Page 10 - THE SUNSHINE IN MY COURTYARD FLIP

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Man has progressed. Science has developed. There has been inventions. We have invented fastest
vehicles and rockets. But the joy of either walking or cycling remains excelled. Of all Man‟s
greatest inventions I think, the cycle has been the most remarkable one. A noiseless vehicle,
without any consumption of fuel, hence pollution free, that adds a just a little speed to walking
distances. If a rocket, an airplane, or a train or bus, or a car meets with an accident there is no
chances of survival but if a cycle breaks down only a few recoverable injuries would occur, unless
it happens in one of the busy streets in a town.
The most beautiful thing about a cycle is its sweet tinkling bell unlike those of buses and trains that
pains the ears.

My joys know no bounds when I ride a bicycle. I had owned one in my school days and it was with
me for a decade as one of my regular companion. Generally it made convenient for me to reach
school and tutorials on time. But at other times, I just rode it on, and on! It was a simple escape for
me from my pensive mind in those days. I rode it leisurely in the paths among the paddy fields,
with the stalks of rising paddy from the rest of the world. After a certain distance, I would choose a
place in the open, on the outskirts of my village, sit down or lie on the green grass, staring at the
blue afternoon sky with white clouds slowly floating. This mesmerized me for a while. When the
sun dropped to the western sky, I would pick up my cycle and rapidly paddle back home.

I remember that early on winter mornings when it was deep, dark and chill outside, and many in
comfortable cozy beds would lie wrapped in deep sleep snuggly, then a lot of sound was heard in
the streets regularly at fixed hours. As my bed was near to the window opening to the road, so one
day my curiosity led me to open the window and see what was happening outside. In the dark, I
made out that many tribal girls, their ages ranging from ten to thirty perhaps were carrying bundles
of green grass on their heads to be sold-off in the town. These mornings were terribly cold but they
were out. Some of the girls were just married, some were of such age where they need to be in
school, while some were old enough, who had patiently borne this for years and had accepted this
as their way of life.

I was young then. I remember to have read Wordsworth‟s “Solitary Reaper”, in our textbook. But

these girls had neither sung such beautiful songs, nor had any poet written famous poems on them.
The thing that amazed me the most that in spite of the cold and the load, they were happy, smiling
and cracking jokes to each other on the way. Usually they returned when it was late in the morning
and by then people had already had their breakfast.

Sundays and Wednesdays are Village-market days in our town. Each town has it own date. The
Village market is quite a place of commotion. Buyers and sellers flock form the nearby villages.