmartBoy
The wind was cooler, the roads more familiar, and our bond… stronger.

We weren’t just riding.
We were living.

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❤️ Final Thoughts: Four on a Scooter, Forever in Memory

That Chetak wasn’t just metal and wheels.
It was a memory machine.

It taught us balance — not just on roads, but in life.
How to adjust, how to share space, how to enjoy the journey even if you’re sitting on the edge.

So next time you hear the jingle —

“Buland Bharat ki buland tasveer… Hamara Bajaj!”

Close your eyes.
And remember that one ride, that one laugh, that one sandwich seat between Appa and Amma —
Where your whole world fit on two wheels.

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