Paalaguttapalle Bags, and my cycle that has served so well.
Together they take on anything.
My relationship with the cycle goes to long ago times. My first cycle that my father got me when I was 8. In the 1970s. I remember clearly him running behind me every evening as I tottered dangerously on the cycle down the road, frock flying in the wind, not knowing how to stop, drunk with the joy, and yet shouting in terror. Those permenently bruised knees. Till one beautiful evening the cycle and I ceased to be separate, and became one, and the romance that started that day continues.
The cycle which was a bit to high for me, down the years became just right.
Those were times when a purchase was made for life. Everything bought was a size too big so that one would grow into it.
Through school days, and college hostel days one cycled eveywhere. After that when I joined work in Bangalore, I would cycle from Malleshwaram to MG Road . Maybe those 1990s were quieter years.
Then I was in US for a year, and got a cycle for 10$ at a Salvation Army store. And apartment to work was by cycle again.
Then back to the beloved country, and to the best of all places on earth Paalaguttapalle. In my late twenties. And the Hero cycle bought then has served a million purposes. Down happy decades.
A cycle is the best of vehicles.
It friendly. Its stops everywhere and for everyone. Every vendor or begger is comfortable with hailing it down. And stopping is simply by putting feet down firmly !
Its open. It's like riding a car with windows rolled down all around. One has a lively 360 degree view. One sees everything, and everything can see one.
And yes, it absolves the expense for gyms !
3 March 2016 at 12:18 ·
The benefits of living simply are many. It puts one in touch with the real India. With the simple people who give sense and strength to life. Simple people, crafted of fine delicate steel, that bends, accomodates, but does not break.
My cycle shop owner to whom I go with a puncture quite regularly, and his wife, are solid people. Hard working people, with the boisterous cheer I have grown to expect as in my village. While the puncture is being addressed, we discuss children. They have two sons in high school, and they share their concerns about children going wayward these days.
Because I have a cycle, I can stop at the old flower seller daily. A car could not stop there as there is no parking. She sits, patiently and erect, waiting for the customers who never come. Buit when I stop there is the usual welcoming smile and enquiry, and never a word about the hardships she must be facing with the declining custom, as urban women move to accessories more advanced than a string of jasmine flowers.
As I am our housemaid, I take the wheat to the mill five streets every month. The young man there has a million watt smile which brightens the rest of my week. He has partly lost his hearing due to the din of the machines he works in through the day. He agrees practically that it is an occupational hazard, and says equally practically that there are no options. He comes the extra distance each time to help put the wheat onto my cycle carrier.
My own life falls in perspective as I draw perspective from them all. And my grieviances against life show up as imaginary as they actually are.
...
I love my cycle. I have only possessed a cycle since I got my first when I was 7 years. Its like driving with windows down on all sides, and one gets a full view of the world, and of course the world also gets a full view of one. Its a friendly vehicle. Also I can park where I want to. If I had a car I could not have stopped by all my footpath vendor friends to buy unnecessary items which I buy because they need to sell. And when there is a traffic jam i get such a mean pleasure at winding past all the stuck cars and go past the jam.
I actually feel sorry for all those stuck within cars with rolled up windows. It feels a sad A/Ced existance.
...
My knight in shining armour !
The steadiest support I have had from the age of 7 when I learnt to cycle.
I remember my cycle in class 3, the red cycle. I remember my father running behind me every evening for a week till I learnt to pedal and keep going. Just to discover too late that I didn't know how to brake !
Many bruised knees later I mastered the art. Which has been my most essential skill to date.
College days, hostel to mess to department. It was the cycle.
When I was in US for a year, at 23 years, I had a cycle. Everyone else had a car. But I went to the Salvation Army store and got an old cycle for 3 dollars. It served me well as apartment to office was cycling distance.
Then back home and to the village. And the Atlas cycle of 25 faithful years had been my pillar. Rice sacks, lime sacks, plastic water pots in drought times, weely santa trips. Everything and anything it has faithfully carried. Our farm, 5 km away from our village, seemed closeby with the cycle.
Our daughter grew up on this. First there was a small metal carrier hung on the handles. Till she grew enough to sit on the back and cling on to me or to her father. Predictably the cycle is her constant companion too even today.
And today, lockdown time as I go scouring for biscuits for the dogs, its the cycle. ..
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