After completing upper primary education in my village in 1965, I went to the adjacent town of Kallidaikurichi (located in Tamil Nadu’s Tirunelveli district), about 5 kilometres away, to continue my education from the ninth standard.
For few months, it was all walk. I had to walk to school. And return home from school by walk.
Trekking to school was no easy task. So I began exerting pressure on my father through the proper channel—my mother.
My adamancy and tears did not fructify initially. Owning a bicycle was not an easy thing those days. But finally, the parents of my bicycle-owning friends intervened and made it happen; my father gave in to make me a ‘vehicle-owner’.
The price of a green Atlas’s bicycle was then `310. With `500 hidden safely in a piece of cloth tucked into my trouser pocket, I proceeded to Tenkasi, some 50 kilometres away, with the extremely happy thought of soon becoming the proud owner of a bicycle.
My Atlas became my precious asset. I rode all the way back to my village, proudly perched on its saddle, just like an uncrowned king on his chariot. All my friends gave my brand new attraction a warm reception at the village entrance.
My classmates were amused on seeing my ‘new ally’. Some asked me about its price, some spoke highly about its features and some even suggested some extra fittings.
My bicycle was parked in the school premises in such a way that I could peep through my classroom window and see if any mischief was caused to my precious possession.
I would spend at least half an hour every day—after waking up as well as before going to bed—looking at my bicycle sporting its majestic and elegant look. No doubt, it was my pride.
My father could convert my dream into reality, but not before running from pillar to post and knocking at the doors of his friends to procure `500. While it may look a trivial sum these days, it was something beyond the reach of a middle-class family back in those days.
As a father, I had felt immense pain, even in 1988, over my inability to satisfy my children with ordinary dresses even for Deepavali.
I finally realised the travails my father would have undergone to get me a cycle. But alas, he was no more!
Dear Dad! I revere you, I bow before you!