Popular mechanics.

     The last place I ever thought I'd be visiting regularly in Goa was a bike repair shop. But what can I say? Hazrat had a way with people - probably one of the most charming mechanics I ever had the pleasure of standing around uselessly next to. 

     At one point, the boy with the forever-shrugging shoulders (a relative, perhaps) suggested I sit down on the stool. Fair enough. The open-air garage was quite cramped as it was without having me, the useless white guy, poking around and pretending to know even the first thing about motorbikes. Hazrat nodded his head in agreement. "Yes, sit. Please." So I sat. There were some low-hanging clouds shuffling in anyhow and I was not interested in getting wet. My mechanic didn't seem to mind the drizzle. He continued to unscrew the panel from the front of my 2005 Honda Activa. He nodded, like a doctor might, when I told him how the headlight had been pointing more at the sky than at the road;  which, when combined with the non-existent hi-beams, made driving at night particularly treacherous. He made some joke then about shining unnecessary lights at the coconut trees and then laughed at himself. He was done in no time. Nothing but a faulty lightbulb. 

     I asked him if he had any Vespas for sale. Italian Vespas.

     Italian Vespas? He was smiling more broadly now. They had such bikes in England? I let it slide and reminded him I was from Canada. I explained that there were Italian Vespas in Montreal but that scooters were generally more rare because of the winter. We had already discussed the weather conditions back home the first time we met. That was the night it had rained massively. The night I had met everyone at Goa Streets. The night I finally got my scooter.

     Hazrat had been the only guy willing to take a chance on me. With no international license and without any prior driving experience. It had meant a lot to me. Things had fallen into place since then. I had written my first news story in maybe ten years. And now I was mobile.

     So I didn't mind it too much when Hazrat told me I'd have to come back again tomorrow morning at ten sharp so he could go down to the local permit office and get me my pollution certificate.