Okay, I'll admit it. Sitting behind the wheel of my first bicycle
before it was towed off to the junkyard, I cried. You can tell me a bicycle
is only so much rubber & steal, but I will never apologise for loosing my cool
that day. A young mans bicycle is less a means of transportation than a monument
to his youthful abondon. Atleast mine was.
Eight years ago, soon after my fifth std final exams, I 'd started driving
my sister's old blue avon cycle, giving lifts to just about anybody who asked.
My sister had retired the bicycle and passed it on to me. After school, one
afternoon, I got two friends in my bicycle, including nikky who opted to ride
in the front.
Stray limbs, sing alongs and an ocassional moist finger in my ear made the concentration
difficult. While trying to quite my merry band of passengers, I ran into the
back of a auto full of small children. Although i had been in considerable slow speed, the collision crumpled the front of my cycle. suddenly I remembered
the back carrier. Jojy was out there on a heap of trash at the side of the road,
motionless. I gasped, "you are the worst driver on the earth", he said laughing.
Bystanders, looked at us, one by one, about 6-10 of them crawled over like circus
clowns. No one in the auto or nearby was hurt. Though one little girl was crying
because she had to go to the toilet. As far as little boys were concerned, I
was a hero, who had made them laugh. They crowded around me in admiration. Even
the auto driver, some elderly passing by managed to smile. I got up. And then
nikky who was stuck in between the handle and the front guard.
Mischief Makers
My
parents, predictably furious, settled on my punishment. I will not have new
pairs of school shoes, instead that money would be used to pay for the repairs.
To lesson the financial blow, I insisted the repair shop to fix the bicycle
with used parts. So when the work was completed, the blue avon sported a silver
coloured mud guard, a black chain cover and green axle cover.
In summers, I found my freedom_ and the possibilities of mischief - expanded
a hundered a hundered fold. On days, my friends & myself went to places where
once we thought of. We drove our bicycles along the canal road, to the abondoned
railway overbridge. Instead of religious gatherings or social happenings, we
used to ride in our bicycles.
One night while in office, where I worked part time, my friends asked for and
took the bicycle. They didnt returned. With no money in my pocket, I walked
home. The next morning, I found the bicycle in front of my house. After the
college that day, everyone came to me with explainations and sorry's.
One by one my friends brought different automotive options to our fold. Sunny
got a moped, chandan got his fathers scooter, the most fortunate mohammed even
managed to get a car. But after a few days, we always returned to our bicycles.
Even then, I wondered why. The bicycles were'nt flashy. It was'nt fast. And
certainly was'nt comfortable.
Sad Verdict
There were no bored silences or demands that we should have different riding
options. We filled the void by arguing about girls, making up defamatory songs
about one another, or telling stories.
But the moments that truely stand out were more sober. I'll never forget the
silence as we drove home from the cricket league match in which our team was
eliminated. Nor the nights when anish talked about his parents divorce case,
ron discussed about his family's financial troubles, gagan sadly spoke of
his fathers absence and sami confided his dream of flying a fighter plane.
Since we finished school and offcourse college, my friends and I have spread out across the country
and grown into adults. Yet I've never questioned my youthful emotions that day
when the mechanic delivered his sad verdict. In my bicycles, we stockpiled memories
like firewood, knowing that someday, somewhere, we would gather as grey haired
men to relight the blaze of friendship.