CHOCOLATE KUMAR.

It was our summer vacation in the early eighties, We kids were mightily excited to read the banners proclaiming Chocolate Kumar's arrival in our home town. He was a cyclist, who pedalled for a stretch of 3 days continuously in a marked circle, round and round, much to the cheer of the gazing crowds.He was accompanied by a team of helpers to take care of him in these endeavours. An accompanying cute clown dwarf was the source of giggles all around. The children used to adore him. His main job was to collect the money showered on the cyclist, in an over sized hat.
Soon, Chocolate Kumar arrived in our town and the loudspeakers sprang to life to add to the carnival atmosphere in our small town.
Chocolate kumar was an acrobatic cyclist who could ride blind folded, on a single wheel, stand on the seat and even ride while facing behind in the opposite direction. He was really talented. The cycle was his symbiotic host, he feeded off it, but also pampered it with a garland and all season shine on the black metallic body.The hot Sun never deterred him from this back breaking activity. He was allowed an half hour grace period for his daily toilet break. The evenings drew a lot of crowds, the music, real loud, used to propel him to pedal faster. We used to clap heartily to support him.The adults used to whistle and cheer him up.Of course,the clown used to regale us with his somersaults and jumps and a comically small tri cycle, which used to tumble on his riding attempts.
It was all innocent, unadulterated fun.
On the third evening, as the event was coming to an end, Chocolate Kumar was in intense pain and agony and it looked as if he would not complete the event. But, somehow he survived to finish his task, much to the relief of the gathered cheering crowd. He had managed 3 days on the cycle, that too, non stop. The fatigued Chocolate Kumar was garlanded by our local obese, corrupt corporator and given the prize amount.
Everyone clapped till their hands hurt.
As he was getting down from the dais, I could see the dark red blood, staining his trousers near the calf region. A varicose vein had ruptured and hence the oozing of blood. It was an expected occupational hazard for the cyclist. His team immediately bandaged his leg with a roller gauze and stopped the ooze.The thick legs bore the brunt of his continuous cycling and the fragile veins were giving way. He still smiled, despite the pain.
He kissed his dear cycle and with tears in his eyes, bade us all goodbye.
We never heard of him again.
But, he is, still entrenched in our beating hearts.
The eighties were our wonder years.
I wonder about the plight of such cyclists in this 21st century.