BICYCLE MUSINGS
Half
pedalling
Owning a bicycle and riding it at sweet will was perhaps the most cherished dream of 1980s
kids, especially the boys in our residential colony in Nashik. It wasn’t any
different for me. As a kid studying in third grade clad in navy blue and white
school uniform, I would watch the high school bhaiyas and didis ride
bicycles to school and back home. I would, at times, go the bicycle parking lot
behind the school building just to check out brands, kinds and colours of the
bicycles parked there in long and disciplined rows. The desire to learn and
ride a bicycle was intense, I must admit. My parents – amma and achachan
– as I call them, had the resolute view that I was too small a kid to ride or
have a bicycle. My craze for riding a bicycle even at a very young age often
spilled out when we occasionally visited achachan’s friend Kunjumon
uncle whose son Lijo had a tricycle. We
would ride the tricyle all around their courtyard in turns, very often my turn
lasting longer. Repeated humble requests and adamant demands for a bicycle fell
on deaf ears. There was one Ravi uncle – a distant relative (I have no idea
about the ‘distance’ though) – who visited our house once in a while, riding
his military green tall Atlas cycle. He perhaps understood me better and was
kind enough to allow experimenting with his bicycle. I would push the cycle
around the residential buildings through narrow lanes, sometimes assisted by a close
friend. With passage of time, I gathered the courage to put a leg across but
below the cross bar, holding the left handle while the right arm tightly rolled
around the seat. I could rotate the pedal half way, generating a torque just
adequate to move the cycle by few metres ahead – this was then called as
‘half-pedalling’ in bicycle mechanics.
It was a matter of great pride. The cycle chain had the habit of
occasionally skidding off the toothed pedal wheel, which Ravi uncle would put
back into position, greasing his hands black, but with lot of patience.
Improvement came in the form of ‘full-pedalling’ in a couple of months later. Gradually,
I could get over the cross bar and pedal the machine, but couldn’t sit on the
cushioned triangular seat. The seat was perched at a height that was too
challenging for my short legs to reach the pedal for a complete rotation. This
prompted me to run a few steps pushing the cycle to gain critical momentum and
then jump over the cross bar, balancing the fidgety bicycle. Now, this wasn’t a
mean achievement, that too when the skill was built up on without the knowledge
of amma and achachan at the cost of bruised knees and elbows. The
new born confidence assured me that I could now easily ride a shorter bicycle.
This time I had a solid case for owning
and riding a bicycle of my own choice. All attempts were made to persuade
parents into buying a bicycle for me, but as they stuck on to their
intransigent notion, all my demands were turned down firmly. How could parents
be so insolent, I thought! Perhaps the very thought of their little kid riding
a bicycle along side speeding vehicles on unsafe roads scared amma and achachan.
Most of the teen aged boys today enjoy the underserving privilege of receiving costly
super bikes from their parents as birthday gifts or for simply passing a school
or college examination…..and several of these teenagers end up in hospitals
with broken limbs and ruined life in disastrous bike accidents. These pro-liberal
parents need to pick some lessons from amma and achachan! But
then, as a child, I had different opinion and always felt that parents should
be liberal.
Summer vacation and
the Sin
Summer vacations
during early school days in Nashik were spent mostly unplanned. The entire
vacation of about one-and-a-half months would be spent playing around with
friends the entire day, or on few occasions we would drop a pin at our
ancestral village down south in Kerala. Parents left me and my sister – Smita –
at our paternal uncle’s house in Deolali Camp for the vacation. The teenage
boys played cricket in an open space there while I wished I could also join
them. Being ‘very small’ they rarely allowed me in the team. The three cousin
sisters wouldn’t gel with my kind of activities there. Days were uneventful as
I had nothing much to do there. One day I requested my uncle to get me a
bicycle on rent. A strict person by nature, to my surprise, he immediately
fetched two rupees from his pocket and offered it to me. “Go! Get a bicycle on
rent from the shop near the gate in the evening…” he said. The cycle mechanic’s
shop just next to the colony gate would rent out bicycles for Rupees two an
hour. As the clock struck four, I ran to the shop and got a short height sky
blue bicycle. I would ride it in all possible speeds around the row houses, in
open spaces and everywhere except the road outside colony walls. That one hour
was full of enthusiasm and joy as I would sweat it out. It became a routine
activity for the next ten or fifteen days till we stayed at Deolali Camp for
the vacation. The days were now eventful and merrier. Later as school reopened
for the next academic session, all the school friends were happy to meet again
after a long vacation, though the burden of textbooks and notebooks was almost
unbearable. Nishad – a very close friend who shared the desk and bench with me –
readily offered me his bicycle for the weekend holiday. As the school closed
for the day – a Friday – he gave me the keys of his bicycle – a pretty black and
yellow Street Cat. The level of elation that filled my little heart was beyond
words. I rode it home over a distance of about four kilometers on the busy
Trimbakeshwar Road, cautious of other vehicles and scared of repercussions I
might have to face at home. Amma and achachan stood aghast looking
at me with the bicycle at the doorstep. Harsh vocabulary in an indignant tone
with extreme modulations stuffed the late afternoon atmosphere inside the
house. For them, I just survived an extremely risky journey back from school to
home. The kind of reprimand and dressing down given to me by achachan and
amma in particular made me think whether riding a bicycle was a huge irremissible
sin? Things calmed down by evening, even as parents were still confused what
they should do with the cycle (I was also equally confused). Catastrophe struck
hard when Raghavan uncle – another friend of achachan – dropped in as he
passed by our home. Hearing the narrative from my parents he quickly
transformed himself into a learned and wise person with his unwarranted sermon
to me. “You know that riding a bicycle requires a license…..kind of driving
license? Police will arrest and lock you up behind the bars!” He exclaimed as
his sermon continued for some time. This was irrational and none of his business!
