I want to ride my bicycle, I want to ride it now

I was a ninja on a bike. I was the kid with bruised knees who'd be jumping ditches and crashing, who'd race you and block your way if happened to be driving by in a car.

Oh how much I cycled on my yellow and purple Wild Cat bike. It was bought for me by my lovely grandaddy on the day my sister was born - you know, to encourage sisterly affection and all that. But I loved my BSA trailblazer the best, oh the trails I blazed on that one(hehe). O and the fun we made of Ladybird, I'd forgotten only about that.

In Poona, we lived in this rectanglish kinda colony and the gradient of the land was such that to do one chakkar you had to go downslope once and come back up panting. I used to happily whizz down one way and painfully trudge up the other side. On one random day I was so knocked out that I got off and walked up with my cycle and this sweet gentleman type uncle passing by asked me most kindly, whats the matter? are you hurt etc etc and I was like oh no, just dont feel like cycling uphill and immediately the smile wiped off his face and I got a diatribe for being lazy, so young and so lazy! Sheesh. Still remember it so must've got stored somehwere in there. <3

I loved that bike. Cycling down to the open air theatre to read the blackboard outside which would have the now-playing movie scribbled on(mostly sidey Bobby Deol ones like Soldier which was one of the better ones.) Then, we actually played holi and didn't sit holed up at home. We'd play Xena(YES, the warrior princess) and bike all over fending off demons and protecting our territory. And I'd ferry my dolls from the hammock in the backyard to the front gate because for some strange reason we made them all orphans in an orphangage who needed an outing and ofcourse everyone wanted a ride on my trailblazer. We'd play the best games; there were three of us, Sunethra, Diya and me. Last I heard of Sunethra, she could be found drunk and throwing up outside rpm at 3:30 in the afternoon (tsk, tsk) and Diya I used to bump into sometimes at the parlour and she had more to say to the lady who did her eyebrows than to me. Ah well, childhood stuff is best left alone.

But then, it got stolen, haaw, yes. From right outside our house, haaw, I know. Wept buckets and my Lone Ranger never quite made up for it, though I liked the name if nothing else. The best cycle story of all time though is that time I cycled on an airstrip. No kidding, I swear, a proper national AAI authorised one that too. We were in Jorhat and the Airforce/Military and Civilian airport is the same, as in there's just one airstrip which both of them used. Twas a stones throw from our place and I'd always cycle past one the many hidden side entrances eyeing it temptingly. One fine day I just turned in and tried my luck. I dunno if the guard was stoned or sleepy or just lost it for those few moments but he waved me in and oh my god, the thrill, the tarmac, the road, open wide wide beautiful road and I cycled away furiously like the film heroine of every fabulous movie ever made. But the gaurd(not a fancy FBI type, just a dude with a lathi on a chair) relaised withing 10 minutes and sort of tracked me down and escorted me off and NO one at home believed me, but you do right? And now it's on the record forever.

So there.