“Vrooommm….” was my favorite buzzword in the 1970s. I was a 14-year-old kid living in the beautiful city of Madras. The coastal metropolitan city was also growing into a hub of business, culture, and other activities and coming of age just like me. The roads saw more scooters every day and for a young boy that vroom sound the throttle made was not noise, but music.

I longed to be a pillion rider on a scooter. The bliss of the wind on your face and the way you held on to your dad as the city scenery just blurred past you were invaluable. I often daydream of me standing in the front as my dad rode it, with my finger on the horn ready to honk and shoo anyone out of our way. My special moment of the daydream was when my dad rode the scooter under a subway and I would honk when we were right under it, as the horn made an even louder noise in the closed space.

My daydream was interrupted by my mother calling out my name, “Kanna…. Come here soon and see this.” Has the scooter arrived, I thought? Is that why my mom wanted me to rush and come? I bounded down the stairs from the first floor and went with all excitement to see what it was. I was running towards the door when I heard a tinkling of a bell. Automatically my run slowed to a walk, and I almost stopped. What’s that tinkling bell sound?

My mom who was standing at the door turned and looked at me. “Come and see what Dad has done.”  

I closed my eyes and imagined my dad perched on a shiny bicycle. My heart broke and my dreams came crashing down. It was the end of the world, the apocalypse. I wanted the ground beneath me to open and for me to be swallowed by the Earth.

My mom who was beaming said, “He has serviced and painted the bi-cycle and it looks so amazing and new. There is a new bell and decorations as well. The carrier in the back which you complain is hard on your back, has been fitted with cushion now. There are two mirrors too. Now you can face one mirror towards yourself and admire yourself during the ride. Isn’t that amazing? Aren’t you happy?”

I was so aghast at looking at her so happy for a serviced bicycle. New bell…? My foot! Who wants a new bell and what difference is it going to make against the horn sound from the scooters on the road? New decorations…ha-ha, I could laugh at it. Those colourful things on the handlebar and the hub rotating along with the wheel aren't going to make me happy. I am 14 years, not 4 I wanted to tell my mom. A cushion on the carrier. Everyone is going to laugh at me. It is not a cycle; it is a wannabe scooter which is a cycle.

For the 14-year-old me, the world had stopped turning in that second. If my dad had spent so much on the cycle, I am sure the scooter is a distant dream now. I couldn’t take another step forward. I was lost in thought. Tring, Tring, the bell sound brought be back from my thoughts.

“Kanna, come here and see. You dad is waiting.” As I was walking towards the door, my mom continued “The blue colour is too good and pleasing to see.”

My heart stopped. A blue colour cycle being ridden by a grown adult man. My dad has been watching too many Eastman colour movies at the theatre I thought to myself.

I reached the door with the worst expression of disgust on my face and walked out the door. There was a shiny new scooter parked outside our door. My dad was standing next to it with a cycle bell in hand and an expression of Got you!!on his face.

My face had a mixture of surprise, joy, glee, and a big smile. I could hear my mother laughing at their well-made ruse to pull a fast one on me.

Let them be happy and laugh at me. That’s ok. My family owns a scooter. I am the winner and on top of the world. I couldn’t wait to get on it and get my hands on that horn. Subways of Madras, Here I come!