My CycleI am standing near the main gate of our small house and making invisible drawings on the wall with my fingers as I watch my friends riding their beautiful bicycles in our lane. I close my eyes for a second and imagine myself riding my own bicycle.

One day I believe that I will have my own cycle and I will be the happiest person of the world. I can bear no longer watching other people enjoying and go inside. I go to my mother and tell her that I will work hard and earn a lot of money and will buy a very beautiful bicycle for me. My mother laughs at me and shakes her head and tells me that if you will earn a lot of money, then you would not want to buy a bicycle, you would want to buy a motor car. I am not convinced by her comment and think that if I want to ride a bicycle, why I would buy a car.

I have got a small wooden box. It has got so many coins. I know, one day when this box would be full with more coins, then, I will be able to get my bicycle. I go to my baba and ask him, how much coins would be needed to be filled in the box to get a bicycle. He also laughs away and says for bicycle I would not need coins but I would need notes. I roll my eyes in surprise and reply him saying that my box would not fill with notes, they take less space. He replies back saying notes carry more worth. I am puzzled. Things that take less space carry more worth?

We have a small house with two rooms and a small yard. In the yard, we park my baba’s cycle with three tyres. We call it a cycle rickshaw. Maybe when I will grow up and I do not get my own cycle, I can ride this rickshaw. But I am scared of saying this to anyone. I said it once to my mother and she slapped me. I cried a lot. Girls do not ride rickshaw, they sit on the backseat. Baba sometimes tells us stories of people who sit on his rickshaw. If I have my own cycle I will not want it to share with so many people. I do not understand why Baba lets so many different people sit on his rickshaw. But when I say this, he again laughs and says different people sit on his rickshaw; that is how I get those coins to fill my small wooden box.

I am looking at this box in my hand and picturing those faceless people who sit on Baba’s rickshaw. I blink and the image changes. I silently wish that someday I will have this box filled with coins and then I will ride my cycle and will be the happiest person.

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