MB#71: 𝙏𝙝𝙚 ₹200 𝙋𝙝𝙞𝙡𝙞𝙥𝙨 𝘾𝙮𝙘𝙡𝙚, 𝙈𝙖𝙞𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙖𝙣𝙘𝙚, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙇𝙚𝙜𝙖𝙘𝙮 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙒𝙝𝙚𝙚𝙡.

[MemoirBlogthon #71] My father's condition prevented me from trading a rickshaw ride for a cycle: I had to learn it first. That quest for independence led me to secretive practice, self-taught maintenance, and the eventual pride of owning a ₹200 olive green Philips cycle, a prized possession that became my loyal companion for over a decade. This is the story of how earning the right to ride forged a lasting legacy of self-reliance and meticulous upkeep.

MB71: This is how I started learning to ride a bicycle.

My desire to own a bicycle in place of a tricycle (rickshaw) ride was met with my father's condition: I had to learn it first. That quest for independence led me to secretive practice, self-taught maintenance, and the eventual pride of owning a ₹200 olive green Philips cycle, a prized possession that became my loyal companion for over a decade.

Earning the Right to Ride

As an elementary school student, the 5 km walk or the daily tricycle rickshaw ride felt tedious. I longed for the freedom of a bicycle, but my mother advised patience. Upon promotion to high school, my desire doubled. My father, Sri Susarla Subrahmanya Sastry, met my longing with a practical challenge: "First you learn bicycling, and once you are able to go on roads on your own, we may consider acquiring one."

My initial attempts were disastrous. I borrowed a friend's cycle and crashed into the school building wall, injuring my legs. My friend, understandably, stopped lending his cycle. Undaunted, I began my self-taught apprenticeship. I would hire a short-height children's cycle from a nearby repairer, paying hourly rent for practice. As my confidence grew, I switched to a medium-height cycle.

This phase taught me more than just riding; I learned practical maintenance. I keenly observed the mechanic, mastering how to adjust the handlebar, increase the seat height, clean the chain, and ensure the correct air pressure. I kept these hard-earned techniques to myself, a point of quiet pride.

The Prize and the Pride

The moment of ownership arrived on a Saturday evening. My father returned from the office and declared that my younger brother and I would accompany him to the old town area of Vijayawada. After brief negotiations, my father settled the bill of ₹200 for a branded Philips cycle. I immediately told him that I was confident enough to ride the new bike home, asking him and my brother to follow in the rickshaw. He gave me a rare nod of appreciation for my riding skill.

My olive green cycle became my companion for over a decade. I meticulously maintained it, cleaning it every morning and oiling the chain once a week. I diligently installed all required safety features: a light on the handle, a reflector on the rear mudguard, and, crucially, a sturdy lock. My parents often humorously observed that I was maintaining the cycle as well as my "tip-top dress style." My father appreciated this in-depth knowledge and commitment to upkeep.

This cycle was the vehicle for my growing independence, facilitating long-distance ventures, like a memorable 20 km ride to Gannavaram (Vijayawada Airport) with my friends on the national highway. When I relocated to Hyderabad for employment, I reluctantly passed the cycle on to a college student, concluding an era.

MB#71: Quiz

MB#71: Question: What specific condition did the author's father set before considering the purchase of a bicycle for his son?

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• A. The author had to save half the cost of the cycle.
• B. The author had to excel in his high school exams.
• C. The author had to first learn bicycling on his own.
• D. The author had to give up the rickshaw rides entirely.

MB#71: Quote

"The freedom of the open road is the ultimate luxury."