'I don't know, do you?'

So there I was in Madras Cafe with my usual cup of extra strong coffee and a samosa, savouring every bite of the steaming potato masala stuffing. This had been my routine for quite a while now. A walk in the evenings worked like a charm to freshen up my visual and auditory senses, constantly complaining of my sedantary lifestyle. The only noticable change in my life of late, had been my weight, courtesy, the constantly busy mouth of mine. 

All of a sudden, a voice bubbling with excitement explaining about a street race that took place a couple of days ago, cut through the normal decibel level of the room. A boy of maybe around eighteen was all pumped with his description.

"Oh boy, he had swag. You should have seen his drift. It was perfect with the angle of the track. I bet he knows this shit too well..." said the boy, evidently impressed with this driver who according to him was the next Dominic Toretto.

"This is the problem. Your generation has grown up watching the 'Fast and furious' series on loop and believes that everything shown there is all it takes to win. I bet you know better..." blurted the person sitting across the table with his fingers pointing towards the boy. As I turned my gaze towards him, I couldn't but notice the long scar on his forehead, very prominent on his round face. With a skull cap, a greying beard and a long white kurtha, it was evident that this man was a muslim nearing his forties, but unfortunately, I couldn't recognize him, though the scar felt familiar.

"Maaf karna bhaijaan, do I know you?" I asked after staring at him for a couple of seconds, trying hard to kick start my brain's face mapping system.

"Wrong question..." he said. "The question to ask is do I know you?" he laughed loudly, exposing all of his sparkling white teeth.

My face was a dead give away. Any expression of surprise or bewildment, that I wanted to so badly conceal, was instantly visible on my face and the man, now walking towards me with his glass of tea, had already caught a glimpse of it.

"I know you from the days you walked to my autoparts shop in Bundar, after your football practise. You were training for the M-Cross rally back then." he said, sitting right in front of me and placing his glass on my table with a ..TAKK... 

'Bundar' rang a bell in my drowsy brain, alerting all antennas at once. Those were the days that have left a lasting impression on me. 'My days in the port city of Mangalore...'

Back then, I was still exploring my options and opportunities that life was fanatically throwing at me. With a carefree attitude, so evidently visible on my teenage face, I spent most of my time on the sports field or being a part of youth politics. I must confess, I did thoroughly enjoy those days with no responsibilities at all to say the least. 

The scar still bothered me. I was unable to place this man, but, his face felt very familiar. I cursed my brain for being so sluggish. Everything around me suddenly seemed to slow down. I noticed a man about average height, desperately reaching to his pocket, to pay a ten rupee note for his tea as he was eager to run out to join his friends, a group of foreigners in the adjacent table enjoying their suleimani with a nod of satisfaction with every sip and the person I was trying so hard to identify, piercing me with his stare as his left hand slowly moved towards his face to twirl his handlebar mustache.  

Out of the blue, I said, "Ahmed Bhai..." Though it wasn't intentional, looked like my brain was sending signals that it didn't deserve as much condemnation as it was receiving.

"Aahh...so you remember this old Ahmed huh..." he asked with a smile.

"Ofcourse Ahmed ka..." I said sheepishly, realising that I had seen his familar smile a couple of times before in the same shop. I kicked myself in my mind for not recognizing him from his prominent scar.

Ahmed Bhai alias Mohammed Ashfaq Ahmed had a well established autospares shop in the busy, narrow lanes of Bunder, back in the day. After football practise, I would accompany Ranjit, a senior of mine, to his shop regularly, where we would discuss about the upcoming rallies, races and strategies for different tracks and scenarios. A sly comment on the local politics and political standpoints was inevitably in the mix. But, Ranjit would make sure that nobody crossed the line. Ahmed Bhai's spares shop was a local favourite as he had a sweet tongue which was a charming way of drawing the customers towards his shop and also his ability to arrange for spare parts that were not so easily available in the market.

"Hmmm...so... how have you been? Its a really long time since I last saw you. To be honest, I couldn't recognise you with that beard of yours. I did notice you a few days ago but wasn't sure if it was you. With your reactions to those boys talk, I was convinced that you are the one..." he proudly boasted about his ageing sharp brain, rubbing salt on my wounds again.

"Didn't expect to see you in Bangalore. And yeah, long time indeed..." I said trying my hand at damage control.

"I moved to Bangalore a couple of months ago. Had to give up my shop after a rift in our family. My brother, Yusuf, took over and I had nothing to do in Mangalore once I decided to move on. So, I thought of moving to a new city and exploring better prospects..." he said, reading the puzzled look on my face.

