<p>It saddened me, like some others, to hear about the closure of Atlas Cycles, once a brand synonymous with bicycles in India. Ironically, Atlas announced the shuttering of their iconic brand on June 3, the world bicycle day! What a tragic end for Atlas, I sighed.</p>.<p>Then, in a fit of nostalgia, I was transported back to the ‘70s when my tryst with the humble but reliable bicycle began.</p>.<p>Uphilll or downhill, fast or slow, on smooth or rugged surfaces, the bicycle was a trusted companion for all reasons and all seasons. Those days the bicycle was part of almost every household in Bengaluru and paradoxically enough, the king of the road!</p>.<p>There is an age and time for everything I was told sternly by my<br />parents. But with three cycles at home, the temptation for a ten-year-old to learn cycling in our compound was irresistible when nobody was around. When I was twelve, I sneaked out to<br />ride on our street, but each time I committed the ‘crime’, I got a rap on the knuckles.</p>.<p>When I was a teenager, I ventured beyond our street, ignoring the warnings of my parents, much to their chagrin. Finally, they threw in the towel and when I hit fourteen, they allowed me to go cycling to school. What a liberating moment it was!</p>.<p>That cycle, a black Atlas was a high point at that stage of my life. The road from school to home was never a straight, direct one. It always deviated—to a friend’s house, to the library, to a cricket or hockey match. Often I was chided for reaching home late, even threatened that the cycle would be sold. I took it all in my stride.</p>.<p>I continued cycling with friends all across town in twos and threes, cycling with one hand, at times letting off both hands! We raced as the wind blew in our hair, experiencing a sense of bliss and freedom.</p>.<p>My romance with my cycle lasted until I was 18 when I was lucky to get a faster hand-me-down, a blue moped. Despite that, I continued my affair with the old trusty on and off. A few years hence it was sold off.</p>.<p>Now, decades later, after I heard the news of Atlas’ closure, I dashed to a retailer. To my luck and surprise, there was one Atlas cycle available. I bought it to once again experience the joys of cycling.</p>.<p>And who knows, tomorrow it may well become a museum piece, just like Nobel laureate Amartya Sen’s Atlas that adorns the walls of the Nobel Museum in Sweden.</p>
<p>It saddened me, like some others, to hear about the closure of Atlas Cycles, once a brand synonymous with bicycles in India. Ironically, Atlas announced the shuttering of their iconic brand on June 3, the world bicycle day! What a tragic end for Atlas, I sighed.</p>.<p>Then, in a fit of nostalgia, I was transported back to the ‘70s when my tryst with the humble but reliable bicycle began.</p>.<p>Uphilll or downhill, fast or slow, on smooth or rugged surfaces, the bicycle was a trusted companion for all reasons and all seasons. Those days the bicycle was part of almost every household in Bengaluru and paradoxically enough, the king of the road!</p>.<p>There is an age and time for everything I was told sternly by my<br />parents. But with three cycles at home, the temptation for a ten-year-old to learn cycling in our compound was irresistible when nobody was around. When I was twelve, I sneaked out to<br />ride on our street, but each time I committed the ‘crime’, I got a rap on the knuckles.</p>.<p>When I was a teenager, I ventured beyond our street, ignoring the warnings of my parents, much to their chagrin. Finally, they threw in the towel and when I hit fourteen, they allowed me to go cycling to school. What a liberating moment it was!</p>.<p>That cycle, a black Atlas was a high point at that stage of my life. The road from school to home was never a straight, direct one. It always deviated—to a friend’s house, to the library, to a cricket or hockey match. Often I was chided for reaching home late, even threatened that the cycle would be sold. I took it all in my stride.</p>.<p>I continued cycling with friends all across town in twos and threes, cycling with one hand, at times letting off both hands! We raced as the wind blew in our hair, experiencing a sense of bliss and freedom.</p>.<p>My romance with my cycle lasted until I was 18 when I was lucky to get a faster hand-me-down, a blue moped. Despite that, I continued my affair with the old trusty on and off. A few years hence it was sold off.</p>.<p>Now, decades later, after I heard the news of Atlas’ closure, I dashed to a retailer. To my luck and surprise, there was one Atlas cycle available. I bought it to once again experience the joys of cycling.</p>.<p>And who knows, tomorrow it may well become a museum piece, just like Nobel laureate Amartya Sen’s Atlas that adorns the walls of the Nobel Museum in Sweden.</p>