By some luck, I got my first cycle when I was 11. I should say "we" got it because this was shared between my elder brother and me. It’s another matter that I learned to ride it before my brother could. So proud, right? This was with us for around three years. I learned all the tricks: monkey pedaling, jumping onto the seat while pushing the bike, fast riding, slow cycling, riding with one hand, riding with both hands removed from the handlebar. Young, right? So unknowingly adventurous. And sitting on the back seat and riding. This was my favorite, and in this unique pose, as I had foolishly thought at that time, I fell down. My knee still carries a reminder of that escapade.

Thereafter, I never got to own a cycle. My cycle life had a very short history.

But for my kids? Remember telling you I lived most of my dreams through my sons? When I was around 3 to 5 years old, I was greatly attracted to tricycles, and more than that, the kids’ cars. I used to look longingly at these whenever we visited our relatives whose children were blessed with such out-of-the-world playthings. If I got a chance, the other kids permitting, I would hop onto them and ride. In Delhi, such tricycles were available for hourly hire. Can you believe that? On a memorable, exhilarating, but sadly limited occasion, I got a tricycle on hire.

So I thought at least my kids should enjoy, even if the financial outlay was huge—of course, in comparison to the paychecks.

My eldest son got his first tricycle when he was 18 months old. Tobu Baba Cycle, it was called then, I think. Top product in its category. Nice attractive yellow color. In the house in the village, he would go round and round the dining table, and our first dog Bullet would run behind him. That kept him engaged in this otherwise lonely place. My second son got it when he was around 4. I had narrated this incident when I thrust upon him a tractor-shaped tricycle instead of the car he was eagerly looking for.

The first small bicycle was bought for my elder son when he was 11 years old.

We were in central India at that time. It was late at night when we paid for the cycle. The shopkeeper was about to close down. It wouldn’t fit into an auto. The shopkeeper, looking at the eager faces of my son, promised to send one of his boys who would ride it to our house. So, it was about 10 p.m. when, as we were waiting anxiously near the main road, my boys, a little skeptical and wondering if the shop boy would steal the cycle, the cycle arrived at last. What pleasure can be there equal to seeing your kids with beaming faces and broad smiles?

Continued in 274. Re Cycle Car - Part 2