It all started on a rainy day in Goa. I was sitting in the verandah watching the rain fall, thinking about everything that was wrong with the world and possible ways to fix it. The energy crisis seemed most urgent because the lights had been out for the past hour or so. Of course, the blackout had nothing to do with the power crisis. They always turn off the power when it rains. Something to do with branches breaking wires which in turn electrocute those cute little kids you see playing in the rain on rainy days when rain rains down and saturates the already water-logged ground and seeps into your walls forming colourful patterns of mould. You then spend your time seeing freaky patterns and end up sneezing your nose off. Okay, enough drifting around. Back to the topic.
So I was just sitting there like all of us do some time in our teenage lives, dreaming up strange ways of saving energy or making more of it so that we would all have one less thing to worry about. I had already ruled out nuclear energy, Chinese coal and dropping a bunch of bombs on the US. The latter plan seemed most likely to succeed, but there was way too much effort involved for a lazy person on a rainy day in Goa. So I put on a raincoat, slipped on a slippery pair of slippers (they were already wet) and walked out into the rain. The best way to pass your time when you have nothing interesting to do on a rainy day is to walk out into the rain and get partially wet. By the time you're dry again, poof! Half an hour has flown by. So there I was, walking around the garden getting partially wet when it hit me! Literally. I tried to squeeze between the mango tree and the scooter (which was parked below the tree) and stubbed my toe against the front fender. I cursed under my breath and hopped on the spot. And suddenly stopped. The answer had been right there all along, under my bottom while I made my way to college back in Bangalore. Ditch the scooter and save the world!
Now you're probably wondering why I seemed so enthusiastic about getting rid of something which made for relatively convenient conveyance. Several factors went into precipitating that moment of apparent insanity. The traffic in Bangalore is extremely nasty. It isn't anywhere near as annoying as riding through the crooked gullies of Ambala, but is somehow much worse. The usual distance between any two places in Bangalore is about 15 km and in all the other cities I've ever lived in, you could usually cover that distance in around 20 minutes. College is about 4.5 km from my hostel but it takes anything from 5 minutes to an hour depending on the time of day. You can usually count on the latter any time between 8 am and 10 pm. Travel time is spent waiting at red lights and inching forward while dodging rude auto wallahs and getting your ears perforated by bossy SUV wallahs with extra-loud horns. If honking made a car go faster, Bangalore cars would zoom by at autobahn speeds! My scooter is extremely old and a mileage of 25 kpl is the norm. Spending a fortune on fuel and getting a daily dose of ear trauma made me seriously contemplate switching over to cycle.
The scooter in question is a Kinetic Honda which was bought three months after I was born. You tend to develop an emotional bond with something you've grown up with, and I'm no exception. That scooter is part of many of my earliest memories. I remember my parents riding on the scooter with me in front on the foot board, hanging on to the basket and peeping around the steering column. Now, almost two decades later, I have my own licence and ride like a maniac through the traffic pickle that is Bangalore. We have a brand new Dio back in Delhi and it would have been my job to sell off the Kinetic at the end of my stay in Bangalore. I can't bear thought of getting rid of that scooter and what's more, I'm terrible at bargaining.
While holidaying in Goa I would cycle for a couple of hours every day. I'd usually bike down to the beach in the early mornings and help the fishermen bring their boats in. Evening was when I would roam around the forests, villages and flood plains a few kilometres from the house every evening and end up fishing for catfish in the river (I'd catch them and let them go again. Catfish look at you accusingly and make a pitiful croaking noise when you hoist them out of the river and killing them seems cruel and heartless). My mind had come to associate pedalling with fresh air, spectacular scenery, empty village roads and a flood of endorphins. Replacing the scooter with it's eco-friendly predecessor seemed like a fantastic idea while sitting in the verandah with wet feet and a chilled glass of apple juice. That was over two months ago.
I bought the bicycle on my second day back in Bangalore. A ten-gear Hero Hawk. This monster is a desi avatar of the racing bikes you see on TV. It's frame is light-weight aluminium, light enough to hoist over the average divider with one hand. The wheels are the largest in the entire range and the gears let you accelerate faster than that annoying scooter wallah honking at the red light.
The first ride to college on the bike was fantastic! The gear transmission was superb! Acceleration, phenomenal! I grinned like a maniac and pumped those pedals as I shot through red lights and zoomed up one-way lanes - the wrong way. Pedestrians stared in awe while scooterists stared in disbelief as I whooshed past them. Auto wallahs cursed and spat as usual as I happily abused them in return. The horns blaring around me sounded like the dulcet honking of a flock of mallards. The smoky morning air never seemed so fresh and cool, nor the scowling traffic police so cheerful. I could almost swear that the chowkidaar gave me a respectful nod as I swooped through the college gates.
I spent the first hour of class that day shivering in my sweat-soaked sweatshirt, sneezing angrily and cursing myself for buying the bloody bike.
Well... life goes on, and so has mine. Several near-accidents and strained muscles later, the thrill of breaking rules and risking my neck twice a day has all but worn off. I carry an extra t-shirt and towel every day and change before making my way to class. Leaving at 0745 hrs. means that I avoid the morning office rush and get to breathe in relatively unpolluted air. Coming to college early isn't as bad as you might think. You get to read that novel you've been too lazy to read all weekend, meet interesting people like the guy who owns the canteen, think about deep, philosophical stuff like where did the universe come from and our place in the macrocosm, and annoy any other people who are unfortunate enough to turn up early too.
The thing I like the most about cycling to college is the fact that in a small but not insignificant way, I'm doing my bit to clear up the smoggy skies of the world and reduce humankind's dependence on fossil fuels. Or maybe it's the fact that the money saved from not having to buy gasoline is now put to better use: movies, novels and bling to pimp my new ride.
