Cycle sutra

Though I'm no philosopher, I know that human beings tend to become philosophical only when they have met with a heart jabbing, earth-shaking experience in their lives. It is also a time when all those atheists would finally believe in the Almighty and start chanting mantras silently to help them get out of the tricky situation. And that’s when we realize what Shakespeare had been shouting at the top of his voice through his poems ages ago- all the world’s a stage, all the men and women just players. To cut the philosophy short, it was one of those bad days which cannot come under the category of ‘bad hair days’. It was the day I lost my cycle.

My cycle and I share a very special relationship, or should I say, there’s chemistry between both of us. The two-wheeler had entered into my life when I was in my graduation and my mom had this silly reason to get the cycle- to deliver special food items made at home to my aunts and cousins. Well, silly though it may seem, it sure is difficult coz though all my aunts stay in one colony, the houses are far off and since I was the youngest at my house, it was my duty to deliver the special food like Biryani or chutneys or anything. My aunts and uncles and cousins adored my mother's art. Bringing groceries was another job I used to do. Well, she knew that I cannot say no to a ride on my cycle and so I would do all the little chores assigned to me. I love bicycle, whether it’s mine or my neighbor’s. And my mom cashed in on this and bought me one. And that’s when a brand-new Hero Emerald entered my life. I loved the maroon colour, I loved the touch, I loved the smell of the new plastic seat cover, I even loved the grease on the rims. It was fantabulous.

Three years went by and my cycle became a part of my personality. I no longer felt the need to listen my dad’s ramblings about exercising daily coz, well, cycling is the best exercise. Every weekend I would hit the colony roads on my cycle, racing with the little counterparts rode by kids. I would feel so refreshed and energetic and well, I would also keep my mom happy doing her chores. It was as if the two-wheeler could read my thoughts, I used to ride it so comfortably, sometimes leaving the handle and sometimes riding fast without holding the handles! But I never fell down, thanks to my cycle who understood my adventurous intentions. My cousins had abandoned their cycles but I used to keep my cycle clean and going and used to feel proud when they asked my cycle to ride.

Things were going on fine when I heard I have to shift to Hyderabad for my further studies. I was tormented. I wondered, “Wouldn’t my cycle feel lonely without me”. I was scared, even though my parents promised to take care of my cycle. “Nobody would ride it; it would be a lonesome fellow standing in a corner, aging away silently”. My mom seriously doubted whether I would start crying for my cycle. After all, it’s my best friend, my three years wonderful companion.

I came to Hyderabad leaving my cycle and to my immense surprise, saw that everybody in my campus was riding cycle! I was ecstatic. My dear cycle can come here. It can live with me. I called up my mom to arrange my cycle shifting. And thus my cycle came with me to Hyderabad. I rode it every day and night and I had my best moments on the cycle with my friends. Two years and my friends also came to know of the wonderful relationship I share with my cycle and praised me about it. Time passed and my cycle became aged and worn out. But I loved it still. No other cycle understood me better than mine. My friends too were comfortable riding it. It was such an obedient companion.

The worse day arrived when I left my cycle near the gate, at the mercy of the accursed security of the campus and somebody stole it. I was shattered. I couldn’t digest the fact. I still believed that I would have left it somewhere and I would still find it but I didn’t. Four days and every time I saw a girl riding cycle; it would remind me of my own. I would see my cycle in everyone else’s. It was hurting deep inside; it was as if my cycle was cursing me, “Why did you abandon me somewhere when I served you for five years?” I dreamt about it and I prayed to God that I would see it. And as if God heard me, Voila! I found my cycle outside my hostel, but it was looking brand new, painted, repaired. My friends asked me, “How do you know it’s yours?” I couldn’t explain them. It was the touch of the handle that was familiar, it was the look of my cycle which was so friendly, I had a goddamn five years relationship with it. How can I not recognize my own cycle? I wanted to find out who did that to my cycle but in vain. Every day I see it and go, but I can’t ride it, can’t feel it. But yet, I realised something, it taught me that when you really want something in your life, whatever may happen you would definitely get it. It also taught me that I should have asked God to own the cycle and not just see it.