Finally. Ah, finally after four months, I was back home and soon would be back on my bike. If you know the feeling, cheers; else, pity you. This is one relation where distance sure makes the heart grow fonder.
I stroked the seats lovingly. "Missed me, haven't you?", I smiled.
Mom was looking at me from the balcony. She shook her head exasperated, convinced that hostel life had turned her little boy into a lunatic. She pleaded, "Its just 5 am. Can't this wait? You reached home after midnight. Go get some sleep."
I looked up and smiled. She knew the discussion was over before it started. She ceded and went inside, returning to her long list of daily chores, before leaving for office. I wished to assure her that her son was still sane, just a bit love-struck; nothing to be alarmed of. But then that could wait.
I mounted the bike and inhaled the fresh morning breeze. Everything felt fresh and new. It was time to take out my darling for a date. But she decided she would behave like any other normally upset girlfriend and expose me to her mood-swings. She simply refused to start up.
I was dying to hear the sweet melody of the 150cc engine powering up to life. But no, she refused to speak to me. No matter how much I coaxed, pleaded and prodded, she just stood there silently. Things were not going to plan. I had to allay her pride and soon, if I had to have a refreshing ride before the glaring sun and the maddening crowd took over.
It was getting late and still she refused to budge. I had tried every trick in the trade. I even promised her shopping and jewellery, (well, servicing and accessories actually) but still no response. It seemed she was too upset at my four month long absence. I checked every gauge, wire and connection. She was perfectly fine; just acting prim.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw someone coming down the road. "Another health freak out for a morning walk," I thought, "And soon they will be out in hoards." My plan was all but down-the-drain. Distraught, I looked up, and then I saw her. It was as if the clocks had rolled back to a distant past, that had till then gone dim in the mists of time.
I really could not believe I was seeing her. Ten long years and yet time seemed to have stood still for her. The same square framed spectacles, the same waist length ponytail and the same lost look on the face. It could as well have been the day I was trying to convince her to try to ride my bicycle. Or even the day I first met her.
Relocating is a harrowing experience for kids; it's a truth few adults realize. It was no different for the eight year old me, who trudged to this MIG govt. housing complex with his parents in the suburbs of this Metropolitan Monster from the vast open fields and dusty by-lanes of the Steel town.
Dad had a promotion to get, Mom wanted a better school for me. The added allowances and both their increased salaries would take care of the additional expenses of owning a house. Better opportunities they said; plus there was no more rent to be paid on the first of every month. No one gave a thought to what I wanted.
At first, it was even more difficult than I ever imagined. Everything was new and unknown. And there was no one to share it with. The first day at the new school had gone anything but well, and there was no prospect that the evening would be any better. Mom had taken the day off from office and despite my protests, insisted on accompanying me to the locality playground and help me make friends.
It was there at that small playground that I first saw her. The sight of a spectacled girl with a long long ponytail playing cricket with boys, was one sight I had never seen before. Even later, after getting to know her so well, It was still something I found difficult to digest.
Mom went on introducing me to all the kids. "Mom, you can go back now. I will be fine," I pleaded. She made as if to return but stayed back a little further away. My day had not been any good so far and it was not going to improve any bit further. They took me to play with them and literally being the 'new-kid-on-the-block', gave me first bat. And I screwed it up. I was bowled first ball; and that too by a girl.
And yet, we struck on a friendship from that very first day. Maybe it was because the eight year old me had figured out that the only way to ensure that this was never repeated was to be in the same team with her from then on.
It was a mismatch of epic proportions. Here I was, missionary schooled, sports loving, daring, adventurous, always getting into trouble kind of a boy. She on the other hand was the darling girl of the most well to do family in the neighbourhood; going to the top regional board school in town, taking dance, music, art and what not lessons from morning to night. The only blip in her perfect repertoire was the love for cricket. I still have no idea how she managed to convince her parents to let her play with us. Their house was right next to the field, and the first lesson we kids learnt was to keep the ball as far away from their house as possible.
There is an old adage that says opposites attract; and we were bent on proving it. We were practically inseparable; spending whatever time we could together. She would often turn up at my home in the afternoons when I came back from school and have a late lunch with me. I had, on the other hand, never dared visit her home. At least not then.
We complimented each other perfectly. She used to teach me maths and science and helped me with my homework. I made her my confidante in every adventure I undertook; from stealing mango pickle in the sultry summer afternoons to climbing to the top of the water supply tank.
She was a brilliant student. I owed a lot to her in that department. It was her constant persuasion and clever anecdotes on science that led to me being in one of the few prestigious engineering colleges of our country. She made such mundane things like definitions and formulae interesting by attaching funny stories to them.
