Two wheels & a free spirit

My furnace-like home threatened to roast me like a stuffed turkey on one fine hot Jersey day. I picked up Jay's steely Schwinn in one spontaneous thrust & climbed down the block to rouse my lethargic spirit. Setting my Woodland feet to pedals, I rode out under the stark sunlight racing to the shadows of Johnson Park. Down the Cedar slope, towards the River Road signal, I let the wind caress my shamefully short hair as I closed my eyes to get that fleeting I-am-the-King-of-the-World feeling...

We are at the friendly neighborhood rental bike shop at Kastur Park. Papa chooses a medium size blue bike for me. I run my hand over the dotted handle & ring the shiny bell in delight. My brother sniggers at my impatience as he pets his new brown Atlas Fireshadow. We set off the road to the open ground near Ganpati mandir. It is one of my bicycle lessons. One foot on the pedal, one heave at the handle and I launch myself into the weed ridden, occasional dog-poo infested field uttering a cry of victory; only to notice my dad holding on tight, to the back of my seat. I assure him of my confidence and he lets go. I pedal in circles & eights with my brother crisscrossing my bold advances. Proud of my achievement, I beg Papa to let me ride the new larger-than-my-perky-self Atlas. Smiling at my cluck-clucking brother, Dad gives in. I hastily clamber upon the shiny Fireshadow to check my limb-to-pedal reach. I start wheeling voraciously with Papa running along, his one hand on shirt pocket to save the chillars from popping out. A yard, and a ten; I get myself freed from the clutches of my concerned father, riding into thin air. The sheer joy of speeding under a cotton-laden blue sky & on a wide open land in otherwise cluttered Mumbai breathes life into my pounding heart. I glance behind to see a diminishing figure & try to maneuver a turn to ride into the arms of a proud father. Abrupt decision, shaky hands and fickle gravel shred my calculations and I tilt over to one side hitting the ground with a resounding clunk. As I lie rubbing my wound, I see him, sprinting towards me, coins spilling over....

When US beckoned me by Siddharth Wagh is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.