"I consider myself a purist and a rebel at the same time," says Bobbee Singh, sipping a cappuccino outside a bustling neighbourhood coffee bar in the Indian capital of Delhi. It's an apt choice of words when one considers his line of work. He is, after all, the proprietor of Old Delhi Motorcycles, an enterprise that specialises in bespoke makeovers of a colonial motoring icon: the Royal Enfield.
At 38 years old, Singh has made a name for himself as a leading authority on this classic bike, and clad in a leather waistcoat, dark blue Levis and Ray-Ban Aviators, he certainly looks the part. "I'm not the only person who does what I do," he says, "but I am definitely one of a very small number of people who really love these machines and who take great pains to create something special from them."
So far, he has exported his bikes to locations all around the world, including England, Germany and the United States. It is easy to see why they have such a following. Blending classic construction and styling with a modern sense of luxury, they turn heads at every junction.
These days, such admiring glances usually come courtesy of a hefty price tag, but not in this case. A customised Old Delhi Enfield sells for roughly 200,000 Indian rupees (Dh14,000).
"I'm probably very stupid," Singh says. "But I sell very cheaply. It's not about being wealthy. Of course, I don't want to lose money, but this is a great pleasure for me. I recently got an email from a man in Germany who I had just sent a bike to. He said: 'Bobbee, I took the crowbar to the crate when it arrived and she emerged like a queen.' Things like that are my biggest reward."
Looking over a selection of pictures of his past builds, it is indeed tempting to say: "They don't make them like that any more." But the truth of the matter is that Royal Enfield never made them quite like this in the first place. Rather than faithful restorations of the original bikes, Singh produces lovingly crafted customisations that draw on a variety of sources for their inspiration. And of the 20-plus unique projects he has completed to date, all began the same way.
"Some of the most sought-after parts are the old British G2 chassis and the original chambers," he explains. "I take these and use them as a frame for a new design. Everything else that I use, from the petrol tanks to the mudguards and leather work on the seats, is made from scratch by local craftsmen."
In many ways, it is possible to view Singh's as the most Indian of stories. Since British production of Royal Enfields ceased in 1970, leaving only one plant operating in Chennai, the brand has become a national institution, equalled only by the Hindustan Ambassador saloon car (which is itself based on the old British Morris Oxford). Arguably more important than that, nowhere else in the world boasts the ready and affordable supply of skilled manual labour required by a company such as Old Delhi Motorcycles. Walking through the dusty and deafeningly loud workshops of the Karol Bagh district, it becomes clear that this working relationship is central to Singh's success.
"They are the maestros who make my ideas possible," he says, pointing to a young man who is finishing a custom-made mudguard. "They love me and hate me because I am obsessive and a perfectionist, but I pay them well and I like to make sure that they get full credit for the work they do. They're unsung heroes - the back end of the project. But I like to bring the back end to the front and let them show what they can do. When it all comes together and my team can see the results, that's the most rewarding moment and is usually when they sit back and say, 'you know, that was all worth it'. Imagine that a beautiful bike that's been made in Old Delhi will one day end up sitting outside a cafe in Paris. That's a great thing to be able to make happen and to be part of."
Considering the amount of work that goes into one of Singh's bikes, the turnaround is impressively fast. Each build takes between 45 and 60 days to complete. He is also careful to maintain a certain integrity with his designs. "I would never make an Enfield look like a Harley," he says. "But it's also not about making a direct replica of the original. Sometimes I will take ideas from other, similar brands, like the lines and profiles of a Triumph or a Norton and incorporate them. For me, it's a very fragile thing of being creative but staying true to a certain look from a certain time."
Even so, there is still plenty of room for personal touches. "I listen to the client, hear what they want and learn about their interests," Singh adds. "Then I put that knowledge into the design. I once did a bike for a woman who lives here in Delhi. She wanted her bike to be pink, which is a difficult colour to make work, but I did it - even the springs on the seat. She was also a big fan of tigers, so I designed a special light for her in the shape of one. She loved it."
All the same, Singh is keen to stress that all of his bikes provide a genuine vintage Enfield experience. Taking a pillion ride through the city, it doesn't take long to see exactly what he means. Painted in a combination of peppermint green and cream, his own 500cc 1968 model is a beautiful piece of engineering. The appeal of these machines, however, goes much deeper than surface gloss. Even as a passenger, Singh's motorcycles feel both velvet-smooth and rock-solid. The most striking feature of all, though, is the sound they make: a deep, throaty growl underpinning a percussive barrage of firing pistons.
"That's all thanks to one part, Singh explains. "The most important thing on an Enfield is the crank. It's the bike's heart; what gives it its character. Enfields are still being made, but not in the same way. Now the crank has been changed to increase the mileage of the bike. It's much lighter - there is a visible difference. The old model is much heavier, which gives an entirely different feeling. You can even hear it - you know, that dugga-dugga-dugga sound."
Hang around with Singh for long enough and you soon get used to displays of obsessive enthusiasm. In addition to building bikes, he is also a dedicated traveller - not least within the borders of his own country. A short while ago these twin passions came together when he and a friend, Vaibhav Nijhowne, founded the touring company Sadhoo Chakkar. Roughly translating as Mystic Journey, it offers guided motorcycle holidays through the desert state of Rajasthan and the mountains of Himachal Pradesh and Kashmir. As luck would have it, one of these trips has also brought a new commission.
"I'm working on one of my favourite projects ever now," Singh says. "I love Bob Dylan and in Old Manali, one of the places that we visit in Himachal Pradesh, there is hippie village. A man has opened up a place called Dylan's Coffee House there and it's based around all of his music. I am making a Dylan-themed bike for him in Venetian blue and ivory. It's taken a lot of thought and planning. I've read about three books about Dylan and have been listening to his music a lot lately. I've decided to name it the Hootenanny, after his very first gig, and I'm going to incorporate lots of other details, too. Man, it's crazy, I get sleepless nights thinking about these things."
Despite his clear sense of vocation, Singh is quietly circumspect about the long-term prospects of his work. After all, only so many 1960s Enfields are in reclaimable shape, and the craftsmen on whom he depends to realise his visions are not getting any younger. Even so, he is happy with his lot and plans to stay on this path for as long as possible. Just as well, too; it is hard to imagine him doing anything else, especially when he explains how it all began.
"When I was child, my family had a neighbour who would repair motorcycles in his house," he says. "I loved going there and seeing all the different pieces slowly taking shape. I'd put grease on my face so I looked like I had been working with him. Looking back on that, I think I was really made to do this. I'm also one of those people who like to live in the past. I love everything old-school - movies, music, clothes, everything. Now I get to bring both of those things together."
For more information, visit www.sadhoochakkar.com.