I on the other hand was the prime and only other source of fun apart from cricket. With time, I had slowly learnt to forget the fact that she was a girl and never gave a second thought to the dangers involved in our adventures.
It was my twelfth birthday when I got the biggest gift of my life. Dad had recently had a raise and bought me a bicycle for my birthday. I already knew to ride one; having learnt from my elder cousins when we went for a visit during the summer vacations. It was the proudest moment of my life and I could not wait to show it off to her.
The very next day, I was out with my brand new bicycle for a spin as soon as I got back from school. As I was coming out of our home, I found her coming towards me. I rushed to her and exclaimed, "Look I got a cycle for my birthday."
She was overjoyed at my happiness. She gave me a beautiful hand-made greetings card. She had made one for me every year since we met. They used to be my most cherished gift; but this year there was something better.
I decided the best course of action for the day was to teach her to ride a bicycle. There was nothing we did not share, after all. She was afraid at first but after a little convincing decided to give it a try. Soon she was getting the hang of it and, with her fears allayed, started to enjoy herself.
I was starting to get a bit impatient and wanted to get a ride myself. She was riding pretty well now and I ran behind her calling out, "Ok, my turn now." She seemed in no mood to stop and hence I reached out and grabbed the cycle from behind.
Things went horribly wrong from there on. She lost her balance and tripped. I could not hold on to the cycle and steady her. We fell down pretty badly. Her head hit a pavement brick and she fell unconscious.
I too was strongly shaken but not hurt in any way. I called her but she did not move. I tried to wake her up, and saw that her face was covered in blood. Her spectacles were shattered. There was a deep gash over her forehead. Brushing aside the panic that was setting in, I somehow picked her up and rushed her to her home.
It was her Dad who opened the door. She had, by then, come back to consciousness and was trembling in shock and fear. He gave a single look at us and called out to her mother to take her inside. Then he turned to me and said, "I don't want to see you ever again. Remember that." I was too afraid to say anything and ran back home.
It is said that trouble never comes alone. When Dad came home, he noticed that the cycle was not there. When he asked me where it was, I remembered that, in the rush I had completely forgotten about the cycle and left it laying on the road where we fell. It was already over three hours late and despite the obvious futility of the search, we went to look for it and as expected, it was nowhere to be found.
Dad had never scolded me. And he did not break the rule that day. After hearing the entire episode from me, all he said was, "Think over what you have done. Not only were you irresponsible about hard earned things, but you also did not pay attention to the safety of your friends. Do you realize your mistakes?"
All that seemed a long time ago now and a lot of water had flowed under the bridge since then. She stopped coming to our house or to the evening games at the playground. Or anywhere else for that matter. I too was upset with myself and distraught at having lost the best friend, the only real friend I ever had. I buried myself in studies and did well enough to land myself in a prestigious engineering college in a far away place. Slowly over time the memories had began to fade as I started getting involved in other things.
She, on the other hand, went on staying cooped up at her house. We had hardly met after that day and never spoke to each other again. I seldom heard any news about her except when she ranked among the top ten in the state at the board exams or when she featured in the local newspapers for winning the some music contests. Life had well and truly separated us with an insurmountable barrier.
I was surprised how vivid the memories still were even after so many years. I thought I had gotten over them in the hustle we call Life. I was under the impression that all I cared for now was Engineering College, hostel life, my hostel buddies, the prospect of joining the lucrative job I had been offered, another six months down the line. And yes, my beauty, my bike; bought with my own money from last summer's internship earnings. The only beacon from past were the four hand-made greetings cards tucked away safely among my personal belongings. But things were somehow going haywire within my head. There was a hollow, a fathomless pit nothing could fill.
Pulling myself out of the reminiscence, I found that she had walked up to me. She too seemed lost in memories at this unexpected encounter. But somehow she looked more desperate than the normal lost and faraway look she always wore. It seemed to me that there was something else that was worrying her.
She seemed to brush aside the indecision in her mind and blurted out to me, "Dad is not well. Can you take me to a doctor? Mom left home and went away yesterday; left a note saying, Don't come looking for me. She had gotten fed up with the constant fights with Dad. Dad is devastated. He has been crying all night. Despite his hard exterior, he loves us a lot."
My mind was still in a whirlwind, but I knew what needed to be done right now. I jumped onto my bike and said, "Hop on." Somehow, I knew I only had to push the self start button. My darling will listen to me now. This is going to be a smooth ride.
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