By Syed Majid Gilani
For more than a decade, Yasir rode his Bajaj Chetak scooter through the streets of Srinagar. That grey scooter was more than just a machine—it was a quiet, faithful companion. It carried him to office, to relatives, to markets, and brought him home through every kind of weather and every shade of worry.
But time moves on. The scooter had aged, and so had its purpose. One day, Yasir sold it for a modest sum. And with that small bundle of notes in his pocket, his thoughts weren’t about replacing it for himself alone. His mind was on both of them—him and his wife, Neelofer.
It was 2011. They had been married for just over a year. In those days, scooties were still a rare sight in Kashmir, especially with women riding them. But Yasir had never measured love by the yardstick of social norms. To him, love was not control, and care was not confinement. Love meant dignity, trust, and the space to grow.
So he began saving, until one morning, he took Neelofer with him on a public bus to Lalchowk. They walked together to M/S Kashmir Motors. He had not told her the reason for this little trip. In his heart, the choice was already made—a gleaming blood-red TVS Scooty Pep+. Light, gearless, easy to handle, and perfect for her. The colour was deliberate—bright, feminine, chosen for her, though he too would ride it when needed.
The price was ₹42,000. Yasir paid it in full. While taking delivery, he handed the smiling salesgirl a ₹500 tip, out of the quiet joy that sometimes needs no words.
It wasn’t about buying a vehicle. It was about gifting Neelofer something that spoke louder than jewellery or clothes—freedom, mobility, and trust. In his eyes, that scooty was a token of faith.
It came with a crisp new JK01R registration. They rode it home together—Yasir driving, Neelofer sitting behind him, her hand loosely resting on his shoulder. The city faded behind them as they moved forward into what he believed was a shared dream.
A few days later, on a quiet Sunday morning, Yasir took Neelofer to a wide, open space in Eidgah for her first riding lesson. Patiently, step by step, he showed her how to balance, throttle, and brake. She wobbled; he encouraged. She hesitated; he reassured. When she wanted to stop, he gently urged, “Just one more time. You’re almost there.”
And she was—still a beginner, but close to tasting that little thrill of freedom. Yasir was even preparing to get her a learner’s license.
But something began to shift. To Neelofer, his firm instructions began to sound like authority. His corrections felt like commands. What he saw as guidance, she began to see as pressure.
Without giving reasons, she slowly withdrew from the practice sessions. Yasir didn’t push, believing it was just a passing mood. But days turned into weeks, and the scooty was now mostly ridden by him, never by her.
One day, he asked gently, “You don’t want to ride anymore?”
She shrugged, “I never really asked for it.”
The words struck deep. Yasir stayed silent. Neelofer walked away.
He had never imagined that the scooty—bought with so much love and purpose—would turn into a quiet point of friction. In his heart, it had been a gift of trust, not a tool of control. But ego—silent, shapeless—had slipped between them. Not loudly, not in anger, but in the slow, invisible way it sometimes does.
The scooty, meant to be a symbol of freedom, now stood in the courtyard as a reminder of a misunderstanding. Yasir would still ride it, sometimes wash it, but Neelofer never again showed interest in learning to drive.
Now, it was Yasir who would take her places, with her as a pillion rider. She seemed content with that—content, but never a rider in her own right. Perhaps it wasn’t about the scooty at all, but about not yielding to instructions she didn’t like hearing.
The red Scooty Pep+ was never really about the road. It was about trust, freedom, love, and belief.
But in the end, it was derailed—not by distance, not by danger—but by ego.
Syed Majid Gilani is a government officer by profession and a storyteller by passion. He writes about memories, family, childhood, pain, and the silent struggles of life. He can be reached at syedmajid6676@gmail.com
