On this particular afternoon Hudson was home from school and I had been in the house all day. The kids were hanging on me like little puppies needing direction and entertainment. I felt lifeless and like a zombie-mama. The house was warm and our bodies sticky. I knew what we had to do. Get the bicycles out and ride them. Trying to preserve a regular activity that would be a part of life in the suburbs. It is just so different here.
I procrastinated and hoped that I could come up with an excuse. I have to make dinner. No. Our kind helper had already prepared some rice, dal and vegetables for us sitting ready on the stove. William needs a nap. No. I actually attempted to put him down for his late afternoon snooze and he just was not in the mood. Maybe I can wait until Graham comes home? No. I glance at my watch and realize that we still have two hours. Okay okay. We will do this. I can do this. It feels impossible. It is so much work. But if possible, I desire to hold onto those vintage childhood leisure activities even in Delhi. Can I handle motherhood with little ones at the birth of a hot Indian summer without a garage? I long for our garage. To be able to push the button and roll the bikes out strolling around our little protected cul-de-sac.
So, I hike up to the outer balcony where we have been permitted to keep our "cycles". Wait...first, I get everyones' shoes on and strap William onto my backpack and then head up and open the medal door to begin the haul of a heavy 2 wheeler, a 2 wheeler with training wheels and a tricycle with a baby on my back. The bikes are dusty and the flights of stairs are steep. I take each down one at a time while keeping the reins on the kids who are very anxious to get over to the park. I get grumpy. I yell at Hudson to take a photo because I don't want to forget the challenges of this. We get across the street after waiting, watching for cars and dodging vegetable carts and speed racer motorcycles.
They spend time on their bicycles. The crotchety 80+ year old man who arrives during peak hours to do his daily walk with a cane in hand is grumpy as always about bicycles on the walking path. I talk sternly to the kids about stopping to let the senior go by when encountering him. He is a broken hip waiting to happen. They spend a minimal amount of time riding and then set the bikes in the grass and begin digging in the dirt filling empty plastic trash bottles and making "stew". We stayed outside long enough for Graham to catch us at the park on his short walk home and he rescued me by carrying all the bikes back up to the designated upper balcony.
The cost benefit analysis of this activity is still inconclusive in my mind.
