The Bicycle

The Bicycle

Tathagata Mukhopadhyay

The Bicycle

Tathagata Mukhopadhyay

      I was born in a quaint little town called Chinsurah, situated on the banks of river Hooghly - a tributary of the Ganges or Ganga. 

     Chinsurah, or Chuchura, as it is known now, continues to be the headquarters of the Burdwan Division. The divisional commissioner lives here in a picturesque colonial garden house by the side of the Ganges, which once served as the residence of the Dutch Governor of Chinsurah. Chinsurah has a rich history of being a Dutch Colony, for over two centuries (1615-1825), during the time when India was being ruled by the British. Heritage buildings with gothic architectures built in Dutch style bear testimony to the Dutch colonization. Years later, on a trip to the Netherlands, I was thrilled to discover a mention of Chinsurah in Dutch history as a part of an exhibit at the Madam Tussauds in Amsterdam.

       I did my schooling at the Hooghly Collegiate School in Chinsurah. It was established in 1812.  I have not come across any other school which is older than the Hooghly Collegiate.

       Chinsurah also boasted of another old school - The Duff School - established by Rev. Dr Alexander Duff in, I think, 1849 or so. There was a great rivalry between us and the students of Duff School, but we, the Collegiatians, easily beat them hands down in the Board results. The number of students securing first division marks from the Collegiate each year far outnumbered those from the Duff. Why, almost every other year, some student from the Collegiate got a ranking in the Board. Jocularly, we labelled students from Duff High School as the ‘Duffers’.

      We also had an upper hand in cultural activities. However, in sports and games, the Duff students gave us, the Collegiatians, a tough fight. It produced more athletes who represented at the District level than the Collegiate. It's not that the Collegiate did not produce good sportsmen. Pradip Mondal, Buro Pal and Prasanta Dutta were some of the famous names - few years’ seniors to us – who’d represented the Hooghly District in cricket and football even while they were in school. Quite a feat in those days when tapping young talents from school and allowing them to perform at a district level was not the order of the day. Things have changed since.

      Chinsurah boasted of four reasonably big playgrounds right at the hub of the town, big enough to host serious football, hockey and cricket tournaments. They were known as the Chinsurah Maidans. The district-level matches in all three disciplines were regularly hosted in these maidans. The grounds were very close - less than ten minute's leisurely walk - from the city centre which was famous for a tower clock built in 1914 by the British in honour of Edward VII. Later I came across similar tower clocks - or ghanta ghars- in many city centres in India. 

      With the maidans, came the clubs. Chinsurah had quite a number of clubs which fielded teams in football, hockey and cricket. The Town Club, The Woodburn Club, The Union Athletic Club, The National Club, Burrabazar Club, Khelaghar, Sporting Union were the prominent ones. We, unlike the present generation, had the good fortune of growing up in a sporting environment.

      The maidans which hosted serious sporting activities during the day became venues for chit-chatters after sundown. Small groups consisting anything between three to fifteen guys - always guys, never girls - sitting in circles cordoned off by their bicycles, munching peanuts or snacking on ghoognis and alu-kablis and discussing anything and everything under the sun. These were known as the addas. Almost every one of us had enrolled ourselves in one of those adda groups. Those who didn't, were 'good boys', whose lives centred around their studies and obeying their parents. 

      Our discussion-session or addas (I am yet to find an exact English word for adda – even the English couldn’t find one – so they eventually included this in the Oxford Dictionary in 2004) bordered around sports, politics and girls - not necessarily in that order. We learnt to smoke cigarettes and bidis in the course of these addas. Those who refused were considered sissies. 

      Our adda group consisted of Naru, Mamu, Kundu, Subho - who, despite being a non-Collegiateian somehow got into this group - Arup, Hono, Prabir, I and a few others. Somehow, Arup and I managed to stay off cigarettes, yet managed to stave off the sissy labels. However, we were equally vocal when it came to throwing expletives and describing girls - particularly those with attractive anatomies.

