Memories

Back in class 4, I got a new cycle. It was my first 'proper' bicycle. No side-wheels, there was a basket and a carrier.
I was still a new resident in my apartment. I had no friends and so my cycle became my companion in the evenings. I would ride everyday. I learnt to ride fast and then progressed to riding by using only one hand. Eventually, I could manouver the cycle with both my hands off the handle.
The cycle is a part of my childhood.
The cycle went through long periods of being locked up in the garage as I grew up. However, I still loved riding it.
I had had it for five years when one fine evening, the security guard told me that he could not see my cycle in the cycle stand.
Stolen.
I was heart broken but nothing was to be done. Being in class nine, my cycling had almost ceased. So, we never got a new one.
At times I would talk about my cycle and feel nostalgic. However, I never rode after that day.
Until today.
I rode my teacher's son's bike. First of all,  I am still great at it. My sense of control, my speed. Everything.
But secondly, it brought back to me all those amazing times that were buried deep in the corners of my mind.
The rush, the excitement, the happiness. I did not want to stop. It felt as though everything was perfect. Not a care in the world.
All from a humble bicycle. Who knew that an axle and a pair of wheels could mean so much to a person?