At the end of a rainbow

Lucy found her diamond sky

I’m wheel, thank you

on June 22, 2016

The first time I saw a bicycle, I was simply amazed to see the grace and speed a person could acquire by mastering the art of maneuvering a pair of wheels. Naturally, I wanted to own one badly. However, like most Indian parents with limited financial means back in the 1990s, they had to be convinced that I was going to use to for eternity carefully . After all, they had to consider scrimping enough to buy a hyperactive seven-year-old what they considered a perennial accident voucher on wheels.

Always the smart one (according to himself), my dad struck a deal with me with the twin aims of weaning me out of my new-found love and teaching me how negotiations work (none succeeded). He suggested that I borrow cycles from neighbouring kids for two months, and, if I still felt like I really wanted one, we could buy it. Else I could just continue borrowing a cycle occasionally when mood beckoned. Sounds fair, right? Well, kids don’t exactly belong in the ‘saint’ category to lend their toys to others, especially when they can’t get anything in return. They are also as xenophobic as their parents. So, as a Bengali girl in an orthodox Punjabi colony, my chances of getting a cycle to practice where as much as someone making billions selling imaginary cow fodder(Oops, it happened). The girls wouldn’t allow me to touch their ‘ladybird’, an apology of a cycle just lacking a Barbie head for a bell, and I treated the cycle with equal contempt. One snotty-nosed boy, however, agreed to lend me his bike in exchange for a few cartoon stickers I had been hoarding.

Obviously, my first attempts were a far-cry from my imagination of sailing through the streets and whizzing past the crowd. I bruised myself enough to contemplate if the bike was possessed by the evil spirit of some grumpy old aunt. Never underestimate the ego and stubbornness of a 7-year-old though. I could have rivalled the pride of Edmund Hillary the day I managed a complete ride without falling off the bike. From then, I only wanted more; ride while standing on the pedals, ride without holding the handlebars, race against the wind; basically, I convinced dad that my existence would be useless without possessing a cycle. And, that is how I got my first bike.

Fast forward two decades later,  the mere sight of a cycle would still make my hands itch to ride one but a spate of unending, seemingly rational,  reasons kept me from buying one. I hadn’t ridden one in years. Then one fine day, my partner bought one for himself because, it seems for the IT guys, their increasing skills in coding is only matched by the girth of their belly. A sudden pain of adulthood on reaching the threshold of thirty convinced him that he had to get back in shape. Before his limbs turned into flabby pillows that is. So, began his furious morning peddling while a familiar longing grew in my heart. I still had plenty reasons to pass the idea of riding along, one of them being the onset of the infamous Mumbai monsoons. I convinced myself it would be wise to think about it after the rains. Then, the next day I found myself with a beautiful bike because I couldn’t ‘refuse’ my partner’s insistence on buying me one. Good one, you lying heart, good one.

The memory of our body is magical, for it remembers things we are hardly conscious about. The moment I climbed the bike, my limbs just knew what to do. Only, my nose didn’t. It turns out early morning rides in Mumbai don’t make for a gust of sea breeze caressing your face. For all the speed possible, I was stuck behind a garbage truck, finally overtaking the nostril-torturing machine only to realise that I was cruising past a giant landfill. There is no escaping the all-pervading stench. So much for riding your dream.

But again, a city is only what we make of it. We are forever making choices through our actions or lack of it. In Italy, bicycles outsold automobiles for the first time since WW II. The trend is catching up throughout Europe. Elsewhere, there are drives for local waste management. It seems the metaphorical wheel is turning anyway, and we can always alter the path it takes. As a growing number of cyclists inhabit the city, maybe wheels of change will follow too.

Image: (c) Hulton Archive/Getty Images | via Sarah Goodyear / Grist.org

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