Owned by my father, shared by my uncles and some neighbors too, ultra-utilitarian and never to fall sick – these were the defining features of the scooter that now bears a skeletal look of its glorious past. Every inch that is now rusted once carried the weight of a two-child family with ease. The ragged seats were once the envy of onlookers and would shine proudly with the smallest wipe. Just like my father, it is now bent on one leg, not handicapped but fully aware that the footsteps now need to be measured, best restricted. The forehead like headlamp now wears a dull grin, telling me that even the retirement years seem overwhelming and the journey is now nearly complete—the ride was worth the pain that this current state of shambles inflicts…
