ISN’T MOTIVATION THE KEY?

I remember being very young when my father walked in during a midsummer afternoon and declared, “Wake up, you got to learn cycling from today.” He held my hand and I followed him to a local bicycle mechanic’s shop. I remember the mechanic only by his first name – Abdul. His physical features were uncanny with a hairstyle that could inspire many hilarious characters for a comic strip. His jawline was peculiar, seemed a little misaligned and he broke into a smile every now and then. My father chose a bicycle for me, a maroon colored mini cycle of Atlas make; strong and sturdy, inviting. We made our way to the adjacent playground. My father gave me some basic instructions about how to pedal, maintain balance, take control of the handle bar and switch between looking upward, downward. As I sat on the bicycle, I told myself, “This looks pretty easy.” My father released a gentle smile and I started pedaling. I might have gone a little ahead when I lost balance, hugged the ground and smeared with red mud. The children playing nearby rushed to my rescue but, my father discouraged them and walked closer to where I was lying helplessly; now staring at the rude blue sky.

My father asked, “What happened? Why aren’t you getting up?”

I defended, “I can’t. This is not my cup of tea. Look at me, I am all so dirty.”

My father, now having raised his volume slightly warned, “You learn it this way or never.” 

Seeing my adamant behaviour, my father didn’t press me further and let me tread on my own. For more than a week and less than a month, I didn’t ever head to Abdul’s shop to hire a bicycle to start learning bicycling. I was mocked by my friends. Some of them showed their compassion while others simply decided to give me a miss. My mom stood by me; she opened the door, pushed a note of Rs 5 deep in my palm and warned, “You are not returning today without learning. Make the world stop laughing at you or I will make sure that you learn it my way.” Shuddering and breathing heavily beneath the threat, I rushed to Abdul’s shop, grabbed the same bicycle and was back on the playground. This time, Abdul had a little mercy on me; he accompanied me to the playground and promised to not let me lose my balance. Abdul’s assurance made me feel confident and I started pedaling. I pedaled for quite some time, turned my head to see that Abdul was long gone. My heart sank and I hit the ground instantly. I was so outraged that I felt like pelting a stone at Abdul, breaking his misaligned jawline and make him suffer for life. Before I could set my thoughts into action, Abdul came rushing; he helped me gain my posture back and said, “Good job. Next time, you should pedal more, fall without worrying and start cycling again.”

Abdul’s words kept echoing in my ears. I returned home valorously. The story that I built around my learning experience seemed to have no end. I kept repeating the same to my mom and she kept smiling. After some while, my father debuted right in the middle of the story and doubted everything that I padded up to support the core of it. Next morning, he promised to accompany me to Abdul’s shop and verify my claims.

As the sun rose, my heart cursed the morning; on a nasty front, I also prayed for an earthquake and a heavy downpour to thwart my Bicycle Training Programme. But God seemed to be on leave too. Abdul happily let the bicycle go; he accepted my father’s bet that if I don’t fall, he will not charge us a penny. The pressure was mounting. As I took control of the bicycle, my mother’s words echoed again, “You are not returning today without learning. Make the world stop laughing at you or I will make sure that you learn it my way.” I looked into my father’s eyes and he seemed to be communicating silently to me, “Son, don’t make me say what I said that day. Prove me wrong. Don’t let me should at you, pushing you to learn it this way or never.” After a while, he yelled, “Pedal. Whom are you waiting for? Go ride. If you fall, get your ass up and ride again. Or else, I am never going to pay for your bicycle practice.”

Some of his words might have been negative but they had a positive connotation. Being a father, he didn’t want his son to fail. My mother didn’t want her child to fail. On the tad end I saw Abdul, being an entrepreneur, he too was betting his luck on me and somehow I felt, he wanted to lose out on that small bet of Rs. 5; he longed to see me succeed.

I started pedaling, I temporarily lost the balance and then regained my composure. In a matter of 45 minutes, I had completed taking five rounds of the playground that had treated me like a loser. In the sixth round, I fell off the bicycle. But my father ran to my rescue. His single word for that moment, “Finally.” Abdul let out a sigh of relief and when we returned home, my father had a story to narrate. I was the listener this time. My father told it the way the events took place. He didn’t pad up a single thing. Abdul found a momentary mention too. My mother stared deep into my eyes, drew me closer, hugged me tightly and said, “Didn’t I tell you I will make you learn my way?”

Emanuel James "Jim" Rohn was an American entrepreneur, author and motivational speaker had once remarked rightly – Motivation is what gets you started. Habit is what keeps you going.

My only regret is; people around the world have suddenly stopped motivating and have started taking keen interesting in conspiring. Thankfully I will hold on to my ground to continue being a motivator for those who need my help and my timely advice.

-Virtuous Vociferous

PS: My father was a person of few words but he had the strength to bend a mind. I am unaware about Abdul’s whereabouts but, I am sure he meant everything he said. My mother still continues to be my source of constant inspiration.