Friday, 8 February 2019

The cycle shop

 My cycle.
My cycle repair person.
His shop - the blue trunk.
My cell phone with which I took a picture, while pretending not to. Would have cost more than his entire equipment.
Our privilege. His poverty. The former causes the latter. It rests on the latter.
Last few days my cycle chain has kept slipping off. In the middle of the crowded roads, the cycle would get jammed. I would need to get down on the dust and ease it back.
He fixed it. Took only 20/-. I wanted to pay more. But didn't. It didn't seem right.

Given his dignity and smile as he waved me on. And went back to his circle of friends. Other greying men. Sitting on the footpath. Talking of many things.
The infinite crime of yawning disparity. Staring at us on every turn of this land. The disparity that we are all architects of.
Btw he has a wooden stump. He is one legged.








Aparna Krishnan
4 April 2014 at 10:24
My cycle repair man's thatched shed was overnight broken down, as it was illegal, and he disappeared. Even now my heart stops when I think of it. Where might he have gone ? Would he have set up another thatched shed ? Started building up a cliente ? In a new place where people would be used to going to some other similar cycle shop ... the faceless nameless of our country.
 

4 Comments

  • Sanjay Maharishi
    So did you find him?
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    • 4y
    • Aparna Krishnan
      He's back, with a new shack in the same place. What the rich would term 'illegal encroachment on footpath'.
      1
      • Like
      • Reply
      • 4y
    • Aparna Krishnan
      The storyline changes. He's old now, and does not do as good a job as he used to. So people naturally have stopped gong to him. And I wonder how he would earn/ eat.
      2
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      • Reply
      • 4y
    • Aparna Krishnan
      Sanjay Maharishi
       Hes still there,older, fewer customers. Life can be very hard.







A cycle puncture again. Took my cycle to my cycle repair person. The one legged man with his shop, a small wooden box, under the shade of the neem tree. At the side of the busy road. Where fancy cars whiz by.
And yet, there are simpler people who also live in rich spaces. And he usually has a friend sitting with him. Chatting. Or a customer with his, her cycle.
I always wonder. When ones livlihood space does not even have a roof, what does it mean on rainy days. No food those days ?
I have never had the audacity to ask ...
He welcomed he with his cheery smile. Adjusted my cycle pump which also I had taken along and made it work. Repaired the puncture.
I asked him if he would overhaul my cycle one day. He said that was not needed, the bearings were good. And if I gave it to him for a day, he would wash it with kerosene oil and clean out all the rust stains. That that would do.
I promised to bring it on a day I didn't need it.
For this 1/2 hour work, he charged only 30/-.
The economies of this land. Designed to maintain the poor in their poverty, and me in my privilege.
How much longer ...


...
The lives that survive under the radar.
I go to him for my cycle repairs, and each time I hang my head.
Cars fleet past him. In which greater beings move in air conditioned spendour.
Oblivious. To humbler lives. Treading far more gently on earth.


...

The cycle shop that repairs punctures on the next street. The shutters were down past few days. Today I rang the bell on the narrow stairs that go up to a small room above the shop. Where the family stays.
The wife came down, and apologized. She said that he had a bypass after a sudden attack 2 weeks ago. That he has been advised complete rest for 4 months. And so the shop was shut.
Two boys, one school going and one in college. How will they meet the expenses. Education expenses add up these days. Wherever the child is enrolled. How essential a Minimum Basic Income is. For all. Especially those on the edge. Also health insurance. A robust public health system. And sustenence in the recuperation time.
Who listens ?
Other losses. The ending of skills. The sons don have the fathers talents. And do not want to be cycle repair mechanics. I have spoken to them at earlier times.
In the hands of the present owner. A simple puncture , simply repaired. The cycle overhauled yearly and as good as new. Running strong since I bought it ten years ago. Second hand. At a similar cycle shop.
The age of maintainance, Of sustainaing. A cycle, a relationship. For a lifetime.
... passing by of an age ...







My cycle chain kept slipping, and finally tired of stopping and resetting it at odd places, I made time and took it to the cycle shop. The shop is a tiny room on a crowded street. The owner works on the footpath, and I stand on the road, dodgeing traffic and trying to listen to the words of the songs from blaring loudspeakers from two small temples on the street to distract myself.
This time the wait was almost an hour. The owner is a perfectionist, and after removing a link in the chain, he kept adjusting the various nuts to get rid of a persistant sound from the chain. But, as usual, once he had set it, the cycle flew like a bird.
Later when I was telling my daughter that I wished he at least kept a stool for us on the footpath, she said,"Sit on the footpath if you want to. Thats where he also sits." I realized she was right. And how subtle our sense of entitlement can be ...
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