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so, this would be Manu’s first attempt in it. “Are you sure you
can win it?” said Samar dubiously. The older boys were not only
stronger but had better cycles. Manu still pottered around on a red
Hero Jet that had turned orange with age. Manu’s wedged eyebrow
said, “What do you mean?” and Samar hurriedly conceded: “Of course,
you are a very good cyclist and there’s none better than you in our
class, or in the other section”. And when Manu didn’t seem
satisfied with this praise, Samar added, “It’s not about cycles, I
am sure, what matters is the rider”.
    “Yes,” said Manu
coldly.
    He waited for the
games period, and that day, to everybody’s surprise, he was the
first one to reach the field. “Jacob Sir,” he ran shouting, and as
soon as he reached the games teacher, he asked him to enter his
name for the cycle race. “Manu, that’s not athletics,” sir told
him, “you should take part in the 100-metres at least. Can’t you
run for a few seconds? C’mon man, what are you?” Manu took the
rebuke with a smile although his heart revolted at the suggestion
and his mind told him that the dash would leave his lazy legs
aching and he would be in no shape to cycle fast after that. But he
couldn’t say no to a teacher, and so, his name went into two
columns: 100-metre dash and cycle race.
    ***

9. Not The
Best Cycle
    Manu didn’t
doubt he was the fastest cyclist in the junior group, but about his
cycle he wasn’t so sure. It was an old, sturdy thing handed down by
his elder sister. It wasn’t even a boy’s cycle really because it
didn’t have a triangular frame, but then he loved it because he had
learned to cycle on it. It could go pretty fast when he wanted it
to, and it could balance at a standstill when they were playing
dogfights. He certainly wasn’t embarrassed to ride it, but some of
its parts were not to his liking. For instance, the boxy stand. All
his friends had side-stands on their bikes. And he wished the
handlebar had been straight or the drop-down type like on the
racing cycles. But there was no point quibbling about it because he
had spoken to the cycle mechanic many times and he had said
changing the handlebar would also require a change of brakes, and
the operation would cost quite a bit.
    That afternoon,
Manu rode his cycle home gently. He listened for every sound, every
creak, every rattle. He observed every false movement, every wobble
of the handlebar and every jerk of the pedal. Most of all, he
looked out for a wavy motion of the front wheel. The brakes were a
bit soft, he thought after he had speeded up and applied them with
all his strength. The skid marks were too short. “What’s with you,
why can’t you cycle at a steady pace?” his friend Sharad asked
crossly. Sharad was a year older but they lived in the same campus
and had been best friends since they were shy little boys.
“Nothing, nothing, my cycle needs repairing,” said Manu, careful
not to say too much because Sharad would be in the race, too, and
he had a sports cycle.
    Manu was very
quiet at the table, and his mother remarked on it. “Did you fight
in the class?” she said. A silent sideways shake of the head. “Are
you unwell?” The same motion. “Did a teacher scold you?” Silence.
“Do you want anything?” Silence. Ma went to her room and lay down
for a nap. “Ma,” Manu yelled, now that he wasn’t getting any
attention. “What?” she said. “Can I have 100 rupees in the
evening?”
    “Why?”
    “I have to get my
cycle fixed for the sports day race.”
    “Ask your
papa.”
    “But it will be
dark by the time he comes. I have to practise.”
    “It can wait for a
day.”
    “Humph,” said
Manu, “I am not hungry”.
    But Ma didn’t
reply so he finished his lunch quietly and after popping a large
spoonful of Bournvita (which he wasn’t allowed to do) he slipped
out of the house quietly with pen and paper. This is what he
wrote:
    1) Wheel rims need
straightening. 2) Many