It is a cloudy and breezy day – a perfect day in my opinion to get my first two-wheeler.

My thoughts stray to the first two-wheeler that I have ever rode on – my father’s scooter. Papa named it Rampyaari.

Wistful nostalgia strikes me hard.

Since as long as I can remember, the scooter had been an integral part of my family. Papa had brought it when I was seven years old. My earliest memories are of hearing the sound of the scooter arriving and dashing to open the door, eager and excited that Papa had returned home. I would open the door and grin at Papa who would greet me exuberantly. Some days, when Papa came home early, he would take me for a ride. It wouldn’t be very far, just to the shop at the end of the lane. Depending on the season, I would be either treated to ice-cream or some edibles from the grocery shop. These make for some of the happiest memories of my childhood.

However, Rampyaari wasn’t always a harbinger of happiness. As I grew into a teenager, I suddenly found myself scared of Papa, who seemed stricter and unapproachable. The sound of Rampyaari in the evenings no longer brought happiness. Rather it brought a sense of dread that Papa had returned home. I would immediately rush to the bedroom and close the door while taking my books and pretending to do either homework or studying. Sure enough, Papa would open the door and peek inside to verify that I was studying.

By the time I completed my studies and got a job, Rampyaari had started showing signs of having reached its peak usage. No matter how long it took to start the scooter, or how many times it broke down, Papa refused to give up on it.

One particular incident is etched deeply in my mind. That day Papa had insisted on dropping me off to work. Rampyaari broke down in front of an auto-rickshaw stand and didn’t start in spite of several attempts. I could hear the auto-drivers making fun of the scooter. Oh, the embarrassment I had felt then! It was bad enough that at twenty-two years of age, I was being taken on a ride by my father. Add to it, Rampyaari’s stubborn refusal to start and I had just about had it. In a low voice, Papa had told me to hire an auto for work while he worked on his scooter.

That day, I had cursed Rampyaari and wished that Papa would soon buy a new scooter and get rid of his old one.

My wish did come true but partially, and not in the way I had imagined. Papa developed a heart-condition wherein he could not move his left hand freely. It was a wake-up call for him and he retired from work. Since he could no longer ride, he decided to finally give Rampyaari away.

I still remember that day. In the morning, while leaving for work, I had gazed at the scooter giving it no second thought. By the time I returned home, the scooter was gone. Rampyaari had silently exited from my life, not even giving me a chance to say goodbye.

I inhale deeply as I reach the automotive center. It is time for new beginnings. I am going to buy my first ever two-wheeler!

---@@@---

“Papa, come outside. Our new ride is here.” I call out, feeling both excited and nervous.

Few seconds later, Papa walks out. His eyes widen in shock when he sees my new two-wheeler. He walks towards me as if in a trance.

“Manav, you were going to get a bike…” He says, sounding awed.

“Nah. I decided to bring Rampyaari home.” I say, watching in silent emotion as Papa runs his hands reverentially over the scooter which has Rampyaari’s blue shade. The make is different, and yet one look at it reminded me of the one I have rode on for most of my life.

Papa laughs in delight as he sees the sticker displayed on the side of the scooter. Rampyaari.

“Want to go for a ride?” I ask, gulping down my emotions as I see Papa wipe his eyes. He gives a shaky laugh and nods.

As we set off on our first ride, I can feel the years fade away. For a brief moment, my childhood returns. I, Papa and Rampyaari again, like it always has been.