Daily writing prompt

Describe an item you were incredibly attached to as a youth. What became of it?

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I was 10 when we shifted to our own house. Along with the joy of owning a house, fairly bigger than where we stayed as tenants, came the joy of inheriting the bicycle of my father. He had to abandon the bicycle as the distance from his office to this new house increased manifold and he dropped the plan of cycling to the office anymore.

The first task for me was to learn to ride the cycle. My height didn’t allow me to sit on the saddle and paddle. It didn’t reach the paddle. I learned the balancing by a method popularly known as ‘Kanchi’, translated as ‘scissor’.

What you do is: you don’t sit on the saddle but put the right leg through the frame of the cycle to reach to paddle on the right side of the cycle. Adjust the paddle with the right leg and ascend on the cycle by quickly putting the left leg on the left paddle. Hold the handle tight with the left hand and the right hand on the rod of the frame and keep cycling.

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It was tough, but we were kids. I used to be accompanied by my friend who stayed next door. Soon we abandoned this style and graduated to ride the cycle ‘properly’. With the onset of adolescent, both my height and mustache grew.

Now, I was the sole owner of the bicycle. The creator in me rose. It was a traditional Hercules bicycle of 1960s. Meanwhile I saw young boys riding what used to be a ‘racing cycle’ with the designer handle bars and brakes connected with wires.

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I wanted my cycle to look different, and awesome. I painted the black cycle into multi-colored Zebra stripes. It did attract attention of the passersby. But I still did not like the handlebar. I went to my favorite cycle shop asking for solution. In those days, we were shy to ask our parents for money. We thought it was a useless expenditure and my father would not give a penny, and rather I will get a scolding.

The shopkeeper was smart. He inserted a rod and twisted the handle downwards to give it the shape of the handle of a racing bike. We removed the original braking system and replaced it with a wired system.

My cycle now looked unique. I was the proud owner of a hybrid racing bike. It gave me the courage to race with trucks and buses, for which my father used to receive complaints from the neighbors. But that bike was my ‘hero’.

I gifted it to the washerman, who used to wash our clothes. He changed the handle and braking system to the original system. My coveted bike lost the sheen as it changed hands.

I was somewhat pleased to note that as it was no longer the ‘hero I rode’.