My Bicycle

I was six. The World War Second had come to an end. Father gave us a pleasant surprise. He arrived in along with a new bicycle. It was Hercules made in England. Each part of the vehicle was engraved with the word ‘Hercules. The bicycle was purchased from the wholesale merchant at Hari Singh High Street, second shop on the corner of the lane leading to Hanuman Mandir, for rupees forty-nine and eight annas. The saddle was attached with a toolbox, carrying a few wrenches, solution tube and a few rubber patches. The frame of the bicycle had arrangement to fix one small pump.

The scene was festive. An astrologer was consulted in advance to look for the auspicious day. The news of the new arrival reached neighbours, friends and relations. The evening was unlike all other ordinary evenings. People poured in to congratulate. Mother changed ath-athoer of the ‘dejhore’. She changed her sari too. The new ath-athoer and the sari had come from her mother.

The bicycle was garlanded. The whole family offered prayers at Kathleshwaer Mandir, the local temple and expressed gratitude to Lord Shanker. The next day ‘satidiv’ prashad was distributed amongst neighbours and relations. It worked as an announcement of the purchase. The week turned out as the week of celebration. The inmates were thrilled to entertain the guests. The local baker Maheshwar Nath was instructed to be in readiness. Being at number three, the first day, I did not get any chance to touch the bicycle. I had to be contented with a look from distance. I could not resist the feel of its touch any longer. All others, tired, went to bed. I waited until they took to snoring. Stealthily I availed the chance to satiate my longing for the touch.

People around used to borrow our bicycle. It gave us a momentary feel of being the privileged class. The facility could be availed by the restricted few on holidays only.

The Bicycle was the sole property of our father. No other family member had any right on it. I usually stealthily steal an opportunity for a joyride when my father would go for a nap.

To carry someone on the carrier and to cycle after dusk without light were legal offences. Besides, managing law and order, the police usually used to arrest the law offenders for carrying double seat or for cycling without light after dusk. The accused was charge sheeted in the court of law and fined to the extent of rupees two to three. At times the matter was compounded without any challan for one or two annas that would not go to the government treasury.

A token tax of one rupee and two annas was charged by the Municipal authorities. At times the authorities would come out on the road to boost the revenue collection. The brass token in exchange was screwed on the handle of the bike. The head of the collection team was our distant neighbour and so our bike had never attained the honour of the fixation of the token.

In 1954, I joined first-year of the four-year degree course at Amarsingh College, Srinagar. The Principal of the college, Sahibzada Mohmud Ahmad used to come to the college on a bicycle of green colour. His peon Mahmud would always be in readiness to takeover the bicycle. While dusting the bicycle, he would look around with an air of authority. Professor N.L.Darbari, Professor Rehman Rahi, Professor T.N.Kilam, Professor Aslam Khan and a few more professors did not have facility of the caretaker. We the students would often discuss the quality, the colour and condition of the bicycles of the privileged professors. Many others were either not such affluent or did not know cycling.

After a lot of pleas, to facilitate my education, I was handed the ownership of the bicycle that once rested with my father. The night that followed the auspicious day in my life, somehow became too lengthy for me. The whole night I did not get even a wink of sleep. Reveries flashed across my mind. At last the day dawned. The day was a long awaited one in my life. While cycling to college, my eyes were fixed on the row houses along the road instead on the road itself. Four rupees as parking charges per month was an allied worry to me. I somehow managed to dig out some relation with the keeper Vesh Nath at the parking booth and escaped the liability.

To be an owner of a cycle was not a smooth sail. A number of times I had to land in police lockup for carrying another person along with or cycling without light.

In 1960 I purchased a bicycle from Duran Cycle at Exchange Road, Srinagar, for rupees two hundred and ten one Raleigh Cycle made in India from Duran Cycle at Exchange Road Srinagar for rupees two hundred ten. This time it was Raleigh Cycle made in India. The owner of the shop, Durani Brij Nath was kind enough to provide me with installment facility. A monthly installment of ten rupees was fixed. My friend J.L.Pandita (retired DIG police) also went to Duran Cycle. He was refused the installment facility for want of a guarantor. On my guarantee, Pandita became my equal.

Maqbool the mechanic at the shop had an additional assignment of collection of the installments. He was feeling obliged for smooth installments of rupees ten each. Within eleven months the interest free finance was liquidated.

Both of us, the bicycle and me lived in a close harmony for a number of years. It stood by me in sun and shower. It accompanied me to Zainapore, Verinagh and many other places. It served me well during my post graduation from 1963-65. It saved me eight annas a day, the to and fro bus fare to the university. It added not to my personality only but swelled my pocket too. Now I could attend more tuition. For its smooth behavior it had endeared itself to me. I had developed a lot of love for it. Its service in period of adversity was immense. It charged me nothing. It was unlike today’s Maruti, which does not buzz an inch unless I fill its belly with costly gasoline. Had the Bike not been stolen, I would love to give it a feel of joy ride in the selfish Maruti.