I stood silent as I was certain that any argument with him will be unyielding.
Mr. Raghavan couldn’t fool a child studying in seventh grade who grew up
watching other children of his age riding bicycle. He crossed the limits when
he suggested that the bicycle be returned back immediately. Next morning, me
and achachan walked four kilometers to Nishad’s house along with cycle….at
times I pushed the cycle where road was narrow and also rode it slowly along
the footpath where road was wider. Nishad wasn’t at home while we handed back
the cycle to his mother. It was a sad day for me. Today, Nishad is no more.
Scouts camp and the
approval
Living in a
residential colony always had its own advantages with a diversity of neighbours
around you, each having their own characteristic behaviour – some too good
while others not much appreciable. Two young bachelors and kind souls, Ravi and
Sundaran, also from Kerala, joined our colony in the next door. As we got
familiar and friendly, they never hesitated to share their metallic blue BSA
SLR bicycle with me during evenings. I would ride their bicycle to the nearby
shop and also for joy. Around that time, a Scouts camp was held in the school,
while I was in the eight class. We had to reach the school ground by 5:30 early
morning. City bus service was not available at that time of the day. Uncertain
about the result, I requested amma if I could ride our neighbour’s
bicycle to school on that day. I assured that another classmate in the
neighbourhood Prashant would also accompany me on his bicycle. To my pleasant
surprise, yes was the response but with a condition of slow and cautious
riding. May be, achachan and amma considered me more grown up and
capable of a safe ride, yet falling short of the eligibility to own a bicycle. Having
taken the key previous night itself, with a great deal of enthusiasm we rode
the bicycle to school early in the morning – Prashant on his brand new red
coloured Avon and me on borrowed BSA SLR. The bicycle element added to the excitement we had at the camp performing
various tasks of which cooking and advertising the dishes we cooked were most
enjoyed. As the camp ended by evening, we returned back home. Once again, I
forwarded the demand for getting a new bicycle to achachan. This time,
things were not same. He agreed, but did not specify when he would buy me one.
This approval was a music to the ears, something that I had been yearning for
years and years. Every day I would discuss with friends different makes and
models of bicycles that I would probably be buying in a few days. The discussion would be repeated at home too
though achachan did not respond vocally to the one-sided discussion (or
desire that I had). Days transformed into months even as I kept on expecting
the grand purchase to happen any time. But as things turned out to be, there
was still much more time for my dream to come true.
The bicycle race
The annual sports meet
was greatest of all events at the school. For me it was rather a festival. I
would win quite a few medals, cups and certificates in track events earning
significant points for the Violet House team. Usually the sports meet would be
conducted in the school ground or the near by Police Training College ground. In
1995, when bicycle race was introduced for the first time, the mega event was
conducted in expansive HPT College ground. After having won some medals, the
thought of participating in bicycle race seemed to be of much interest for me.
My buddy Nikhil Challavar without any second thought offered his bicycle to me
for the race. Soon, I was at the starting point mounted on the red and black
Hero Ranger, along with other competitors. Get Set Go! All of us pedalled off
hurriedly to complete a few laps on the narrow road along perimeter of the
ground. One senior guy of the High School had a racing cycle with curved
handle, gear and thin tyres. He sped like a lightening. Rest of us, the lesser
mortals with ordinary bicycles struggled behind him. After a couple of laps, I
felt a sudden jolt and was lying down on the ground, with the cycle. Another
competitor had dashed into me after losing control over his cycle. My bruised
knee was less painful than the sight of Nikhil’s bicycle with mangled wheels
and broken spokes. The fear of asking for money from achachan to repair
the cycle loomed large over my head. However, Nikhil being a kind hearted
gentleman, asked me to forget it and he would get it repaired. The guilt of
causing grave damage to his bicycle did not let me go off for several days.
