brinjal-coloured Kinetic Honda scooter g ds entrance to my house, on a platform Specialty 4 for it, With the passage of time, my vehicie too nd changed. Earlier, I had a TVS Champ; anq rior» that, a mere TVS 50. Before all these, I had a bicycle, The no platform then; nor a house. Still, memories of that tim coming back to my mind, again and again. It happened twenty years ago, when I was working ina Post office Just outside the city. VR Ramanathan was my postmaste;, 1 used to call him Veri - Fanatic - Ramanathan. He was also One of the reasons why I felt a certain weariness at work. There would be a thousand passbooks, and he would scream that the entries had to be made in all of them that very minute. The environment did not suit my temperament even a little, but my family situation made me repeatedly put off any idea of resigning. I bought a bicycle with my third month’s salary. One hundred and eighty rupees. “Enna pa? No sweets?” asked Veri Ramanathan. Whenever he came across anything new — a new shirt, new chappals, a new pen, Ramanathan would relentlessly pester, “What? No sweets?” Only after you bought him sweets, karaboondi and coffee from Krishna Vilas would. the man calm down, I escaped from the post office whenever I got a chance to take TE Wa e Keep perate. Ignorin; the voices which rose to stop me, I had set out alone. rt I had long desired to travel to Mangalore via Hassan. Forests all along the way, Hills. I was eager to roll my bicycle along the shoulder of those hills. As usual, there were obstacles, taunts, jibes and sarcastic remarks. “Why do you take leave so Often, ya? If you let it accumulate, wouldn't it be useful for your Matriagejater?” advised the postmaster. “An hour's permission to tie the “thali would do, saar,” I replied. His face hardened when he saw the laughter gathered in my lips. “It’s the first week of the month. | [fall four thousand RDs come swarming here, who will attend to them?” he asked in a stern voice. “Just keep them pending, saar. Tell them, The clerk's on leave; collect them later. I'll make the entries myself when I get back.” I had shown him a way out. The purden on his mind lightened immediately. “All right, all right. Send for coffee, and I'll sign.” He pretended as if he was weary of it all. “I objected only because it's the rainy season and you might tun into problems. If you must go, go like a king.” started out before dawn, elated at having abandoned everything and come away free. On that very hot day I discovered that one could see a mirage even on a surface shimmering with tar. In the distance, the shadow of a tree appeared like a small pond. A rapid undulation. A lightning glint. An illusion of water moving across the surface. My body thrilled at the sight. I reached Hassan in two days. As if to compensate for the heat of the day, it rained heavily that night. By dawn, it had started to get cold. The season had changed overnight, as if fulfilling a Prophesy. I resumed my journey the next day.’There was a slight drizzle, like the sprinkling of scented water on one’s face, all the Way to Shakleshpur. Getting wet in that drizzle was a pleasure. I kept going without a halt. I was riding down a steep slope when the bicycle developed a Puncture. Usually, I had some tools for minor repairs and an air- Pump handy. The boy - a sort of relative - who had borrowed E: them some time ago had not returned them. When I had gone to Jook for him, I had found his house locked. Confident that I would ‘omehow, I had started out.Now, I walked, pushing the bicycle along. There were trees Ai around with large, swaying jackfruit within reach. Beyonq them were teak trees. And leaping monkeys. A tree lay uprooted on its side, a puddle of mud around the thick root, like a pool of bloog, I could not see anyone about. I felt I was walking alone on some secret path of a mysterious world. Within a second the sky grew dark, and it started to pour. Cola pearls of rain hit me. I felt a little inhibited at first. The very next minute, it turned into a sense of pleasure. The cold spread through my entire body. I had no idea how far I had walked. I stopped when I heard a voice, rising over the fury of the rain. At the edge of the road was a hut. It was from its doorway that the boy had called out. I stared at him as if to ask, “Me?” He called out to me again in Kannada. I went towards the hut. He asked me to put away the bicycle and come inside. Huddling to keep out of the rain, I wiped the water coursing down my body with both hands. ooks like you've been in the rain for a long time. You could have stopped somewhere, no?” He laughed at me and went inside to fetch a towel. Then he retrieved my leather bag from the bicycle carrier; shook it free of water. wiped it and placed it in one corner. Meanwhile, a middle aged woman had emerged from inside and now stood near the door. “Amma, look at this poor man,” the boy said, pointing at me- I changed into my lungi in one corner of the thinnai. Peeling off my trousers, I wrung and shook them. As though he had bee? waiting to talk, the boy eagerly began to fling questions at me. a you know the bicycle had a puncture when you started oul "No. It happened on the way.” I told him about the steep S!0P® “Oh, that stretch is terrible. Full of stones. One must be carefil fe spoke like a man of vast experience. “Where are you comi from?”