MY MYSURU CYCLING DAYS of 1970s

Pedalling Through the Past - A Journey on Two Wheels

Learning to ride a bicycle is more than just a struggle for balance; it is the first real taste of freedom a young heart ever feels. In the gentle, sun-drenched streets of 1970s Mysuru, our family bicycle wasn't just metal and rubber—it was a silent witness to our growing years, passed down from brother to brother like a sacred torch of independence. Looking back now, these memories trace my own journey from a shy boy watching from the sidelines to a young man confidently pedalling toward a future of his own, leaving a trail of beautiful milestones across the city of my youth.

Allow me to take you on a journey down memory lane, as I share the nostalgia and cherished experiences of my cycling days throughout the decade of 1970s, a decade where my life was defined by the simple, rhythmic joy of cycling.

My oldest brother had originally bought a bicycle to commute the six-kilometre distance to pursue his Master’s degree at the University of Mysuru. However, the bicycle was kept idle after the completion of his education in the early sixties, as he secured a lecturer’s job in Pune and moved away. After some years, my other older brother, who was then in Pre-University (PUC), started taking the bicycle to the engineering college (NIE) in Mysuru. In the meantime, my immediate older brother also learned to ride, as he was given the opportunity to use it during the evenings. I still vividly recollect how he used to ride through "half-pedalling" in the initial year, as climbing onto the seat and riding was a much tougher task for his height at the time.

Initially, I had no interest in learning to cycle  riding, primarily because a "gent’s bicycle" with its high horizontal bar was quite difficult for a beginner to master. Secondly, the only bicycle in our home was already being constantly used by my two older brothers, leaving little room for me to practice. 

During my PUC days, I had two close friends: Kavi Suresh and B. Sethuram, and we used to attend our classes together. Unfortunately, Kavi Suresh’s family shifted to Hassan after the Second Year PUC examinations in March 1974, which brought an end to our frequent meetings.

My other friend, Sethuram, lived about a mile from my home, and I began visiting him every day during the summer holidays following our final PUC exams. From his home, we would set out for evening walks, a routine that lasted for about a week. During one of these visits, I happened to notice two unused "lady bicycles" kept idle in his house. An idea flashed through my mind: I should learn to cycle on these, as a lady’s bicycle has no crossbar, making it far easier to mount than a gent's model. I suggested to my friend that we bring one out in the evening so we could help each other learn, and he readily agreed, as he also needed a partner to assist him in finding his balance.

Every day I would go to his home, and together we would take the bicycle to the nearby Pavilion grounds to practice. We spent a gruelling fortnight wobbling on our feet just to find our balance and master the art of riding while standing. It took another full week of persistence before we could finally sink into the seat and feel the pure, comfortable joy of pedalling with ease. 

After this breakthrough, we visited the playgrounds regularly to practice our riding skills until we were confident. However, after the vacations ended, I joined college to pursue the three-year degree course of Bachelors in Commerce, and the habit of cycling was almost forgotten until the completion of my final examinations in March 1977.

In the intervening years, Sethuram discontinued his studies to join the Railways and was stationed in Mysuru. Meanwhile, I was in Bangalore pursuing my degree, and my visits to his home became rare, though I maintained contact during festivals and college vacations when I regularly returned to Mysuru. When I permanently moved back to Mysuru in April 1977 to find a job, I noticed the old bicycle in our home had been sitting idle for a couple of years. Since both of my older brothers had moved on to their respective jobs, the bicycle had been completely abandoned.

I decided to take charge and got the bicycle repaired, replacing the worn-out tires and a few other inexpensive parts. I started using this bicycle to navigate Mysuru, albeit without knowing even the most basic traffic rules at the time. Back then, Mysuru’s roads were quiet, with only a few mopeds, a countable number of scooters, and very few Jawa bikes and cars plying the streets. I encountered no problems until I was stopped by a policeman for riding the wrong way down a "one-way" street. The policeman threatened me to teach me a lesson and removed the valve-tube from my tire before letting me go. This left me with no choice but to wheel the bicycle all the way back home.

My regular use of the bicycle did not last long, as I eventually secured a job in a Bank and was posted to Ranebennur in November 1977. That town was small enough that a bicycle wasn't a necessity for daily life. Still, whenever I returned to Mysuru for festivals, I would take the old cycle out to meet my friend Sethuram. We would both set out on our respective bicycles to the market area, spend some time together, and then return to our homes. We even ventured once to ride all the way to Srirangapatna—a distance of about 18 kilometres—and successfully completed the mission, marking a triumphant end to my cycling days.

Looking back, that refurbished bicycle was more than just a mode of transport; it was a companion that witnessed my transition into adulthood. The simple joy of pedalling to Srirangapatna remains one of my fondest memories of shared endurance and friendship. While the pace of life has since accelerated and the quiet roads of Mysuru are now bustling with modern traffic, the lessons of balance learned on the Pavilion grounds stay with me. Even now, when I close my eyes, I can still feel the cool Mysore breeze against my face and the rhythmic hum of those spinning wheels. That humble cycle taught me that no matter how long we stay idle, we always possess the strength to find our balance and move forward again.

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