ANAMIKA

'(The Blog) With No Name', perhaps best described as a stream of notes and thoughts - 'remembered, recovered and (sometimes) invented'.

Friday, November 30, 2007

The Cyclist, Again

I have not been cycling much of late. However, there have been two postable events last week. Here goes...

1. I need to deliver a package at a friend's home. I enter his 'society', reach his block and look for a place to put my bicycle in the ground-floor parking area. I see a parking slot which has no name written, no car and has half a dozen two wheelers. I lock my bicycle in a corner there.

"Hey what are you doing?" I hear a stern question and look up. "What do you want?" it is an 8-10 year old chap staring at me.

"Got to meet Mr. XXXX, Xth floor" I answer.

"That's okay, but why are you putting your bike here? It is our area!". I look for the name board again to confirm his claim when he says. "Hey, what are you looking for. It is our area! Still in doubt?"

I weigh my options quickly in my mind, conclude I have none and say: "Fine. Let me leave the bike here for five minutes. It is only a five minute job upstairs."

"Okay!" he agrees. I turn towards the stairs when his voice rises again. "Yes, five minutes, okay?!"

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2. I pull over to a mall+multiplex to watch a film. No visible parking area for bicycles. In a corner of the compound, some bicycles stand crowded together. A smart-looking guard stands nearby. I ask him: "I came for a film. Can I put the bike somewhere here?" The response is: "How do I know... Put it somewhere!" ("Kya maloom? ... Lagao!" in Hindi). I am not satisfied and so I ask him: "But, are you not a security officer for the multiplex?". He says, monosyllably: "No!". I give up and sqeeze my hapless bike into a gap among the others.

A couple of hours later, I return. The guard is still around. As I pull out my bike, he asks: "What is the time?" I readily take out my cell from the pocket. It has been off. I switch it on and read the time. Then, I silently put it right back in the pocket and pedal off.

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