Bicycles and hurt egos.

"If you top your class, maybe your dad will buy you a bicycle."

"Okay!"

A flustered looking eleven year old R popped up the suggestion, after the nine year old S had been nagging for a ride on his shining Hercules Tango. Evident, considering the fact that S was inches shorter than R and sitting on his Atlas made no difference.  He'd still have to pedal faster than R, if he harboured any hopes of beating his buddy.

"Ready?"

Chubby looking A squeals from behind his glasses, intently looking across from R to S.

"Yes!", they shout in chorus.

"Go!"

S starts off well. Blessed with a strong heart, he is pumping in the extra volume of air needed for the 3 full laps around P colony. 2 laps later, R's obvious advantage is showing. With bigger tyres, he will eventually edge out S. S' misery is not over yet; in desperation he crashes into the freshly burnt leaves that market the onset of winter. Covered in burnt leaves and dirt, he gets to his feet slowly.

Another day, another race lost. In the distance, R and A are howling with peals of laughter.

 Eleven years ago, such races were considered far more important than getting good grades in class and being made to hold your ears and stand on your desks. For, the proud nine and ten year olds would bravely get hit across their knuckles, for not doing homework; and still make faces at their teachers, when they'd be writing on the blackboard.

Eventually I managed to top my class that semester, and my father help up his end of the deal. I was gifted a beautiful mauve Hero Devil Dx (I still draw flak for its colour; unfortunately I have always appreciated the colour.) I would not stop however, till I won; and my perseverence paid off, as I beat Saikat after a few days. His days as the reigning champion were over. I was the new kid on the block. I was the toast of the town. (That is, the one which is made of the twelve year olds, and their imaginary battlefields.)

For years, my cycle remained my best friend. From racing back in the evenings after tuition, to travelling miles off to different colonies that we had never been to. From being surrounded and chased by buffaloes (many contradict my version of the story to this day) and mad dogs. From riding in the cold foggy mornings to school, when the one dominant party would call a strike on their whims; there being no bus service on those particular days. From watching Apurv ( name will not be changed even on request. :P ) crash into : 

1) cooking pots kept at the side of the road that went through the village.

2) an old man

3) an old man on a scooter

4) an ox, head on (So close to saying RIP, Apurv)

5) could easily add more, but this would embarass him. :P

From making new friends, and wandering across endless boundaries.

We used to have a Philips cycle in our garage, which my father had inherited from his father, who had inherited it from his father, who had bought it from the market. In those days, possessing a cycle was no less than possessing the average Honda of today. I had learnt to ride the cycle on this very bike, that was easily twice my father's and my age combined.When I was handed the cycle for the first time in my life, I was made well aware of the great heritage it carried, and I could almost feel my great grandfather gazing intently. It was a massive cycle, and no one really expected a miracle from a seven year old. I shamelessly crashed seconds after mounting it.

Days and more crashes later, I had finally learnt to ride. That day still remains one of the brightest chapters of my natural life-time.

Naturally, when mother proposed to get rid of it, my father and I protested. As is with the natural order that we have come to accept, our protests were put down effortlessly. Mother, who believes that memories live on in our hearts has never been one to believe in dusty frames and old letters from the past; gave it away to our help.

Naturally, when the presence of my cycle was questioned, I defended desperately and managed to persuade her. I have been clingy all my life. I have always believed in assigning importance to a paper napkin or a certaind deo; or incense sticks because it reminds me of my girl when I am missing her. Or my ex roommie's library card, because that makes room number 311 complete, everyday. I could definitely not agree to losing the one part of my childhood, that I had grown so attached to. 

When I was in class eleven, I had become careless, impertinent, and arrogant. I would leave my cycle without locking it, and attend classes. I was rightfully punished, when one afternoon I discovered it wasn't there. 

What ensued, was a 5 hour long impossible search for a part of me that I had grown unaware of. When Rohit, Manish, Swarup and I finally gave up, I had realised the pain of losing the most wonderful part of my life. I was heartbroken, naturally, and the feeling when my first crush rejected me was an infant compared to this. I prayed to my God, so that the cycle would be returned to me. I was depressed, and I could not accept that I had just let go of my greatest prize.

I spent a week, devastated.