      I think it's time I mentioned, that Chinsurah, apart from having good ‘boys-only’ schools also boasted of good ‘girls-only’ schools. Balika Bani Mandir and Binodini Girls High School were amongst the famous ones. Coed schools, those days (the sixties and seventies) in a suburban town, was a rarity. My first school, The Auxilium Convent, a missionary school located in Bandel, allowed coed only until the fourth standard. The school authorities probably thought it was a big risk to keep boys beyond the fourth standard, so I was forced to seek admission into the Hooghly Collegiate to continue my studies! 

      Our chief modes of communication was bicycles. And for those who did not own a bicycle, it was walking. I, for instance, walked to school from my home and back, for I did not own a bicycle until I went to the tenth standard, which by Chinsurah standards was way past the time for boys using a bicycle for commuting.

      Shibu was a fellow student in our class but not a member of our core group of adda. One day Shibu came to school on a spanking new Raliegh bicycle. So, naturally, he - or should I say his new bicycle - became the cynosure of all attraction. Those who already owned a bicycle tried on Shibu's new machine. Shibu was very choosy and careful in letting a trial on his bicycle only to those whom he considered was competent enough. Even though I knew how to ride a bicycle, Shibu had never seen me ride one, simply because I didn’t own one. Therefore i was rendered incompetent even without a trial!

    Every one of the selected few who took the new bicycle for a spin was unanimous in their appreciation for the machine. It was a very contemporary design. There was a headlight operating on a dynamo that rotated with the friction of the rear wheel. Also, Shibu had decorated his Raliegh bicycle very attractively with a velvety seat cover, a green serrated plastic coating on the brake levers, soft grips on the handlebar, pedal covers, a nice carrier with a spring latch and even a battery-operated horn which looked like a mini aircraft engine fitted on the handlebar. Upon pressing a button, a shrill sound emanated from the electric horn, which, at that time, thrilled us all end up. Shibu was particularly protective about this fancy gadget on his bicycle. There were strict instructions for those who tried his bike not to use the horn. While they could use the conventional mechanical bell, the electric horn was a no-no. And those who dared to flout his instructions fell out of his favoured group in a matter of seconds. Only he had the exclusive right to use the electric beep!

     Shibu's bicycle occupied my mind for the rest of the day, in fact, the week, or perhaps the month. My pestering Dadu (Maternal Grandpa) for a bicycle increased with renewed vigour. Grandpa, somehow, felt that it was unsafe for kids of my age - I was in the ninth standard then - to ride a bicycle. So he found one excuse or the other to avoid my demand...

   "You don't need a bicycle; the school is only a couple of kilometres away. When we were kids we walked tens of kilometres to our schools. Why we even had to swim during monsoons.” - He said. Dadu had this habit of comparing his childhood with mine at every possible opportunity. I had a feeling that sometimes he actually looked for a chance to talk about his childhood travails to make us aware on how fortunate we were to have been born as his grandchildren!

    "But all my friends have bicycles Dadu, nothing happens to them."

    "Accident happen only once, boy. And, God forbid, if it happens, I will have to rue my decision all my life. No, no... Besides, walking is good exercise."

    "Even bicycling is good exercise."

    "Walking is better. Running, walking - all very good sports."

    "Even cycling is, Dadu. There are so many events on bicycling at the Olympics."

   "Oh, those are different bicycles, meant for competitive sport. Did you see how the buses ply on the route to your school? Moving monsters!"

     Now there was only one bus - Bus Number 1 - which operated in the route between Chinsurah railway station and the Chinsurah court. They were nothing more than tin jalopies with cramped seats that tended to slide forwards with the vibration. Refurbished old diesel engines drove the rickety chassis which huffed and puffed to attain a peak speed of 40 kmph. These buses, I am sure, were found only in Chinsurah and nowhere else. Not even in Ethiopia or Timbuktu do they use such buses, I was sure. And Dadu viewed them as moving monsters!

