My velocipede

My bicycle, to put it in easier words. It's something that I'm addicted to, something that's beneficial for health, something that's quite inexpensive and something they wouldn't think of having rehab centres for. Poor thing's probably thinking when I would give up on it. I won't. Going out for a bicycle ride is something I really enjoy. Here's an account of one of my trips.

I started off around 6 PM, sometime in winter. Not quite the best time for cycling, especially when the route goes through some really crowded areas. I reached a park near my house. The lane going along it looked to be a good place to practice for one of those rough-terrain racing competitions. Then I reached one of the city's busiest, and equally, if not more, undisciplined intersections. It took me quite some time to get through the mayhem. My route took me to another equally chaotic intersection, but this one had traffic signals (and yes, they worked and surprisingly enough, were obeyed).

An autorickshaw driver created space out of nowhere by virtue of his 'driving skill' which was seen in the form of his vehicle's diagonal movement across the street. Quite used to these sights, I waited for the signal to turn green. I then proceeded towards the bus stop in the market area, where a bus was getting loaded. It occupied more than half the available space on the street. I squeezed through whatever was left of the remaining space and sped through the clear stretch till the railway underbridge. As I manoeuvred my way through the traffic, I was momentarily caught in the wrong position on the road, with a bus to my left, and this prompted patient honking from the car behind me. I made my way out and turned left. A few yards on, the vegetable market made its presence known to my nose. I rushed past, pedalling fiercely through the crowd. I reached an intersection where a flyover had been under construction since times immemorial. I turned right, and carefully negotiating the traffic at a Y-intersection, took the right-hand fork. I rode along the long, straight avenue, occasionally looking at the numerous hotels and commercial establishments that thronged either side of the street. After a relatively uneventful stretch, I was crossing a garden and that is where all the trouble began.

A cool gust of wind gave me a fresh feel as it hit my face, but it brought along a fair amount of chilly powder (and something else) from a nearby roadside stall. Only a few seconds passed by before high-velocity bursts started emerging from my nostrils at regular intervals. My eyes became watery and I could sense my skin becoming hot. I used up all the water in my water-bottle to wash my face. I called a cycle-rickshaw puller for help. Some onlookers had a few minutes of entertainment as they watched us experiment with various positions to load both me and my bicycle into the rickshaw. We finally did it, and as we set off, I closed my eyes for a few minutes. When I opened them, I saw that we were approaching the lake. I soon got down and we unloaded my bicycle. I bought some water and washed my face once more before setting off again.

I soon realised that I would soon be approaching the familiar stench of the vegetable market, and that it would be hard on my nose. So, I pedalled into a network of lanes in the opposite direction, dodging my way through bovine barricades and emerged somewhere near the bus stand. A peach of a bottleneck. As the buses used their size to get their right of way, I waited for the congestion to clear and moved on.

As I crossed an abandoned railway track, I felt raindrops. Damn...this wasn't the time for it to start raining. I checked my watch... at least 15 minutes to get home from here. Thankfully, the rain hardly intensified and it stopped raining quite soon. Moments later, I saw a bus charge at a crowd that was going perpendicularly across the street through a divider break. It worked without causing any kind of damage. Ironical that this should take place at a spot only a two-minute walk away from a crematorium. Then I crossed another railway underbridge, made my way through a very familiar network of lanes and reached the traffic signal in front of my house. Just a few feet to go, but not before being yelled at by an autorickshaw driver for stopping at the red signal. Unbothered, I stayed there and equally unbothered, he rushed through the approaching traffic. Moments later, the signal turned green and I reached home intact after yet another outing.

As the smoke-billowing traffic continues to rise and the level of their source of power continues to fall with equal intensity, it may once more come down to human and animal power. It seems more of a question of 'when' rather than 'if' if you think of increasing domination of bicycles, bullock carts (and maybe even horses... I'd certainly love that). Sadly for my poor, battered bicycle, it isn't over as yet...