When Life Comes Full-Cycle!

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"Let's do some cycling today" says the physiotherapist. I look half warily, half eagerly at the machine. Warily because I am afraid of pain and eagerly because I see it as the magic machine which will help me shed some of that excess load around my middle. I sit on a comfortable chair and perch my feet on the pedals, hold the rotating handles and get going. The rotating pedals and handles take my mind back to the time when I was around 6 when I first got on to a bicycle.

Dad running after me, holding the bicycle. This went on for a few days. Then like every lesson I ever got from my dad, be it lessons in Malayalam or Mathematics, his patience and persistence wore out. I know, I could try anyone's patience. Maybe I still can. My apologies to all, though it is really God who should be issuing those, for making me the way I am. Anyway, my apologies for being true to the way He made me. So, then, the job of learning how to cycle was left to me. I would hold the bicycle and walk around wondering what to do, scared to do anything more. :spin Slowly I gathered the courage to put my left foot onto the left pedal, leaving the other foot on the ground, to propel me, so to say. The goal was to get my balance without falling off. Yipppeeeeeee! I managed that one fine day. That was followed by getting the right foot off the ground onto the right pedal and cycling with half pedals. Next step was full pedals. Heavens! I can still feel the thrill as well as half fear of the first time I tried that. It worked!!!!! It did take a while for me to seat myself on the bike and cycle - I had to grow tall enough for that.

I am in Std. V. There is a marathon race announced. I want to take part. The P.T. teacher asks in class "are you all practicing"? "Yes, miss"! "So where do you practice"? Some practiced inside their compounds, some went to a playground and cycled round, and moi? I cycled up and down the street. "I practice on the road", I replied. This was greeted with laughter from my class mates. Surprisingly, the teacher (who was a terror) stood up for me and said that was the best place to practice. But alas! My over-protective mama! Would she allow me to participate? NO!!! :bang So that was the end of Satchi, the marathon cyclist. Oh really? Not quite. Read on!

The bicycle, remained the trademark of my independence. Came college days and I was freed from the oppression of travelling in a school bus packed to its gills like a can of sardines. I hated being dependent on anyone or anything. Travel by bus? Thanks, but no, thanks! I could do without having to wait for a bus which would arrive packed, the irritation of having to deal with rude conductors and unsavoury male passengers. I vividly remember two occasions when I went closest to doing a marathon within the city!

The first was in summer when I was doing a German course at an institute which was almost 8-10 kms away from home. I would normally travel with a family friend (a teacher at the institute) who went on a scooter. He had an off on Thursdays. So Thursdays I would usually go by bus. There was this one day when I was at my obstinate best and decided I was not going to torture myself going by bus. So much to the consternation of my mom, who tried her level best to dissuade me, I got onto my bike and went all the way to the institute. Fine. No problems. Classes were done at 1 pm. Summer was at its peak and the day was at its hottest. I got onto my bike and started my not so cocksure anymore, slow ride home. Whew, eventually I got there. Mom opened the door, took a look at me and gave me a glare. "Look at your face!" she said. Sure, it looked as red as the hind side of our evolutionary ancestors! I did not say a word. I could not! I was dehydrated. I was out of breath. She made me sit down to lunch - I don't remember exactly what it was, but I am sure curd rice and buttermilk featured somewhere in the course of that meal. Cooled down by that, I went into the darkest room of the house, turned the fan onto full blast and slept like a baby for the next 3 hours.

But did Satchi learn her lesson? Oh no! Young blood is never so nourishing to the brain. It allows the brain to make many more mistakes before it learns. So the next marathon was another round of similar distance ("I have done this before in summer in searing heat, so I can do it now as well"!) was the logic! Some people never learn. Only saving grace was, it was not summer, it was evening, not afternoon. This was to attend a friend's b'day party. The results mercifully were not as disastrous. However, that was the last time such long marathons were attempted.

OH NO! How could I forget! The time I got myself a dinky bike in London and was moving from one hostel to another! I was moving from Lambeth (opposite Houses of Parliament) to Russell's square. Being a poor student, but not poor in spirit I put a few things on my bike - back and front - and rode all the way through Trafalgar Square on the little bike. I can't forget the look on the face of one bus conductor who looked at me when I was waiting at the red light, my dinky bike and my stuff and remarked "You are brave!" which in British English stands for you are terminally foolish! Mercifully I did not know that at that time! It was another story that that bike got stolen 3 weeks after I moved to that hostel.

The dream, however, lives on. I see the stationary bicycle as a good starting point. The Eternal Hopeful inside me refuses to die and hopes she can go cycling in the Himalayas one day - let's say the Valley of Flowers! How's that for a start?
Then I can say my life has come full cycle.

 

Thanks a lot Vijima - both for the first feed back as well as for the good wishes. :-D