I first learnt cycling on my then best friend’s bicycle. She was older by a few years so the bicycle ended up being a bit too big for me. I remember my elder sister was trying to maintain both the bicycle’s and her own balance. She was trying to teach me how to pedal and keep my balance while I was just dazzled by the adrenaline rush I got from sitting on a bicycle. Unlike others I didn’t have a fancy, expensive tricycle; in fact I didn’t own one until I turned eight.
The first bicycle I got was a hand me down from one of my father’s friend’s son. But it was mine. I hadn’t yet mastered cycling, so my brother would teach me every day for hours at length even on hot June afternoons. On one such occasion, I asked my brother to let go of the handles. He did and I got along pretty well until I turned my head around to look at him, too excited to remember him telling me to never look back while cycling. And BAM! I proceeded to fall headfirst on the ground with the bicycle over me. I didn’t look back while cycling ever again. And I didn’t stop learning. Even when I was tired or angry for being called naughty, whatever happened, I would ask to be allowed to cycle. I fell down, scratched my knees, got a couple of my clothes stuck in the chains and thus torn, but I went for cycling everyday.
When I finally learnt it, I became insatiable. All I wanted to do all day long was cycle and cycle. Summers, Winters, rains, nothing stopped me. I didn’t mind the loo or the harsh rains. I didn’t mind the biting winters or the blinding heat. Cycling was, as I realize, in retrospect my way of getting out of the ordinary. A bit too philosophical for a kid at six! I remember coming back home from school, having a quick bite and rushing out to cycle. Vacations were the best! Long gone were the days of pure boredom and waiting for my parents to take me to my grandparents. I would get up in the mornings and freshen up religiously, then run out of the house and not return till the last ray of sunlight faded. All the children from the society would get their bicycles and we would all cycle. Sometimes we would race and other times we would amiably pedal beside each other whilst loudly laughing and shouting in the hot breeze. We would climb the mulberry or mango or jamun trees and pluck fruit. Then we would share it with each other and rush back to cycling. There was a trick I’d learnt, one with which I learnt how to fly by cycling. I would pedal too many times at once and then let my body loose. I would let the bicycle find its own rhythm and chase the wind. I would cut through the air and my hair would waltz. For those precious few seconds, I would fly. Without any restrictions and any demands, I would fly.
Then on my ninth birthday, my parents gifted me a new bicycle! It was beautiful, it even had a basket and a seat that could be adjusted according to one’s height. I was mesmerized and more than anything I was pleased. However ridiculous it may sound now, back then it helped in elevating my position in the colony’s cool kids club and it was a big deal. I remember feeling like a hero in a movie riding my new bicycle-the way it would smoothly glide over the roads, how it’s brakes would instantly stop its motion when applied , how I didn’t have to pedal hard like I did with my previous bicycle and how I could give a ride to someone on it if I fancied. Kids who didn’t speak to me wanted to be my friends, my friends would inquire if I wanted something or if I needed any help! The new bicycle had changed everything, definitely for the better I thought.
In retrospect, cycling did not only give me immense joy but also taught me lessons. It gave me the kind of freedom that one has to ask for today. It’s funny how there were no gender norms for riding a bicycle then, we all sat the same way, we were all the same. No one told me to not laugh loudly while pedaling in the scorching sun or to simply go back home and not cycle because it was raining or whistled at me while I raced against the wind.
I don’t remember when or why exactly did I stop cycling. I remember being very fond of it. I remember enjoying it immensely. But I stopped. I did try to go back to it but nothing really came of the effort. Maybe I just started liking other things; I guess I just grew older and in the process left behind my first ever friend, one that was by my side in all the ups and downs, one that gave me my first wings, one that taught me to believe in myself until it wasn’t in working condition anymore and with it, the unadulterated sense of pure joy and safety, love and happiness also went away to the junk dealer. It would be comical if it were not this sad- the fact that life was simpler back when I was six, that one could fly while riding a bicycle regardless of being a boy or a girl.
Reported By :
Muskan Bhat
IBTIDA 