Memories have the uncanny ability to take us back in time. While the good memories fade out the horrible ones become nightmares that continue to torment us throughout our lives. They just require a trigger to relive the experience, making us feel that it all happened the other day.

It was yesterday, while flipping through an old school magazine. I came across my photograph riding a bicycle captioned "Junior cycling champ". My chest swelled with pride, as I recalled the feeling of exhilaration, on winning the Junior Inter School 1500 meters cycling championship. I was in class VII that year. When this championship was held for the first time in our school, it was one of the toughest races I had ever won. While trailing at number thrice till the penultimate round, I was able to win the day by a sudden burst of speed in the final round. Obviously my regular practice and stamina had made the difference.

Form that day onwards, I loved my bicycle, talking special care of it, with regular oiling and maintenance. One day on reaching the school late, I quickly parked it in the cycle stand and rushed in just as the gate was about to close. I was happy on escaping the punishment meted out to latecomers. After the school was over, I came to collect my cycle. It was nowhere in sight. I searched everywhere and it had just vanished into thin air. I reported the matter to the school authorities, who in turn called the police, but all I got was scolding for my carelessness in not keeping it locked. Feeling dejected and crest fallen, I had walked home with a heavy heart. My father scolded me for my carelessness and from that day onwards my love for cycling came to an unceremonious end. I had indeed least and important lesson in life. The virtue of being careful and cautious.