During one of those post-lunch walks I chanced upon a bicycle showroom. The store boys were quite active for that time of the day. They were selling a specialised brand of these…er.. manually-powered two-wheel vehicles, called bicycles once upon a time in India, being fashionably but deceptively addressed as bikes now. Whatever we may wish to call them, even now it is we who have to pedal these machines to make them ambulate over the road surface.
In the showroom, there was not a single model of such vehicles priced below Rs.10,000, inclusive of all taxes and the two pre-fitted “tires”. There was a rainbow of accessories ranging from chic tool kits to fuzzy helmets to designer gloves.
I was led to recall the first time I rode a cycle on my own — without my father or anyone holding it and running along with me. During those days there used to be bicycle repair shops. Those guys there made lots of money from punctured tyres (not tires) and seat cover replacements and new dynamos and bells and carriers.
They also made money renting out assorted bicycles of varied colours and heights to little kids and teenage girls, who were eager to tame these interesting vehicles. Many years back, I too was one of those kids (obviously). It was a tiny 2 or 3-footer, and my Eureka! moment was when I came down a slope accidentally. The first bicycle “selfie” (riding a bicycle on one’s own, without parental guidance) brings immense joy, as it meant you are a part of that elite, independent, laterally mobile group empowered to roam freely.
It also meant that you need not ride monkey-pedal anymore. But this changeover always came with its own set of injuries and scars.
I am not sure how it is in these days of unisex salons, but during my times the frames of the bicycles were distinct for the boys’ and the girls’ models. The girls’ model did not have the top, horizontal tube of the triangular frame that ran across the seat and the handle bar. And even when there is no other option but to use a bicycle, the boys preferred walking to riding those girls’ bicycles.
Bicycles also provided enough training in breaking locks that would prove to be very useful during hostel life. Though there was always enough enthusiasm and sometimes tough competition to have the best key chains for one’s bicycle keys, invariably one lost the key at least once in his bicycle career. (It is always “his”). Then you go around searching for that stone to free your cycle.
We had a black Hercules at home that was bought some 50 years ago. My father recalls, it came with the number HG 2013, for a price of Rs. 208; the accessories were stand, seat cover, bell, carrier, and dynamo set. It was the year 1967.
Morning rides to the school were frenetic, to avoid standing outside the school gates, but the return trips were filled with gossip and cricket plans.
In spite of the funky carbon fibre helmets and fluorescent jerseys, I think one can have such petty fun and sweet troubles even while riding a specialised bike.
sundar.rajan@gmail.com
