Democratic Cycles
The bicycle was brought to India during the Raj so that the junior sahibs could get around the then capital of Calcutta in greater comfort and ease. But not many would know that the imported bicycles were made by the Birmingham Small Arms (BSA) Company in England. This company was founded by ordinary gunsmiths in 1861 to supply arms to the British Army during the Crimean War. It was in the 1880s that BSA began manufacturing bicycles, and later it branched out to become the biggest maker of motorcycles and then automobiles in the world. Many of these initiatives for diversification were spurred by wars and their demands for rapid transportation of armies in battlefields.
While the bicycle was associated with the purpose of achieving victory in conflicts, once it entered the streets of the city it also rapidly became a common mode of transport for the citizen, but with a social gradation. Thus, while the ‘Airborne Paratrooper’ was meant for the soldier; the ‘Golden Sunbeam’ was for the wealthy merchant or officer; the Raleigh became the chosen mode for the superior babu; and the Hercules was aptly named for the workers who pedalled on it to the mills and the factories. It is curious, therefore, that there is no museum for bicycles in Kolkata, although there is a private one in Pune, to tell the story of the two-wheeler’s rise and fall through the annals of the city.
Today conflict once again surrounds the bicycle, but this conflict is of a different kind. While the earlier ones were located in the womb of colonisation, the modern ones are born within the lap of class. Every city in India has now begun to outlaw the bicycle: with reasons varying from their supposed creation of congestion to the myth that they cause accidents. The data, of course, does not bear out these mindless arguments; just as it does not bear out similar reasons given for moving those who ride the ‘Hercules’ or the ‘Atlas’ or the ‘Hero’ out of city streets and roads to the vey peripheries.
But the bicycle still survives. Its most visible presence is as the sports version whose rider is the fitness enthusiast wearing tight spandex shorts, bright yellow helmets, and black elastane mitts. However, a suburban train ride out of any city will reveal sheds at all the nearby railway stations where row upon row of the now invisibilised and traditional black bicycles are stored awaiting their riders who are ferrying milk and vegetables and eggs and an array of daily provisions, along with their services and their labour, to the metropolis. Lately the fear of air pollution and climate change has restored some dignity to the bicycle as a non-polluting and carbon-free form of mass transport. Does this dignity however, restore class?
A few years ago an eminent planner was given the task of designing a cycle track in a city and diligently conducted all the required studies and number counts before coming up with a sensible plan of how bicycles would be able to negotiate their way through traffic. Then, for some reason, he called me to his office to ask if the track design looked feasible. “Surely”, I asked, “you should ask the cyclist?” The reply was, “Where can I find a cyclist?” So I set up a meeting in a nearby slum and the planner appeared with all the plans and the models. After a presentation, which had to be done in the local language, the planner waited for comments. Finally, Rajendran, a carpenter, walked up to the map and asked, “Where is my basti?” There was, unfortunately, no basti. Rajendra was somewhat surprised, “If my basti is not there then I am not there; nor is my cycle: so who is going to ride on your cycle track?”
This, then, is the puzzle at the heart of the matter. It is a question not just of the bicycle, but of the bicyclist. Just inserting a separate lane at the side of the road will not do to resolve the puzzle. There is a person perched atop the bicycle whose needs are paramount. There has to be shade to ride in the day; shelter in the rain; a repair person for the occasional puncture; light for safety at night; space for the vendor and the hawker; for water and food; a distance less than five kilometres to cover; and — most importantly — a secure place at either end of the journey, whether for home or for work or for leisure. All these then, mean that the city itself has to be redesigned around the ordinary working person who delivers newspapers and groceries; makes lunches and dinners and sweeps and cleans; who gets the factory machines to turn and the office computers to work; who makes the tea and takes care of the baby; drives the cars and mows the lawns; who guards the houses and sells the wares.
None of them take the car to work. Why then should the city be designed around the car, and not the bicycle? If democracy is about the greatest good of the greatest number then surely the latter qualifies but not the former.