“Bangalore.” “all the way by bicycle?” “wm ...” He could not believe it. Nor could he dismiss it as unbelievable. He asked me again and again. There was a new gleam in his eyes "gs he reached out and touched the bicycle which was getting drenched in the rain. “How far is Bangalore from here?” “Two hundred miles.” “You pedalled all the way, for two hundred miles?” His brow shot up. As though he had witnessed some miracle, his mind and tone began to grow soft. The woman appeared again and called us inside. We went in. She hurriedly rolled out an old mat on the floor. “Can you really travel that far on a bicycle?” “Why not? I've gone up to Kanyakumari.” He looked at me, overwhelmed with awe. “Really?” “Mm.” “Can we go to Delhi on a bicycle?” “Mm.” “To the Himalayas?” “Mm.” “To Pakistan?” “Really?” “Why not? If you set your heart on it, you can want.” He stood there open-mouthed, but his face suddenly grew dull. He started talking in a hoarse voice. “I badly want a bicycle, but Amma will never buy me one,” he said, turning and pointing at his mother. “Yempa, can’t keep quiet with that mou' She said. The boy hung his head. go anywhere you th of yours, can you?”I understood the situation in a flash. “It’s Just that you're Stl 4 small boy,” I said. “You will find it very difficult to ride a bicye, no? After you grow up, your mother will definitely buy yoy, One, My mother too bought me mine only when I had grown up.” : The answer satisfied him. “Is that right, Amma?” “Mm,” she muttered, and went inside. “Do you know how to cycle?” “I can only monkey-pedal.” “Let the rain stop. I will teach you.” He nodded his head in glee and promptly started telling me what he knew from his cycling lessons. “My marna’s house is in Arsikere. That's where I learned some cycling. But Mama is very strict. You can touch his bicycle only when he is not around.” He was lost to the world. Tyres whirled. Gripping handlebars, he swung his shoulders and mimed a pedalling action, watchfully keeping to the edge. He made the sound of a running bicycle, pretended to swerve and give way to a bus coming from the opposite direction, and then got back on the road and pedalled. While his legs were pumping the air, his eyes were fixed on the road. Playfully, I shouted, “Brake, brake!” suddenly. He burst out laughing. He had grown close to me, as though we had been together for many years. The boy's mother brought us tea without any milk. I glanced at her with gratitude, uncertain whether I should start a conversation. I could not decide what would be the proper thing to do. But after I had drunk the tea, I told her about myself, keeping my eyes on the floor. I told her about my urge for travel. She looked at me in surprise. “You are exactly like him. Has to keep wandering through . the town all the time. I don’t know what he is going to achieve by all this running around.” “Well, it’s all experience.” She turned sharply towards me. “What about feeding oneself, then? If you have a lot hoarded, you can roam all you want.” A moment's silence followed. She regretted her outburst ‘when she saw my face grow small and confused. Later, she told me inaJow voice that both of them fed themselves by farming some land at the foot of the hill. Three years had Passed since her husband died. he rain poured relentlessly. I had never before seen such persistent rain. My staying on there became inevitable. The boy described his images of Bangalore, and checked with me if they were right. His fantasies about Lalbagh,. Cubbon Park and National Park surprised me. He talked on and on about the immensity of the buildings on M G Road, about Ulsoor Lake, and the boats there. “I'll see them all someday, saar,” he declared, as though he was making a vow. “Of course you will,” I said, providing the beat to his music. How I wished I could take him along with me to Bangalore that very minute. After some time, he said, “I'll go around in a bicycle, saar, just like you.” His eyes shone. : When it was night, his mother called us to eat. Karuvattu kuzhambu and ragi kali that she had rolled up into balls. Tasty food. “T've put you to a lot of trouble,” | apologized. She laughed. “Oh, not at all!” The boy lay down beside me near the wall. He asked me to tell him stories. He also asked me about towns I had visited and people Thad met. I told him everything, thinking all the while of my own childhood, glad that this boy was a near replica of my childhood self. It seemed as if the streak of madness that has always run through me was now extending itself to this boy. By morning, the rain had let up. The boy had risen before me. _He was at the bicycle, rotating the deflated wheel with his hand. He smiled when he saw me. After tying a red rag around a spoke of the wheel, he pedalled and showed me how it went up and down as the wheel turned. I laughed. “First we must get the puncture fixed,” I said.