Slow rolling happiness-I
My trials and travails of learning how to ride a bike
Delhi, 1992
My father used to own a school when we were young. My middle sister would sneak in the classrooms in the evenings after the school was over and would pretend teach the desks. But she used a real ruler to discipline the non-existent inhabitants of the classroom. My elder sister and I used to watch through the windows and chuckle looking at her getting mad at the empty room not following the simple addition problem.
In the little school there was a little playground and a garden and a mound of dirt in the end. When I was 6 perhaps, and my sisters 9 and 10, they brought a bicycle to learn just like all the other kids do at that age. Being the wise ones in the family both learnt to ride a bike while toiling in the playground after hours, frequently riding while supporting themselves using the school walls. Getting to the top of the mound and getting enough momentum to start pedaling. Pink frocks getting entangled, torn, knees bruised, elbows scraped. After trudging through each step of learning how to ride a bike my two brave sisters finally would ride the bikes freely in parks and street while I chased behind. You see, I was too intimidated to begin learning the skill after getting PTSD watching those bruised knees and falls on the pavement.
I never learnt how to ride a bike. Hence, during my college days in India my girlfriend would ride the bike and I’d sit pillion burning the streets of Delhi.
Julana, Haryana, 2005
It was my 19th birthday and we were at my cousins in a village in Haryana. My cousins used to ride the Atlas bicycle. For the uninitiated, this was built like a tank and was used frequently to deliver milk. My cousin being little would ride it with one leg through the bike and with his body entirely on the other side of the it. It was quite a sight and boggled my mind to no end.
Sturdy and heavy, something that would crush my twig-like legs if it were to fall on them. We somehow decided it was the perfect machine for me to learn the bike and wisely chose the family fields to cushion those inevitable falls and so I could learn riding in a straight line without having to complicate matters with all the turns and using the brakes. Pants which were in the last leg of being discarded were hastily arranged so my new ones wouldn’t have to bear the brunt of this adventure. It was my birthday after all.
Thus on a field we felt like warriors, my cousins my sympathizers and coaches and their friends ready to make fun of the city boy who was an apparent whippersnapper but no real substance.
“I’ll show these village folks what I’m made of…” I quietly resolved and resolutely began my two-wheeling journey.
A couple hours later there were only a few things more bruised than my ego. My fit-for-learning pajamas and my legs took a beating after the mighty Atlas fell on me leaving me screaming in those precious moments while you’re in the process of falling and watch yourself helplessly hurtle towards the ground getting a taste of the humble village earth. A few life lessons were learnt and quickly forgotten that day. And my cousin’s friends’ platoon had a good time. I’m sure there were a few “I told you so” were exchanged. I returned to the village home defeated, my shoulders drooped while my mom didn’t need to inquire about my day’s endeavour. There’s always Delhi where I could seek refuge and nobody would know that I sucked so badly!
Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, 2012
It was a hot summer day in Pittsburgh that year. The first time I found out this city didn’t have ACs. What a weird place to not have ACs when the summers beckon one uses a hand-driven fan. I was living in Raleigh and we had ACs! The state known for great BBQ and now also affordability of ACs apparently.
It was my 26th birthday and I was visiting my friend, Rahul, in CMU. That visit also marks the time I realized that my apartment was not the dirtiest one that I’d ever seen. Far from it. Rahul had set amazing new standards of filth in his haven. I love him of course. Behind his apartment building was a garage. When he accidentally found out that I didn’t know how to ride a bike, the kind of guy Rahul is, he spent no time in arranging a bike and pontificating lectures on how to go about to riding it. These lessons sometimes took him to talking about Indo-Chinese wars, to about how very special Indian special forces are and sometimes to how he was no good at romancing girls. I had no dearth of advice on the latter because in his world I was the expert at romancing and who was dating the hottest archaeologist in India at that time.
He swung his hands in the air, gesticulating how I didn’t need to lean in while turning sideways.
“This is not rocket-science, you moron!!!!” As I recall. He is certainly not an army chap but his voice betrays his family background of colonels and army jawans.
Yes, I needed this resolution and discipline to drive this lesson home. I remember looking at kids riding bikes and hating those little shits because how could they!!!
The morning 2 hour promise turned into afternoon. The enthusiasm faded into annoyance. Rahul went from actively correcting my technique to staring at my attempts in futility through the back window while laying on the couch in his living room.
I gave up on the dream soon after and we decided to focus on his life problems instead. Those of not being able to talk to girls. I couldn’t be happier about discussing his incompetence in this area while he easily built robots in school. Not because of schadenfreude but I could stop thinking about the complexity involved in maneuvering a bike. We talked, while sitting in the shade outside kicking cans around. I could soon be heard yelling in disbelief… “it’s not rocket-science, you moron”.
To be continued…