The black beauty
Achachan took a sudden and unilateral
decision of shifting to our village in Kerala and permanently settling down
there. As we relocated to Pullad - an inconspicuous yet beautiful village in
Pathanamthitta of Kerala – everything and everybody were new to me. Places, weather,
people, school, friends were all new. And a new bicycle awaited me there! Going
to school involved a two-kilometer road on which public transport wasn’t
available at convenience followed by bus travel of four kilometers from Pullad
junction to Kozhencherry where my school was located. Parents were now convinced
to the core that a bicycle was now inevitable to facilitate my daily travel to
school and back. An elderly cousin offered to sell his huge old bicycle to me
on second-hand price. I wouldn’t take it lying down. How can a long-cherished
dream culminate into a rusted and dull old Raleigh bicycle that’s more
preferred by the village elders! Back at home, I vehemently protested the idea
of having a second-hand bicycle. Though the protest was met with silence from achachan
and amma, I was optimistic of something good very soon. The very
next day, Achachan and a cousin took me to the cycle shop – the long
awaited moment had arrived. With limited budget in hand, I was more than
satisfied with a black and slim bicycle Hero Hansa. The black framed machine
was nothing but a piece of beauty for me. The tring – tring bell screwed
on the handle and reflectors on the spokes, front and rear mud guard adorned
the bicycle. I was proud of my new possession. I would caress the black beauty
and meticulously clean off dust and dirt from it everyday. Initially I would park and lock the cycle in
the courtyard of a well known household a little far ahead of Pullad bus stop.
Later, I would leave the cycle locked at Ram Wilson’s cycle repair shop or
behind Athena Parallel College building that were very close to the bus stop. Amma
and aunt would collect fodder grass and leaves for the cows at our homes, a
portion of which would be neatly bundled using dry banana tree fibre. They
would load the bundle of grass on to the carrier and secure it with coir rope. Hesitant,
I would ride home the bicycle loaded with a disproportionately large grass
bundle. There was no possibility of any defiance in this matter. We would ride
our bicycles, over several kilometers to play cricket matches in different
villages during holidays. I loved riding the black beauty to village fairs,
river side and new places along with friends and cousins. Early morning and twilight
cycle rides in company of friends, with the warm head light powered by a small cycle
dynamo remains as vivid as it can be. On some days, I would have cycled more
than twenty-five kilometers for fun. Today I know a bunch of people who do
cycling to burn calories and get exhausted. We never got exhausted and were
never bothered of calories back then. The private bus operators went on a
prolonged strike lasting for almost a month. This opened up an opportunity of
going to school on bicycle without any objection from achachan and amma.
A couple of friends would join me either at Pullad junction or further
ahead on the way to school. After the school closed for the day, we would play
inter-class cricket matches. Teams from ninth, tenth, eleventh and twelfth
grades would play against one another every day after the school. And, no
reasons for any doubt, our team of eleventh grade were dominant and imposing on
others always. Being a batsman known for hitting boundaries, I would carry a
cricket bat to school hooked on the carrier of my cycle. I remember Aneesh
Koshy bowling the slow and deceptive spinners, while Sherin, Joby and Shanley
bowled the faster ones. After the matches, we would cycle back home with soiled
shirts and trousers, sometimes with a stopover at a bakery to have cold drinks
and snacks. Once me and two of my friends decided to go for a movie at
Pathanamthitta town, some twenty kilometers away from home. It was the Malayalam
super star Mammootty’s movie Vallyettan (Big Brother) and we couldn’t miss it.
That night parents were away attending a function at relative’s place. We set
off on our bicycles to Anurag Theatre at Pathanamthitta for the evening show. That
was also my first movie in a theatre with friends. After two-and-a-half hours
of entertainment, we started back home in the night. We merrily sang songs in
chorus as we pedalled through the darkness of night. Half the way, a team of Police
officials on patrol stopped us and keenly enquired the reason why we were on
the road at ten in the night. Frightened we answered all their queries in a trembling
voice and showed them the cinema tickets we had carried with us as an evidence
of us having any criminal intentions. One among them swung a baton in the air
and yelled at us to leave at once and never be seen on the roads at such a time
in future. The fear of being caught by the Police powered rest of the journey
that we silently completed in a very high speed and shorter time. Never again
would we repeat such a foray!
College days and
ethereal moments
Curtains drew on
school life as I completed senior secondary school, it was time to move to Kerala
Agricultural University in Thrissur to pursue a bachelor’s degree in forestry.
Being far away from home, I had to stay in the College hostel. My bicycle was placed
along the wall in my room at home covered with an old bedsheet to prevent dust
settling on it. Every time I visited home on holidays, mostly once in a month,
I would wash the bicycle, fill air, check for any faults, grease the chain and go for a long ride. A few months later, a
senior friend graduated from the college and he handed over his bicycle to me
as he vacated the hostel. It was a red and black Street Cat again. Me and my
room mate Babu would share the cycle and sometimes other college mates would also
borrow it. We would cycle double seat to shops for buying stationary,
cigarettes and other daily use stuff. Evening and late night cycling to roadside
eateries were certain on days when the food in hostel mess did not please the
taste buds. I would cycle around in the vast University campus trying to
identify and document trees and shrubs as a hobby. In the meanwhile, the cycle
mechanic Ram Wilson had an evil eye on my bicycle that was lying unutilized
back at home. Threesome
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