    "Ok, I promise I will alight my cycle, stand quietly on one side of the road and allow the bus to cross, before I mount my bike again."

    "No, no ... Bicycles are used by ruffians; vagabond boys with no future" - Dadu conveniently changed the track - "I cannot allow that to happen to you."

    "Oh Dadu, Rahul, our topper, son of your revered friend Guha Sahib, also come to school on a bike. He's no ruffian."

     "He may be an exception. I am well aware, these school going kids cut classes and go for movies to as far as Bandel and Triveni on their bicycles. They even learn to smoke."

    "You think I belong to that class, Dadu?" - I did my best to pull off an innocent face, even though I knew that I was not being truthful. I'd already tasted the forbidden fruit of cutting classes for movies.

      However, all my efforts to coax and cajole Dadu were to no avail. He remained steadfast in his decision of not allowing me to have my own bicycle. And now, after seeing Shibu's new bike, my frustrations hit the sky. So much so, I started to sulk.

     In the locality where we grew, there were two groups; one boys' group and the one girls'. My locality friends circle was different than the school friends circle. We always considered the girls' group as our rivals and vice versa. I will not go into those details here for that is an altogether different story. My sister, three years younger to me, belonged to the girls' group. By virtue of staying in the same locality, we knew all the girls in the group. The girls, rivalries apart - we fought for our rights on the only playground, fought over picnics, fought over scores of other things - were also our friends. Goirika was my childhood friend from that group. She, however, was senior to my sis and studied in the same standard in the Balika Bani Mandir as I. 

     Paromita was Goirika's friend who visited her place pretty frequently. They were the best of chums. Paromita was fair looking lass with large doe eyes and long flowing hair, which she seldom let loose. She tied her hair neatly in twin plaited braids with red ribbons tied in bows at the ends. She was coy and pretty.

     After Shibu got his bicycle, his biking around, as if to prove my Dadu's observations on boys-on-bikes, multiplied. He started finding excuses to visit places so that he can flaunt his bicycle. One evening he came to my place to fetch a storybook. Swapan Kumar's detective novels were much in demand in those days. No sooner one hit the stand than we got into a competition to devour it. I was an avid reader and collector of Swapan Kumar. He borrowed the latest Swapan Kumar from me after which I escorted him downstairs to where his military green Raliegh bicycle was parked. As we were scampering down, Goirika accompanied by Paromita were climbing up. In an instant, Shibu was mesmerized by Paromita! He was dumbstruck.

      Downstairs, as I was admiring the beauty of the shiny green bicycle, Shibu asked,

     "Who's that girl?"

     "Which one?"

     "The fair one, with big eyes and twin braids."

     "Lovely bike you have, Shibu." - I was so engrossed with the machine that I did not pay any heed to what Shibu was after, as I patted the bicycle gently on its seat.

     "Arre, bol na. The fair girl, do you know her?"

     "Oh, that one. Well, of course, my sister's friend's friend."

    "She's a student of Balika Bani Mandir. Seen her a couple of times near the maidan. I guess she lives somewhere nearby. How well do you know her?"

    "Hmmm ... Little bit. She keeps coming to our place." Now that was a lie. While I knew her by face and also knew her name, she'd never come to our home before. “Where did you purchase this electric hooter from? I’ve never seen anything like this before." – I asked.

     "Why don't you introduce her to me? When is she coming next to your place?"

     "How am I to know?"

     "Then find out na, from your sis."

     "She's not a direct friend of my sis, I already told you that."

     "Then ask your sister's friend. The day she comes I’ll make sure I am at your place too. We will make this look coincidental. How's the idea buddy?"

    "You wash and wipe this bicycle every day, don't you? It's so shiny. I bet you also apply some polishing agent." 

    "Arre behen***t, I am asking you for something and you have your mind on my bike. You wanna try this out?" 

    "Sure, certainly, Shibu. Rest assured, I won't go too far..."