"Oh... that's sad bhai. Should have been a tough choice for you. I understand your sentiments with that shop. But, a good decision to move on. Well, do you plan to continue in the same business?" I asked.

"Not as of now. But, I plan to get back as soon as I can. You see, life needs to reset from time to time to let us realise the existance of Allah, a higher power. Otherwise, we are so busy outdoing ourselves that we lose a track of the much needed balance of life. But, as you know, we are mechanics. Can't stay away from spanners for a long time..." he laughed.

Ahmed Bhai was one of the best pitcrews one could find in the circuit back in the day. His understanding of the vehicle and skill with his tools was God gifted to say the least. Apart from his off track exploits, his driving skills were legendary. He came to the track with a huge reputation that he proved worth every mention with every race he competed in. This experience reflected in his business as well. A fast talker, he could understand the requirements of his customers within a flash and suggest great modifications to the already existing plans, making his shop a hot favourite amongst car enthusiasts.

"Are you still around the tracks?" I asked, with a cheeky smile, pointing towards his greying beard showing his age.

"Ahhh... You still not done with you mischievous ways huh..." he mocked a slap in the air. "I did carry on for quite sometime after you guys left. To be frank, I had to. Could'nt satisfy my adrenaline rush anywhere else like on the tracks. Eventually, life caught up with its set of responsibilities and I decided to call it a day." said Ahmed Bhai with a long face. 

"Hmmm... Happens Bhai. We all did drop off the radar, didn't we?" I said pacifying him.

"Oh shut up. You gotta credit me for sticking around longer than you dumb talented jerks who didn't know to utilize your gifts. Amid childish pranks and useless fights,you guys never realized your potential..." he said in a raised voice, forcing the foreigners in the next table turn towards us.

"Well, though you stuck around longer, you have to admit that I beat you everytime we went head on" I said sporting a broad smile and raising my collar in a mock gesture, reminding him of my superiority on the tracks.

"See, this is what I'm talking about. Still, no seriousness in life. Bloody bugger, never known you to have been more serious than this..." he laughed pointing his index finger at me as we both laughed loudly, this time loud enough for the foreigners to quickly decide that it was going beyond their liking, thus concluding to leave the place in a hurry.

"What plans next Bhai...?" I asked as the laughter died out.

"Hmm... tough one to answer. I'm not sure if you know this. I lost my son in an accident a couple of years ago. That was a huge blow to take. It was a Muhammed Ali right hook that I failed to see coming, even amid his gradual rise in the local racing circuit at such a young age" he forced a smile, trying hard to conceal his sorrow as he drops in the analogy we used in our regular conversations years ago. The laughter had turned into a more intense conversation with emotions wrecking havoc within seconds. The disguised floodgates of the dam of suppressed emotions broke open without any further provocation.

"Sometimes I feel its my fault. I was the one who exposed him to highs on the tracks. I was the one who taught him to drive when he was still learning to walk. I never thought of the consequences back then and it was a huge void to fill" he continued with his eyes shimmering with unshed tears.  

For a moment, I was shellshocked at the turn of events. What started as an unexpected but happy reunion had suddenly taken a very ugly turn. The Ahmad Bhai I once knew was not the one I was seeing at the moment. I had never seen a much shattered Ahmed ever in my life. The person who would control cars running at breakneck speed as if it was child's play and would keep his cool demeanor in the toughest of moments in a race, had a different perception of life today. 

"I can't open up about it to everyone. A lot of my folks feel that it was completely my fault. Someone who understands the thrill of the tracks is the only one who can understand my eagerness to see my son as a great driver one day. Now tell me, was I wrong...? he asked with his eyes begging me to respond in the negative.

To be honest, I had no answer.

Ranjit would often say, "The actual race starts when you feel like you are going to lose and ends with you crossing the finish line first. Always remember, even if you lose, lose with grace. For its not your destiny to win this race." In the case of Ahmad Bhai, its life that is the race he has to take on with nothing less than a podium finish to suffice his hunger. The pressure of starting from scratch is immense at this age. But, he fights on with a smile. His experiences in life is what has made him stronger is what he believes. Once a giant on the tracks, is a nobody today. The wheel of time has forced him to restart his whole cycle. "Nayya doobne wali thi, par Allah meherbaan hai" is what he said about dealing with his tough days in life. But, does his faith in God's wisdom answer the questions eating him from within? Will the Almighty be gracious enough to give him a second chance in life? Can the void be ever filled? Was his decisions right?

"I don't know!!!"