The Bicycle Ride
View(s):
When I was a primary grader in a girl’s school Down South, my father taught in its boy’s school on the opposite side of the road. He hired a car to take me home from school regularly, but he himself rode a bicycle.
It was not that I did not appreciate the comfort of travelling home in a car, but I secretely nursed a longing to ride on the back of my father’s bicycle.
Every afternoon, he came out of his school to hand me over into the car, but it seemed to me that the world was my father’s oyster when he rode through the busy streets.
One noon, he was at hand at usual to place me in the car. Mute with emotion, a struggled against getting in with all my might, much to the astonishment of the other girls. No amount of cajoling or coaxing could get me to sit in the car. Finally my father gave up trying and resigned himself to the fact that I craved for a ride on his bicycle.
The experience was sheer elation. As I rode through the open spaces of the vast bustling city, vistas seemed to open up before me. My bobbed hair danced in the wind. My short skirt billowed. I had never felt such liberation before. I sat as cheery as a monkey, gobbling up the passing scenes and uncaring of the dust clouds springing up on either side, focussing only on the immense freedom the ride accorded. Half way home, we stopped at my uncle’s shop for a chat, and I had the joy of devouring an ice palam.
“She didn’t want to come in the car,” my father told my mother on arriving home. “She can’t do that everyday.”
Next afternoon, I was forced to get into the car. My father was taking no chnaces with me again.
“She can’t resist the sight of a bicycle. It’s like pushing a duck to water,” the girls teased.
But I did not mind. I had had my little fling and had relished it to the hilt. Other chances might crop up in the future. For the time being, I was content to wait.
K Liyanage
| This story captures succintly the gender roles of a country in a light-hearted and vibrant way.Please send in your Flash Fiction contributions to Flash Fiction, Madhubashini Dissanayake-Ratnayake, C/o The Sunday Times, No. 8, Hunupitiya Cross Road, Colombo 2 N.B. Work sent to this page may be edited. |