Amritsar Calling: Two-wheeling renaissance

Slowly but surely the city is adopting the quieter modes of two-wheeling. That we were followed by four young lads in their Merc 350 GLS SUV, which time and again came parallel shows the level of interest generated by the scooter. Or was it the sight of the two of us ‘lads’ dressed inappropriately on the swell machine, one that merited, instead, a young lass with cascading tresses rather than us?

This took me back to our childhood when we would cycle around half the day. Me and my cousin. Down the road, through the pear orchards, past the friends’ households, over the knoll, into the guava orchards, footloose and fancy-free. I had this green Hero, a small bike for the pre-teen years. Once my knees began to hit the handlebars, I was assigned the full-size Hero, bottle green again.

The saddle had to be adjusted down to a size so one could at least have one butt-cheek parked on it with barely a toe for support against the surface. Every evening, after the homework was done and dusted, a meticulous servicing would ensue. Even its rims shone to dazzle with sand, the chain system smoothened with my mum’s sewing machine oil. Only then the shimmering babe was taken out into the colony with immense pride. Simple pleasures of being a kid.

In an audacious move, one discovered the jugaad of attaching the cardboard cover of an old textbook next to the wheel. Striking repeatedly against the spokes of the wheel, it made a wild racket, much like the sound of a motorcycle without a silencer. This ‘life-changing’ invention made us immensely popular amongst the kids of the street. Pretty soon the neighbourhood was abuzz with energised children going up and down the colony as if in a frenzy, noisy as hell, definitely frowned upon by more than one parent, but such a lot of fun.

The city forgot about cycling for decades, except for the kids on tricycles heading for the park, or the young parents pushing a little girl, teaching her balance while still with a couple of side wheel attachments. Everything else was done on cars. Dropping off to birthday parties, tuition centres, book reads or art classes. Zipping about, chauffeurs or one of the parents in tow, dropping and picking up kids between chores.

The adults would not be seen on two wheels at all, way below dignity for this generation. “Log kya kahengae?” and “Duss, eh teri cycle challan di umer hai,” would be the common refrain against the bicycle. As parents our double standard towards things we did but will not have our kids do is obvious. Not that the safety concerns are not valid in today’s traffic surges. The excuse for those kids who were keen has been frequently dismissed with the “our days were different” routine “Eaivey had paerr torwayaengaa,” even the grandparent join the chorus admonishing the parents against the dangers of riding. Thus, the silly advent of the stationary bike, one that usually gathered dust even as midriffs expanded.

We, on the other hand, cycled to school every day in twos and threes enjoying every moment of it even in the blistering heat of summer. Ah, the fun of dropping in on the Pakistani Patton tank for deeper scrutiny, the custom house to submerge in the realm of confiscated imported cars or just learning to compete in the craft of slow-cycling with friends!

However, the virus (Covid) saw a revival of the two-wheeler. Incarcerated indoors. Gyms, gatherings in maidans and parks curbed by authorities, people took to biking with a vengeance. The young and the old bought new bikes of all colours, hues, and prices. People needed to get the hell out, like jailbirds let loose.

Various options of the bike were available, ones with small, some with big tyres, a few with gears, the normal and the all-terrain types. Whatever one fancies is out there. And how good is that? Fad or no fad, people were outdoors and exercising. Masked or otherwise, with kids or alone, young girls and boys had new toys to show and socialise on. Even the odd municipal councillor pitched in for dedicated cycleways.

A young friend, Sachin Khanna, dressed in fancy gear, luminous markers, well-toned helmets, took to long bike-riding excursions. He filled me in with his explorations with his fellow riders. Their rides to the river Ravi, those to River Beas and down to the border were epic. Good stuff all. Groups were formed, supported as ingenious marketing moves by a sports gear store. Heretofore unseen vigour became evident at the crack of dawn as the Amritsar Bicycling Club gathered steam. That they would land up for hefty Ambarsari breakfasts at dhabas later was a different story altogether. But they logged in serious miles and became fit as fiddles.

There is some serious mobiking going on in town these days.

Even I rode a couple of miles to the rendezvous once on my white sporty thing. With a rubber squeeze hooter and a bell, a water flask attachment, fancy rechargeable rear and front lights, knickers and T. The moment I heard the soft snide ones, a couple of giggles and the realisation of one’s senility, I gave a few lively comments of encouragement, initiated a photo op, and waved them goodbye as the serious bikers passed me by. And I still had the road to cover to my home whereas the calf muscles were already singing pretty please.

That was it for a while till the odd ride around the colony. Someone even commented on my white-bearded outing “buddeh nu charhi jawani”. I did not care two hoots and enjoyed the phase to the core, egged on by thumbs-ups from kinder passers-by. Of course, soon the tailbone started hurting and the knees started to knock like an orchestra. So, the distance was curtailed, and the solitary rides slowed to speeds of comfort.

Sachin and his pals, though, even began doing long-distance mountain rides tying up with folks across North India. Even a tendon turner from Manali to Leh. An encore shall happen in August 2022. Everest on two wheels next, guys?

And there is some serious mobiking going on in town these days. The sounds of the Hayabusa’s, the Harleys and the KTM swamp the airwaves when these fancy movers take to tarmac as the traffic ebbs and the throttles can be yanked. The easy riders scramming the dirt tracks and doing the mountain roads are the real adventurists though, and have a few groups of their own, pepping the mojo of two-wheeling majorly.

Even the indigenous motorbikes became trendier with snazzy Royal Enfield coming out with off-roaders and mountain bikes like the Himalayan. In fact, the old Jawa made another modern appearance and many of my friends from the era of the old favourite visited the showrooms with nostalgia. It reminded me of our time when I had the Enfield. Old college mates even today remember the PUO 11, plying the Chandigarh corridors, the parking lot opposite Hot Millions for that Spanish chicken outing with a babe.

I remember so distinctly how I used to roll out the bike before the crack of dawn onto the hills at least twice a year for a good fortnight of adventure and camping out. But the bike even today churns joyous memories of the Amritsari days as a college-going youth, and our trips to places beyond the beaten tracks deep into forests and into the mountains for trysts with nature for weeks on end.

It is amazing that one outgrew the bicycle, made it past the motorcycle of adolescence, onto the four-wheelers of adulthood, and reverted to buying a cycle with so much pride as a senior citizen. Hopefully, we in Amritsar will continue with the trend of the bicycle, usher in quickly more silent electric modes of commute, and thus breathe cleaner air. Amen to that!

(The writer is an Amritsar-based author, environmentalist and philanthropist)