Of all the things that Pune doesn’t have in these modern times that you and I live in, I miss kids on bicycles and sparrows in balconies the most. They used to be regular features of everyday Pune life back in the day. Kids on bicycles, especially. You still see the occasional sparrow, but kids on bikes these days are like sense in a politician. The thing exists, allegedly, but you really doubt it.
Of course, this was a time when the fountain at University Circle was still around, or when Ferguson College Road was not a one way street, and that Pune has long disappeared in the mists of time, but still –us old-timers still have that Pune brought back to us every now and then.
And for me, that old Pune was yanked out of my memories and brought back vividly when I saw a kid cycling on Ganeshkhind Road the other day. It was especially poignant for yours truly because that used to be part of my commute to school.
And I wasn’t in a minority back then, not by a long shot. Scores of school kids thought nothing of getting their posterior on a cycle seat and pedaling away to school every day. Traffic back then wasn’t the near perpetual snarl that it is these days, which goes a long way towards explaining why, I suppose. Today, given the sheer mass of vehicles on any thoroughfare, the mere thought of their ward on a puny cycle is likely to give severe palpitations to parents, and who can blame them?
Today, kids still do ride on bicycles, but only in their societies, and with propah helmets and elbow guards and what not. Venturing out for long rides isn’t what kids do these days – it’s an exclusively adult pursuit.
And, I regret to add, one that I will not be taking up anytime soon.
My uncle is a cycling enthusiast, and one of the more dedicated ones out there. At a recent family gathering, having noted that I was collecting kilograms the way enthusiasts collect coins or stamps, he suggested that I join him for at least one ride, and then, if I felt like it, make it a more regular activity.
Now, it is true that I could do with some physical activity. Sales assistants have taken to stroking their chins doubtfully when I waddle into clothing stores these days, while waiters and chefs exchange high-fives when I walk into their establishments. And therefore, inspired by his encouragement and by my waist size, I assented.
When, I asked him, when do you start your rides?
Around five, he replied.
Oh, I said. That might be a little difficult. I finish work only by around eight.
A.M., he said by way of reply.
Now, there are lengths to which the undersigned will simply not go. I don’t care if the Limca Book of Records gets in touch with me about my girth, but I will not get out of bed at four in the morning so that I can ride a cycle one hour later. That is simply not an option.
And the cycles themselves! They cost, I am reliably informed, somewhere between sixty thousand to two hundred and fifty thousand rupees. And if the word obscene does not enter your brain when you hear these figures bandied about, then I’d like to talk to you about extending me a loan.
The traffic, the timing and the depletion of my treasury. Any one of these, I could conceivably deal with. But all three at the same time is what the Yankees call a triple strike. And so, the other day, when I saw that kid on his bicycle, I’ll admit I was overcome with nostalgia.
But tempted? No sir, not in the very least.
He doesn't expect the paradox to be resolved in his lifetime
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