“Chandre Gowda has a bicycle store in the next town, to hint.” He came forward to push the bicycle along. Hi grasped the handlebar as though he was taking hold oft a pet puppy. He would have taken off and flown away, bicycle had been in working order. He kept pressing the walked. Chandre Gowda was sitting at the entrance of his shop, drinking tea. The boy stopped the bicycle in front of him. The wheels were smeared all over with the red colour of the slush. Without anyone asking him, the boy fetched a bucket of water and washed the bicycle thoroughly. Standing back a little to look at it, he seemed pleased with his handiwork. Chandre Gowda pasted over the two punctures, enquiring about me all the while. Then he fixed the tube and pumped it up fully and gladly took the money { paid him. Let's gy 'S handg he legs of only the bell as he On our way back, I asked the boy to get on the bicycle and ride along. His joy knew no bounds. He rode it in fits and starts, monkey-pedalling all the while. | caught hold of the bicycle and stopped him; then I sat him down on the seat and told him to keep his back straight. His feet were somewhat off the ground, but not too much. He fumbled. When one foot did not touch the ground, he leaned sharply to that side, and fell down. We returned home after Tiding for nearly two hours. His mother gave us hot, roasted aval. It started to rain even as we were eating. The boy cursed the rain, regret brimming over in his face and voice. 5 “Don't you send him to school?" I asked her. “He used to go when his father was alive, He studied up to the fifth class. Now, he and | are the only ones looking after the fields.” A few minutes passed in silence. “Is Bangalore your native town?” she asked. “My father and my grandfather came over to work years ago, to build the Mysore dam. Then we stayed on in Bangalore.” “They say that in Madras, MGR gives generously, (with both hands, to the poor. Will he give anything to us Kannadigas also?”[looked at her with a kind of helplessness. “I don’t know anybody that well. I don’t know much about such things.” “It’s all right. Don’t feel bad about it.” intended to start out as soon as the rain stopped, but the boy blocked my way, saying, “You said that you were going to teach me to ride. Were you just lying?” After the rain stopped, I went out with him. He wanted to keep on riding. He kept looking down frequently to check whether his feet could reach the pedals. That was the only problem. Otherwise, his waist had settled into the riding posture. “It doesn’t at all feel like I am riding a bicycle. It feels like I am flying on wings. As if I am travelling from one world into another,” he said. Looking at his eyes filled me with joy. The rain started again at noon and stopped only by evening. “Tl leave, then?” I said. The way the boy’s expression changed didn’t seem right. “What will you do if it rains again on the way?” he asked. “Tl manage.” ‘ He and his mother didn't let me go. That night, I shared the experiences of my bicycle trips with him. “Shall I come with you in the morning?” he asked. “Mm,” J encouraged him. “You can drop me off at Arsikere. I'll stay at Mama’s house for a few days.” By dawn, the rain had stopped. I rose and, after brushing my teeth and bathing, changed my clothes. | folded the wet towel which had been hung up to dry inside the hut and packed it in. I brushed aside any idea of giving money to the boy's mother. Yet I felt embarrassed at not giving her anything. A mute ache swelled in my heart as I took leave. The boy had argued at length and had got her permission to come along with me. She kept telling him again and again, “Take care. Take care.” I could understand her concern and anxiety. Within five minutes, the boy had packed his5 into an old bag, His stance, as he stood DEA ty ange of clothe: 7 ane was such that it suggested that he was about to ride it himself and that he was only waiting for me. We started on our way. He sat on the carrier at the back, ft Way extremely pleasant. Tall trees and massive hills. Streams that slipped away somewhere. A path that unfolded and grew before our eyes. The boy kept up his patter. With great hesitation, he asked, “Could I ride for a bit?” I told him that he should ride for , short distance and come back. So, he climbed on and pedalleq like someone who was quite used to it, while I sat under a tree, trying hard to identify the various birdcalls and falling miserably, When he came back we resumed dur journey. After ten or fifteen miles, he rode again. We ate at a hotel along the way. And stopped again, this time to look around a temple. On the way, he rode several times over short distances. Houses appeared as we neared Arsikere. Vehicles and people bustled about. Seeing people again after a gap of three days thrilled my heart. “My mama's house is very close from here. Could I go right up to his place on the bicycle? He would yell at me if I even touched his. How stunned he will be when I get down from a bicycle in front of him! Could I go and come back?” “All right,” I said. Before I could say, “Careful,” he had flown away. I went to a nearby tea shop where | had came out and waited for him. Vehicles rus! There were cyclerickshaws going past, a yellow tops, lorries. Lights at the signal * frequently. People milled about on both sid My thoughts turned to the boy. His fami} of his passion. I came to a sudden decision the street right up to the corner, | thought the far end. It seemed that he was Proudly moment, a bus to Hassan stopped unexpe got on and took a seat. The bus left imme, a leisurely cup. Then |’ hed by at great speed. ‘utorickshaws in their Poles were changing es of the road. Y, his desires, the force - Tquickly looked down T could see his face at beaming at me. At that ctedly in front of me. I diately,