RAJ GARAGE

On the back roads of Goa, we encounter one of India's lesser known custom shops.

On the night before I met Raj Shridhar, a cyclone was blowing fierce winds onto  the sunbaked beaches of Arambol in North Goa. They roared across the Arabian Sea and soon knocked the power out  in the middle of the sticky and starless night. The sea was was an endless stampede of waves landing sideways upon the shore as locals and tourists gathered to the coastline to take it all in. In the distance you could hear the sounds of the mechanized land beasts ripping through the dark and damp storm.  A whole symphony of bedraggled machines playing their own part of a whirling and wild Doppler dance that reverberated across the hairy coconuts hanging in the trees.  It was this inimitable sound that first drew Raj to the motorcycle that heavily populates the subcontinent. The Royal Enfield. It is the John Henry Bonham of the fierce and chaotic Indian streets. The four sticks sublimated into four strokes pounding away at the gravel below in its own raga of gasoline and grit.  A bike that he has since dedicated his life to working on in his cozy, ramshackle garage in North Goa.

“I first heard that sound when I was just 5 years old” Raj reflects.  “That “puttah-puttah-puttah”... I love that sound. My mother and I used to make the noise together…we’d “puttah-puttah” and laugh as they rode by our house.” For the past 15 years Raj has ran a shop in Mandrem, a small strip of beach 35km north of Panaji, the state capital of Goa. He spent 5 years in a garage in Calengute getting his hands dirty and familiar with the distinctive qualities of the Royal Enfield. After the State built a bridge to Mandrem, he moved north to escape the crowds of tourists in the bustling beach town. Nowadays his own grease-filled grotto is visited by a steady supply of Enfields and scooters in various stages of disrepair and in need of attention.

 At 10 to 12 bikes a day, this regular maintenance work is his naan and ghee. Keeping these bikes in shape and on the road is his everyday grind, but his real passion is in customizing.  “Many Russians come to my shop and want to turn their Enfield into a Ural or Voskhod. They want something that reminds them of home.” In the back of the shop, there is a customization continuously underway.  A black and bony skeleton suspended on stools and at the mercy of Raj and his crew. “With the custom work, I get new ideas. I can learn from them and grow. In a good year, we usually can get through 10-15 rebuilds.”

When not in the shop, Raj, of course, likes to get out and ride. “Goa is not good. He explains. There are too many small roads. You got to go father afield to really ride.” This is very true. The streets of Goa are one part organized complexity and another part a stop-n-go clusterfuck of calamity where the only agreed upon rule of the road is honking as a way of saving lives. The entire state is a confederation of local and touring road runners meeping and beeping down the winding streets. Bands of tuk-tuks growl, groan, and grunt their 2-stroke chainsaw songs while whizzing past the garlands of marigolds hanging from the Banyan trees. Large painted public buses and tourist tanks blast polyphonic melodies as they take over the big blocks of goods carriers that creep along the side. The whole experience is both exhilarating  and exhausting.

Raj reflects, “One of my favorite rides is Leh to Manali and then on...back down to Goa.”  This particular road that he recollects is undoubtedly one of the most beautiful routes this rock has to offer. (Add Description). "This is where you can really ride. When you get out on the highway you can imagine how the engine works and really start to feel it. When I go for a long ride, I like to get inside the engine. Each vibration and every sound takes me there. You can really feel the power and enjoy the machine.”  Raj pauses and slowly smiles.  “The Enfield is gold.” 

And the “puttah-puttah” goes on.