My elder son was in the habit of leaving for school a little late but would always reach on time. My younger son was the total opposite. He was like me. Like for an international flight, if the reporting time was 3 ½ hours before departure, I would ensure I am there 4 hours before. Great risk-taker. My younger son too preferred to start very early and start warming the benches much earlier in the school. So, there was always a war of loving words between the two. Both sides sounded genuine. Listen to any arguments, and both sides would always seem right. What was the best decision?

So, one day, when the school was closed, I took leave and took the kids to buy another bicycle. With the purse having grown a wee bit better than the thinness it was used to; I allotted this sum readily. In the late 80s, Broadway was the place where one found hundreds of shops selling bicycles. About 10 to 11 kilometers away. Luckily, the cycle fitted into the Chennai auto, half protruding outside, and we managed to bring it home safely. The saga of the cycle war ended.

But you should have seen the pride, happiness, satisfaction, and sense of achievement on my younger son’s face. We took a photograph of him beside the cycle as he took it for the first time to school. Not willing to show his pride, he stood with a serious face, stiff and straight, when we took the photograph.

We did graduate to an upgrade as we sold the moped and bought the omnipresent Scoot. I rarely touched that. My sons had a whale of a time with that.

But the point is, nearly 12 years after that, when my younger son got his job in the U.S., he bought a favorite car of his and had a similar photograph taken with him standing beside the car! Still looking serious and not smiling.

We were happy, though. Both our sons had wonderful cars. I could never buy one. But I had again lived the dream through my sons.

Continued in 276 - Storekeeper of Desi Dhotis - Part 1