"HEART THROB OF EVERY INDIAN YOUTH"

Here I am, in an old bikes store with worn limbs. My eyes are swollen
with the bangs my previous rider gave me, and my body is smattered
with the various dents that my riders have given me over the passage
of time. Half of me is dead and rusted, I am not attractive and shiny
as I used to be ? but I have one thing that no other machine has ? the
undying spirit and the cruel intention to set the roads on fiery
mirth.

I was both handsome and beautiful once. The true heartthrob of every
Indian youth ? I enjoyed celebrity and cult status like no other
machine in the Indian automotive market. My very roar eclipses the
thought of buying another make ? if power, speed and reliability are
what you are looking for.

Riders who know how to ride me have enjoyed lasting companionships. I
am a machine that embeds with man like no other. Stretch me to my
limits and break them every time you ride me. That is what I was made
for, that is what I love doing.

Riding me is all about a precise balance between speed and control.
Desire more for any one of these and you will find yourself on your
back. I can be your companion if you know how to ride me, but will not
be enslaved to one who does not. I possess the courage to break free
from your grip if you do not deserve to hold me between your legs.

My engines have been opened up time and time again. I come from a very
adaptive family ? and mechanics who know what they are doing can
increase my power that no other bike in this country can deliver. Port
my engine, file my pistons and insert a fifth cog and you can ride me
on a highway at 160 kmph after and all you will hear is my monstrous
roar. Mechanics who know how to do it are rare, but then?, they are my
true lovers.

I will crown you the sole king of the road ? for no one else will dare
to compete. A condenser tube (you will find those in the rear of all
hatch backs, used to keep the hatches open) snugly fitted between the
fork and tank on both sides solves my vibration problems at high
speeds. Some of my comrades have disc brake assemblies in the front
wheel for better braking ? but don?t forget, I was the one who taught
the Indian rider how to decelerate by stepping up the gears.

Throw me into any corner, and I will come out like a swooping eagle.
Ride me into traffic, and I will lead out of it like a slithering
snake. Accelerate me on the highway ? I promise you the power of bulls
and speed of horses.

Give me all the good drink I need, I am an addicted drunkard ? and I
will deliver the fastest spinning rear wheel you have ever seen. Save
all your care for the girl you hooked on to from your college, showing
off riding me ? I need hardly little of it. A little care for my beast
of an engine and my body is all that is required.

Here I am, in an old bikes store. I am on the way to the metal scrap
unit ? yet I possess the legendary fame that no Indian bike has
enjoyed ever. My roar will always continue to be the heartbeat of the
true biker ? and my performance will always compared to by 4 stroke
bike manufacturers, out of sheer shame. I have no death, for I will
always live in the hearts and mind of the true Indian biker ? I am the

suggest me the title wat i need to keep...!!!

Each Friday night after work, Sardar would fire up his outdoor grill and  cook a tandoori chicken and some meat kebabs. But, all of his neighbors
were strict Catholics ... and since it was Lent, they were forbidden from  eating chicken and meat on a Friday.
 
The delicious aroma from the grilled meats was causing such a problem for  the Catholic faithful that they finally talked to their Priest.
The Priest came to visit Sardar and suggested that he become a Catholic.
 
After several classes and much study, Sardar attended Mass... and as the  priest sprinkled holy water over him, he said, "You were born a Sikh, and
raised a Sikh, but now, you are a Catholic."
 
Sardar's neighbors were greatly relieved, until Friday night arrived.
The wonderful aroma of tandoori chicken and meat kebabs filled the  neighborhood. The Priest was called immediately by the neighbors and, as he
rushed into Sardar's backyard, clutching a rosary and prepared to scold  him, he stopped and watched in amazement.
 
There stood Sardar, holding a small bottle of holy water which he carefully  sprinkled over the grilling meats and chanted: "Oye, you were born a
chicken, and you were born a lamb, you were raised a chicken and you were  raised a lamb, but now you are a potato and tomato"..!!!!
 
The Priest fainted............