     From that day on, Shibu's sparkling new Raleigh became mine, at least during the evenings, when we went to the maidan to where Paromita lived...

     I had to confess to Shibu that it was impossible for me to find out Paromita’s calendar. But he was desperate. On his insistence, I found out through Goirika where Paromita lived. To my surprise, I found that Shibu's hunch turned out to be pretty accurate. She lived in a lane called Chata Galli at the Southern end of the first of the three maidans. Every evening after school, Shibu and I went there. Shibu loitered in and out the lane hoping to catch a glimpse of Paromita, while I utilized the time to take spins on Shibu's Raliegh...

     Paromita lived in a single-story house (those days the concept of apartments was very novel) which had a terrace. Occasionally, she appeared on the terrace to have a look around the world. Shibu waited for these moments - like a kingfisher waiting for its prey. And if in the event he did manage to see her, he became ecstatic. Excitedly he described every little detail of what she did during her visit to the terrace. That she noticed Shibu and sent covert and silent messages through her eyes, which I suppose was nothing but figments of Shibu’s imaginations, never went unnoticed by poor Shibu. I had to listen to all those descriptions patiently, and advice Shibu to buck up with his advances. I knew that that was the only way I could prolong my exploitation of Shibu's bicycle.

     My trysts in the evenings with Shibu (and Paromita, I dare say) posed another problem with my core friend's group adda, to which I was the founder member and a regular attendee for so long. Mamu, who was my best friend with whom I shared all – well almost all – my thoughts were particularly bothered by my prolonged absences.

     One day, as Shibu and I rode to the maidan, Mamu accosted me.

     "Why don't you join our evening adda?" - Mamu was very straight in his approach.

I looked at Shibu and instantly realized that I was not allowed to disclose the secret. As I was trying to cook up a plausible reply, Shibu said, rather harshly,

    "None of your f*****g business buddy."

    Mamu did not expect such a sharp reaction. However, he kept his calm and pointing at me, said, "I'm not asking you. I'm asking him."

   "Look Mamu, you better excuse us during the evenings" - I said - "there are other businesses to be attended."

   "Hmmm..." Mamu was circumspect ... "Businesses ... don’t I know which businesses you are referring to…?"

   "Ya, you can mingle with me during the day, no issues, but you will have to leave us alone in the evenings" - I blurted out.

   Mamu was hurt, immensely hurt. I could see the first signs of crack develop in our friendships. I wished he'd argued his stand, but to my chagrin, he didn't. He just turned his bicycle and rode off to where my old adda group was sitting.

    Soon, I became a pariah in my adda group. I did not know what Mamu reported to others in the group, but I understood that after my meeting with Mamu, I was being willfully avoided by all my friends from the group. One evening I even decided to sacrifice my appointment with Shibu and attend my old adda. I was cold-shouldered. Nobody asked where I was or what I did for all these days. Nobody spoke to me. All my attempts to start a discussion were snubbed without much ado. My friends ignored me to a point as if I was non-existent. I felt miserable, humiliated and frustrated. I was not used to such apathy. Also, I was one of the founder members of the group, and there I was cold-shouldered by my own friends! And all because of Shibu and his obsession for that girl – Paromita?

      Angry with everyone in my group, including myself, I chose to stay at home during the evening for the next few days. Shibu came once or twice asking to accompany him to his trysting place, I avoided by feigning ill health. After about a week Goirika came to our home. First I thought she, like always, came to my sis. But soon I realised that it was me she was looking for. Deftly avoiding my sister’s eyes, she gave me a folded piece of paper and whispered me to not to share this with anyone.

     “She said she'll visit you soon” – Goirika whispered in a hurry and left.

    Bewildered, I came to my room and opened the folded paper. It was a letter – from Paromita! In a typically roundish girly hand, she scripted, what can safely be labelled as a love letter!

     Dear Topu,

     Why don't I see you these days with your friend? Are you okay?

