nlightened.me

“Tell me and I forget. Teach me and I remember. Involve me and I learn.”

– Benjamin Franklin

The bicycle gleamed in the sunlight. Two black wheels, greasy chain, triangular seat and black pedals held together by a fiery red frame. Chrome embellished the remainder with steel handlebars, a bell and five dozen spokes. Lightweight and fast, it was the passport to a life of freedom and exploration for a twelve year old. It was by far my most prized possession, more than my magical Casio calculator wristwatch. Every evening, I mounted my faithful vehicle and raced to the playground and back. During hot days, it made for a breezy ride. When it rained, I enjoyed the lashes of water on my face. During winters, it warmed me up within a few strokes. It was an all-terrain and all-weather bicycle. Easy to maintain, light enough to navigate and very nimble, it never left my side. Until that fateful Saturday. 

The cricket series was in full swing. Our own tournaments were in motion in the parks of the residential quarters where we stayed. What our national team couldn’t deliver during their international matches, we achieved during our neighbourhood content. One such Saturday, I returned exhausted after a four hour session in the morning. The sweltering sun was relentless, forcing us to take a break despite the intriguing matches. Thirsty and tired, I parked my bicycle at the common corridor on the ground level and rushed up the flight of stairs. Our flat was one level above. I would usually carry and park the bicycle at our home corridor, but I was too tired to lug it up that day. I planned to come back in a couple of minutes, after regaining some strength. It took me three glasses of water and lemonade to satisfy my parched throat and dehydrated body. Or so I thought. It was time to catch some highlights of the match on TV, before vanquishing a hearty lunch. I planned to rest for a short while. I would then head back for the second innings of our play on my super bike. The bike! It was still parked downstairs. It had been almost an hour since I deserted my friend. I leapt and was back in the corridor within a minute. The corridor was empty. Not a soul. No bicycle. Emptiness. Stunned, I sat down on the stairs and looked at the spot where it was supposed to be parked. Maybe someone took it out for a quick ride? I rushed out, knowing in my heart the unlikelihood of that scenario but still hopeful. Hope is a powerful emotion. I kept searching for my bicycle for more than twenty minutes in the scorching sun. What was the point in heading back home anyway? What was the point in anything really? That felt like a big loss, my first real and big loss in life. The loss of a near and dear “friend”. The climb back home up the 28 steps was excruciating. It took me more than five minutes to traverse a staircase that I usually galloped in under a minute. I was still hoping to hear the gruff bell of my bicycle, and kept that hope alive until I entered my home. 

“What happened?” My expression must’ve been revealing because my mother looked up and in an instant knew something was wrong. It was not the sweaty Tee shirt or my puffy red cheeks. It was probably the crestfallen and pained expression on my face of twelve summers. “The bicycle is gone” was all I could stammer. What more could I say. Loss was now being overshadowed by rapidly emerging guilt. I had lost my best friend, and I was to blame. How could I be so careless? Fatigue was not an appropriate justification. Bicycles were expensive possessions; many of my friends didn’t have their own bicycles. I was lucky to have a well equipped bicycle and a calculator wristwatch. And now I had just lost half of my assets. I had let down my bicycle, I had let down my parents, I had let down myself. Defeated, I tried to make eye contact with my mother. Her kind eyes met mine, and there was a reflection of pain. It was not pain for my lost possession, but for who she cared the most for. “It will be fine” she said simply. Comforting words. In the depths of despair, they gave me hope. Nothing changed, yet something did. It felt better, the wound in my heart stanched a little. The next few minutes was a blur, perhaps because the mind erases trauma to protect. To a twelve year old, it was the most eventful event in a short but happy life. At that moment, I was drained. To ease off my pain, I took a nap. 

It was just over 4 PM. I must’ve slept for almost two hours. A little late as play starts in 10 minutes, but I can be there in under ten minutes on my bike. My bike! My head felt lighter, and as my memory started regaining focus, the heart felt heavier. It was gone. Should I even head to the playground today. What’s the point. I dragged my body, my leaden legs and my crushed spirits out of the bed. Why could this not be a bad dream for a change? Bad dreams desert you when you need them the most. I walked out to the living area and saw my parents. They were sipping their afternoon tea. My father was reading the newspaper, my mother had a book in front of her. The feeble steam from their cups suggested they were halfway through. They saw me walk out and smiled warmly. Their happiness was uplifting, they felt my pain but I had to endure this. I also expected some life lessons on being careful. I had always been very responsible, but then in one rash moment I had lost it all. No, I had to be better and learn. It was only fair that I put my head down and learn my lesson. I walked in with my head bowed, ready for what they had to offer. Two minutes passed, or so it felt. They said nothing. Maybe they were also in shock. That explains why they were smiling, it is their expression of shock. Come to think of it, they had not yet experienced or anticipated such a surprise. This wasn’t just my day of rapture, I had changed their world too. Great, now I feel worse. I have dragged my parents into this. Their only fault was to trust me with a vehicle beyond my scope of responsibility. I inched my face up and scanned the room. They still had the smile. Had time paused? For a moment, I did consider the possibility that it was all a bad dream. I cranked my neck to see the now empty corridor where my red and chrome mount had a home for over two years. Yes it was still missing. This was not a dream. But then I saw something that shocked me. This could just be a dream!

To be continued….