Jack loved driving. And he loved nights. And the only thing he loved more than the two, was driving at nights. He had this theory. That while you are on the road, you not only burn rubber and add kilometers to the odometer, you travel within and you get closer to yourself. Ofcourse no one understood a thing back then.
Fast forward to today, while Jack is away, everyone misses him. They know somethings missing from their lives but they can't pin point what it is. May be that intensity, or that earnest expression, or that attitude that challenged all norms. Or may be it was his armchair philosophies and theories on everything under the sun! Most of these are unspoken but they do talk about his exploits on the race track.
Back then, it was really tough for a boy of his means to get active with underground racing. Wtf, even now, its tough for any boy/man with any sort of means to get an entry into motorsports and we are talking about a 15 year old rubbing shoulders with men twice his age and grinding them to dust.
Some attributed it to his luck. Some said it was his foolhardy attitude. Some even went to the extent of saying that since he was what he was, he had nothing to loose. And the glory, the aura, that came with the podium finishes released more testosterone than a boy his age could handle. And it showed. Though he kept to himself, he was very intense. Even at that tender age, most people found it hard to meet his gaze.
Life was all good before that fateful night. They were to collect toll road slips of all the 4 toll points around the city. They could choose to do them in any order, take any road, do watever. But they had to reach the starting point fastest. To make things exciting there were no finish lines and no audience. These guys were gonna be following the racers they could catch upto.
What happened that day, is the stuff legends are made of. And yet there has been some sort of silence reigning over the sequence of events that night. That night changed Jack. He was back to being a normal 15 year old and soon faded away into the oblivion. And one fine night, when people had grown indifferent to Jacks absence (or presence), he packed his bags and slipped out of the city.
I wish I could write about that night. The race. The victory. The defeat. The brightest flicker of a nebula, before Jack and his story turned into a blackhole!
This is day 07 in a series of 31 daily blogposts. Other posts are here.