The front wheel was a foot above the ground, the clutch released, engine revving up, acceleration just enough to keep the it running. The wheel came down in a thud as I managed to balance it and off we zoomed away. No, this is not Ethan Hunt stuff. A few seconds ago, I had just released the clutch of our family scooter – The Bajaj Chetak. After several attempts, I was able to keep the engine on. The hard part was done.

Three times my own weight, taming the Chetak was no mean feat for an eighth grader like me. My father, the master, had endured one more pillion ride as we took off for more driving lessons. He had trained a generation and a half, on those grounds. The familiar junior college ground was our colosseum. Many learners drove here while their masters directed from the side. Only a few brave men, tutored from the rear seat.

After the initial hiccups, we reached the ground to start another grueling day. My work for the session was cut out. The drill was to kick-start (literally) the scooter, hold the clutch, switch from neutral to 1, and then release it, ever so gently! Clutch situation, literally and figuratively. If the Gods came down and offered me a wish, I would most definitely ask for a Chetak without gears. Back in the day, there was just one model, a light moped, Luna, that ran without gears, but it didn’t come with enough power to carry a family.

From an earshot, the master kept prodding, vadiley… melliga… (release… gently..) keeping an alert watch and smiling away as I complained. Melliga vadiley… he kept saying as if it was the easiest thing in the world. It was not a ground exclusively for riders, to be sure. There were cricket matches, sometimes more than one – the seniors at the center and more matches toward the periphery. As long as we practiced on the perimeter, no one cared. You could hear voices from the distance… chalaane do re… circle ke bahar hai… (let him ride… he is outside the circle). If you arrived at the right time,  you could catch a glimpse of cattle heading back home through the grounds. Almost everyone paused the frenzy for a few minutes until the owner goaded the last group of the herd. It seems like we were such an accommodating society back then!

On the fateful day, after the umpteenth try, I released the clutch in a flash! The engine kept running, but nothing else seemed to work. The master approached, he soon knew – both the wires were snapped – the clutch wire and the brake wire. Let’s get it fixed… He signaled to the other side of the ground where a bike repair shop stay put, and was ready to serve people like us. The slight up-hill to the main road ensured I got the taste of pushing the vehicle along. The gentle giant with tiny wheels, felt like a baby elephant that day.

In the next few weeks a series of adventures ensued. Running into a buffalo, driving straight into a water sump, honking, yelling at jaywalkers, snapping more wires, and occasionally getting on my Dad’s nerves. Finally, after a month’s worth of adventures, I managed to master the release of the clutch, ever so gently!

There was no fairytale ending – the only solace was that it ended. Gently does it!