Paus... rains...
I was cycling back... to house... tired.... rain pouring...
with, what all?- a geared bicycle, raincoat, head cap, helmet, goggles, speedometer (showing less than 9 km/hr speed), small bag specially taken for cycling and what not....
still, tired... dragging....
i approach one of the slum areas, i dislike to travel through it, not because of 'slumness' but the way people look, like I am some decorated moron, a clown huffing to reach home desperately.
I cross it, happily and then turn towards the main road. I have a stretch of about 1/2 a km, which is slight high road, something a dislike further.
suddenly, a skinny bicycle travels parallel with me, with two kids riding it, one on the wheel and the other sitting behind, driving by mouth.
"are chalaa, chalaa... woh paani ka khadda... usme se lele... chalaa"
Kids, wearing a dirty shirt and short, either of it must be of their school's, nothing for the rains, nothing for anything else for that matter. No raincoats, no speedometers, no nothing.
the 'Armstrong' looked at me, grinned, and stated working hard on the pedals. With a blink of an eye, they overtake me and lough out real loud.
"sahi re... mast mara cycle... piche giraya use.... ab aur jor se..."
Armstrong looked back at me, this time grin was replaced by smile... smile of victory...
Me, looking at him, smiling back at him... thinking about the victorious defeat...
I reach the main road... huffing... with a smile on my face.
I was cycling back... to house... tired.... rain pouring...
with, what all?- a geared bicycle, raincoat, head cap, helmet, goggles, speedometer (showing less than 9 km/hr speed), small bag specially taken for cycling and what not....
still, tired... dragging....
i approach one of the slum areas, i dislike to travel through it, not because of 'slumness' but the way people look, like I am some decorated moron, a clown huffing to reach home desperately.
I cross it, happily and then turn towards the main road. I have a stretch of about 1/2 a km, which is slight high road, something a dislike further.
suddenly, a skinny bicycle travels parallel with me, with two kids riding it, one on the wheel and the other sitting behind, driving by mouth.
"are chalaa, chalaa... woh paani ka khadda... usme se lele... chalaa"
Kids, wearing a dirty shirt and short, either of it must be of their school's, nothing for the rains, nothing for anything else for that matter. No raincoats, no speedometers, no nothing.
the 'Armstrong' looked at me, grinned, and stated working hard on the pedals. With a blink of an eye, they overtake me and lough out real loud.
"sahi re... mast mara cycle... piche giraya use.... ab aur jor se..."
Armstrong looked back at me, this time grin was replaced by smile... smile of victory...
Me, looking at him, smiling back at him... thinking about the victorious defeat...
I reach the main road... huffing... with a smile on my face.
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