Let me begin with a confession. (Deep breath). I finally learnt to cycle only a few days before I turn 26. (There we go. I have said it.)
That does not mean I have not made attempts at cycling
earlier. When I was a kid of eight or nine, there was a small cycle at home. For
two consecutive summers, my father tried to train me. I became fairly good at it
over one summer, only to become rusty by the next, because I did
not cycle at all in the intervening months. By the next year, I had outgrown
that cycle.
My brother did a fair amount of cycling during his
school years. However, by the time I entered high school – old enough to ride his
cycle – two of them were stolen from our apartment. With them, went the
enthusiasm and the inclination to buy another one. Quite a few of my friends regularly cycled to
school. However, for me, back then, my entire world was within the radius of 2
kilometres, which meant I did not feel the need to cycle.
I completed my pre-university college (Class 12)
without requiring to cycle or knowing how to ride a two-wheeler. By the hand
that was dealt to me, I ended up in a residential campus for my graduation.
Almost overnight, my world expanded from a radius of 2 kilometres to include a
place that was almost 2000 kilometres away!
Being a huge campus, there was plenty of scope for me
to learn cycling in college. I am pretty sure that my friends would have helped
me with it, after some banter and humour. However, by the end of my first year, I had
acquired an image which I had to maintain. It did not matter that I did not
know cycling. I surely could not struggle to learn cycling, falter and be
laughed at, could I? There is a line by a Kannada poet which means even hatred
cannot kill the way laughter does. (Ask Duryodhana at the “Palace of Maya”, if
you wish). It is not to say that I did not try. I clearly remember one evening
where I tried with one of my friends’ cycle. As expected, I lost balance within
the first couple of meters. Luckily, it was in front of those whose laughter
did not wound. Looking back now, after having cycled a few times, I realize
that the problem that night was the height of the saddle.
Returning home after graduation, I had my tasks cut out. Along with preparation for exams that I wished to attempt, I was to acquire
“life-skills”, which included learning to ride a two-wheeler and drive a car. It
almost became a weekend sport at home to point out how I do not know these basic skills, while those younger than me in the neighbourhood comfortably excelled
at it. Never mind the fact that they were riding without licence. Every dinner
with friends was followed by dessert at home – of my parents prodding me to at least
learn riding the two-wheeler, like the rest of them. When the first iteration
of exams failed, it was hinted that at least I could be productive by picking
up these skills.
I gave in to this pressure. I diligently went through
a course in one of the Driving Schools and through them, I even got my Driver’s
Licence for the car – but I can’t say I know driving. I have not ventured to ride a two-wheeler yet.
Perhaps it is an unknown fear that is hindering me. Maybe it is the feeling
that it would put me in a position where I am not in complete control. One can
always argue that even in life, one isn’t in total control all the time. But
then, that is the only “rational” explanation I can come up with.
When COVID19 struck last year, I began contemplating
cycling. Not only would I be acquiring a new skill, I would also be burning the
flab that had accumulated. I had spent two years at home, during which there
was lot of mental exercise, but little for the body. The initial efforts to buy
a cycle were smothered when COVID19, which was passing through the neighbourhood,
decided to enter our home.
A few days ago, the stars aligned. My brother and I
bought home a cycle. All that remained now was riding it. If I succeeded in
learning it, it would atleast neutralize one point of attack at home.
On that fateful morning, I decided to take the cycle
to a nearby playground and practise. My father insisted that he would accompany
me, in case I fell and injured myself. However, I wanted to go it alone. How
would it look if we met someone we knew? A 25-year-old was learning to cycle,
that too being accompanied by his father? I managed to convince my father to
take his time while I went ahead. With a lot of trepidation, I pushed the cycle
along the wrong-side on the one-way. I wanted to appear like a law-abiding
citizen rather than as someone who did not know cycling.
Thanks to rising Covid cases, the ground was largely
empty. I took a deep breath as I positioned myself on the saddle. Images of my
previous attempts floated past. I told myself that there was nothing to lose. In
that vast ground, I was anonymous. Clean-shaved, I could pass off as someone
just out of high-school; nobody would realize it was a 25-year-old taking his
baby steps on the cycle. I knew no one in front of who I had to maintain an
image. Even if someone did, it should not matter. Ego could only take me so
far. If I have to learn anything, if I have to grow, I have to learn to take
injuries – physical and mental – in my stride. Moreover, this being a cycle,
things were largely in my control.
Magic happened. I do not know if it was because of the
mental framework just before beginning or the fact that it was a comfortable
height. Everything fell in place. I felt like Harry Potter taking his first fly
on the broomstick, without formal training. When my father came along after
some time, he was pleasantly surprised to see me comfortably manoeuvring the
cycle.
After close to an hour of making acquaintance with the
cycle, I returned home. It was not just about having learnt something new. It
was about having surmounted some mental blocks as well. I realized that,
sometimes, one has to lose to gain. One has to let go to gain control. I felt victorious.
Post-Script: I have cycled on roads too, now that traffic
is subdued. My task now is to gain enough experience and confidence to be able
to cycle in Bengaluru’s famed traffic, even in life beyond the lockdown.
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