Back in those tender school days, my journey to school wasn’t in a bus or by car—it was in a humble
cycle rickshaw, along with many other chattering, giggling children. All of us squeezed together, our
school bags bumping, our ribbons flying in the breeze, our mornings filled with laughter and mischief.
The one who made this daily ride so special was Appa Rao, our beloved rickshaw puller. I still
remember him vividly—his weathered face, kind eyes, and the gentle warmth in his voice. He wasn’t
just someone who pedalled us to school; he was a constant presence, almost like family.
On days when I didn’t feel like going to school, when little tears welled up in my eyes for reasons even
I couldn't explain, he would climb the stairs to our house.
With quiet patience, he’d console me, offer a gentle word or two, and somehow make everything feel
better. He never forced or scolded—just reassured with a fatherly grace.
And then, hand in hand, he’d take me down to the waiting rickshaw, where the others would welcome me with smiles and cheers.
Looking back now, it feels like a scene from an old movie—so simple, so full of heart. The creaking of
the rickshaw, the murmur of school songs, the dusty morning roads, and Appa Rao’s steady rhythm at t
he pedals—all of it forms a beautiful mosaic of my childhood.
It wasn’t just a ride to school. It was a ride into life, carried on the wheels of kindness.
Greeshma.
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