"Are you ready chechi?", my brother yelled from behind. My pink BSA cycle with its little pink basket and a rusted bell was ready to launch. The cycle was pushed all the way up to the steeping ramp extending from the gate, through the empty garage and into the extensive backyard. This was a regular leisure activity every evening after school. After a hot cup of tea and some crispy evening snacks, we would heave our bicycle out into the garden as my grandmother sat watching. She was wary of our every move and would condemn even a minor 'stunt' lest we shall hurt ourselves. So we would feign innocence and wait until she retires for her evening bath. That's when it all began. My brother had his hand on the back of the bicycle, holding it steady. The cycle was touching the gate and my eyes were fixed on the green brick wall denoting the end of the backyard. That's where I should stop. Without a moment's notice, he let go and I was flying in the air. The ramp was a smooth sail until I reached the garage. In my peripheral vision, I saw a flurry of green; red and yellow specks of flowers passed by; the neighbour's cat scurried away at my incoming approach. My adrenaline was sky high and a fresh boost of blood coursed through my veins. I was in for a bumpy ride when I entered the garage. The stones and tiles jolted my bicycle off track but I still held on to make it to the final point. I passed the garage and pedalled into rough soil. There were pits and upturned plants, pointed rocks and earthworms' homes. The green wall was not far away. In the blink of an eye, I collided with the wall and my bicycle was brought to a sudden halt. I felt a bit dizzy from the collision but the whole experience of breezing through the wind was worth it! The tyre left a black mark on the wall- one of many. They were testaments of the many exhilarating rides we had on the bicycle- the smooth sail from the gate to the backyard wall. My memory escapes the last time I rode my pink BSA bicycle, a figment of my childhood. My childhood rushed past like the wind that smothered me during those bicycle rides. But the black tyre marks- they still remain on the wall. Hrithika R II BA English Literature St Teresa's College
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