Life through the Eyes of a Ride Sharing Bike
I remember when I was new. Fresh out of the factory, with that "new bike" smell. The display window in a bike showroom was my second home; I was proud, proud of the fact that I was what young college boys lusted after. Every high school boy would ask their parents for me as their graduation gift; and while I couldn't smile, it made me feel warm and fuzzy in my piston chamber.
The parents would always say, "No! A bike is too dangerous!" and I'd feel further delight at the idea that I wasn't just an alternative to a car, I was a thrill ride.
Every passing day I would put on a show behind my glass window, like an animal at the zoo, and watch as eyes of wonderment stared back at me; and one day, the owner of one such pair finally decided to become my master.
I was no longer just a display piece, I was alive.
My master loved me, he spent our first day together showing me off to all his friends and cousins; I was an immediate hit! Everyone wanted a turn at riding me, but my master wouldn't trust me with anyone but himself.
I remember so many things; the pride in my master's voice as he told every other biker stuck in traffic about how fuel efficient I was. I remember the long days, which would end with him cleaning me up in preparation for another brilliant day.
I loved my life.
Slowly, but surely, my master's fondness for me faded. I was no longer his pride and joy, and instead just a means to an end.
He began using the widely popular ride sharing apps for some extra income on the side. And soon, I would find myself going all over Dhaka; awed at its beauty and culture. So many people would sweat through public transport journeys to get to work or classes every morning.
The tenacity of the people to bear through the harsh weather and never ending traffic made me see everything in a different light. I was making a difference, my small size and fast pace meant I could get people anywhere quicker. While I may have stopped being appreciated by my master, I now realised that waiting for the appreciation of others would only leave you aging.
But instead, having the ability to change the lives of others for the better was a reward in itself.
I took pride in myself once again, for my purpose and not just for my looks or power.
Alas, it all came to an abrupt halt when, on one fine day, as we were speeding towards Mohakhali, hoping to ensure our passenger was not late for his 9AM office time.
My master lost control and I toppled over, with both him and the passenger falling onto the road. Thankfully, due to them both wearing helmets, they did not sustain any injuries past a few scratches.
But for me it was over, I had been totalled.
My master cried over my carcass that night, remembering how hard his father had worked to pay for me. His livelihood had been brought to a stop along with me. And while I was gone, I felt loved once again.
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