Saturdays, Wheels and Deals

Pramod pursed his lips and whistled the off-key tune that was his unvarying accompaniment to any repetitive task; his hands were busy controlling the hose that was sluicing road dust off his vehicle. His car got a weekly wash and polish every Saturday and was ready for her Sunday jaunts in gleaming condition.

He heard a clatter behind him, followed by a series of ominous thuds. He turned his head to see that his daughter had attempted to maneuver her new bicycle down the back steps and found it difficult to control the direction. She had been smart enough to let go when the front and back wheels had turned in two different directions and hence was safe but forlorn on the top steps. Her eyes were large with apprehension and tears hovered ready to drop at the slightest hint of impending reprimand.

“Here, love,” he picked up the cycle as he reassured the slight figure, ‘shall I set it down here? Next to my car?”

Jaya skipped down the stairs and nodded a vehement agreement, dancing in impatience as he set it on the trainer wheels.

“Daddy, after you are done with the hose, can I use it to clean my cycle?”

“Well, how about I hose it down for you?”

“No, that is cheating,” the black curls bounced around a flushed face in a firm negative “I will clean my own cycle.”

Jaya loved playing with water, any task with water in it was heaven for her and she managed to expend most of the liquid on getting herself wet. She had even once managed to thoroughly drench herself with only about one glassful of water which she was supposed to use to wet and clean her paint brushes. Pramod knew he would find himself in hot water with his wife if he allowed her unlimited and free use of a water hose.

“If you help me polish my car, I will help you hose down your cycle. Fair exchange is not cheating.” Trader rats had nothing on Pramod.

“But my cycle is little and your car is big. What will you give me for that work?”

Some trading talent seemed inherited.

“I will give you this bottle-cap badge with ‘Dad’s helper’ painted on it, plus a push around the block after the work is done.”

“Can we go as far as the candy store and get ice-cream cones?”

“Yes, Shylock, we can.”

“I am Jaya, not Shyla.” There was a childish giggle at Daddy’s forgetfulness.

“So you are. I guess that means I owe you an extra scoop of ice-cream, huh?”

Two hops on the right leg and a rather higher jump with both, signified perfect assent to the terms and conditions.

That was Jaya’s first job and it became a weekly ritual.

Every Saturday thereafter found father and daughter busy with hose and soft rag, both rendering that off-key whistling of “Oh, Maria” that became a signature for that ritual.

Even after the trainer wheels came off, they would still wheel down to the store on the next block; that is - Jaya would pedal and Pramod would jog behind.

Even as the cycle became a proper bike, with gears and gadgets, it remained a constant pact.

Two scoops of vanilla, with hot fudge in the winters, the payment never escalated with passing years. It was the one thing that withstood inflation. Love has a way of doing that.



Word count: 578