Courtesy: Riyaz Tayyibji
By December 2015, the bicycle had been lying in our spare bedroom for over six months. Its tyres were flat, the chain stiffened with gunk and the seat missing the padding. Its mudguards were warped out of shape, as was the chain guard. It was, all in all, a rust bucket. A close Dutch friend who was staying with us, being from a country obsessed with this form of transport, could not fathom what this derelict piece was doing in the house.
On closer inspection, one could gather that the bike was in frequent use before it had been stored. A piece of card paper had been folded into a homemade gromé to prevent an irritant bracket and the parts it held from vibrating. There were similar instances of jugaad across the bicycle. A nail had been bent to replace the brake stay fastener. Other parts had been wound to the frame with wire. This was all very familiar. Before the days of open economy and cycling trends, cycles were rented by us kids at neighbourhood c