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This is an archive article published on June 23, 2008
Bicycle diaries
To feel its pull, shake off the terrorist8217;s shadow from it, and start pedalling while listening to Flann O8217;Brien who wrote in...
Rajesh C. Sharma | June 23, 2008 12:00 AM IST
3 min read
3 min read
To feel its pull, shake off the terrorist8217;s shadow from it, and start pedalling while listening to Flann O8217;Brien who wrote in The Third Policeman: 8220;How can I convey the perfection of my comfort on the bicycle, the completeness of my union with her, the sweet responses she gave me at every particle of her frame?8230;8221;
Riding my bicycle on Chandigarh roads, the world might have passed me by, but I enjoyed life in the fast lane. My first bicycle made me mobile and brought me a lot of freedom. No more dependent on rickshaws, I was able to think on my feet whenever I hit the road. I cycled here, there and everywhere in a matter of minutes. I could think of having breakfast at my house in Sector 38, lunch at university and dinner elsewhere. The bicycle had increased the bachelor8217;s degree of happiness by all means.
Then one day I rode my cycle to watch a movie at Neelam Theatre in Sector 17. When I came out, my cycle was not in the parking lot. 8220;My God, someone has stolen it,8221; I exclaimed. I soon realised I would not be able to survive without a bicycle in this fast-moving world. So I went back to Rama store from where I had bought the first bike, and I came out with another brand-new Hero Devil.
I slammed the brakes on cycling when I went to Jammu, and gifted my cycle to my nephew. But when I came back after two years, Chandigarh roads beckoned again. As I stepped into the Rama store, the salesman, Ajay, was quick to recognise me, and gave a hefty discount on Hero Nitrogen.
Life became plain-sailing for three years. Then I relocated to Delhi, where Metro8217;s offer of free cycle-parking for smart card holders made cycling doubly attractive. But before I could avail myself of that facility, someone clipped my wings when I returned from a gas agency one day. I was jolted out of sleep after a while by the landlady. 8220;Your cycle is not downstairs,8221; she said, handing me the cycle chain. Someone had stolen my nitrogen. Or was it oxygen?
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