    I don't know why, but ever since I saw you at the staircase of your home, I could never keep you out of my mind. And within a few days, I spotted you with your friend at Chata Galli, which I thought was Godsend. And then when you kept coming every day I was convinced that even the Gods wanted us to be with each other. I know you are a very shy and sober person. That's why you always dropped your friend and disappeared with the bicycle, only to come back after half an hour or so, while your friend waited there and smoked.

    Say what, I also like your bicycle. I like the colour, the shine, the way you decorated it, your style of mounting on it and zooming off. I’d like to imagine myself on the carrier behind you. I too know how to ride a bike, learnt it last summer when I went to Asansol to my mamabari[1]. I wish one of these days you and I take a ride somewhere on your bicycle.

    Your friend is a lousy guy; I don’t like him at all. He smokes at such a young age, wasting his father’s money. He's one of the typically ogling male specimen, whose only business is to keep staring at girls. But I know you are not like that. I found out from Goirika, you do not have such bad habits. And you also do not have any girlfriend. She told me you are also a very good student. I am very weak in science subjects; would you help me with my maths if I asked?

    I wish you came to Chata Galli alone in the evenings. For the past week, every evening my eyes thirstily looked for you but to no avail. I wonder what has happened to you. If I do not see you in the next three-four days, I am going to come to your place with Goirika.

    I am going to come to your place with Goirika, anyway.

    I keep thinking about you all the time. Do I fill in your thoughts also? Tell na. I know, the shy person that you are, you can never tell. So write a letter and send it through Goirika. It's easy to write than to talk of such things.

    Keep dreaming of me.

    Lovingly yours,

                Paromita.

     I was completely zapped. How does one react to such situations? I wasn’t sure if she fell for me or Shibu’s bike! Or was it the combination of me on Shibu’s bike? Would she accept me if she were to know that Shibu, not me, is the rightful owner of the bicycle? For sure, her fantasy of riding off with me on Shibu’s bike shall forever remain a pipe dream.

    I felt numbness in my fingers. My ears were tingling. Soon, they turned red hot – much the same feeling when last year Shambhu-Babu, our Chemistry teacher, squeezed my ears in punishment for helping my friend in a class test! I did not like the feeling then, and I wasn't liking the feeling now.

I longed to get back to my adda. I longed for my acceptance from Naru, Arup, Mamu, Prabir, Kundu, Hono, Subho and others... Unconditional acceptance. But I wasn't quite sure how was I going to fill the invisible chasm that was created between them and I. I thought and thought and at last decided that the best way to do this was through transparent communication.

     Next day was a Sunday. Early morning I went to Mamu’s place. If he was taken a little aback by this, he did well not to show any emotion. He allowed me in but was totally emotionless, answering me only in monosyllables.

    I wished he asked me what made me visit him, but he cannily avoided that. Finally, I could bear no more.

    “I'm sorry yaar” – I blurted out.

    “Sorry, why? You did no wrong?”

   “Come on, you don't have to be so sarcastic. I misbehaved with you the other day.”

    “Hmmm…”

   “What hmmm … Am I forgiven? Say na, am I? I came to you so early in the morning to seek your forgiveness, but you are not relenting. This is unfair.”

     Mamu’s face broke into a quizzical grin. Then he spoke,

   “Come straight bachchu. Now you are talking. Now you know, how it feels to be snubbed by friends; friends who stood by you through thick and thin whom you ditched for a girl!

     I just stayed quiet, guilt writ large on my face.

   “Amazing how girls mesmerizes the guys. So much so, they even start ignoring their trusted friends. They start behaving like retards, chutias. Honestly, we never thought you too would be bewitched by a girl. But we were wrong. She made a chutia out of you too.”

    “Am I forgiven?”

   “Of course, yaar. We are friends after all. Thank God good sense prevailed on you at last. It was that Chata Galli chick, wasn't it?”

     I kept quiet for a while, swung my head a few times from right to left and then said, meekly,

     “It was the bicycle dammit…”

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[1] Maternal uncle’s place.