Everyone’s first time is a bit strange. You don’t quite know how to begin, you stumble a bit and almost lose your nerve, and you get very, very scared of hurting yourself.

Learning how to cycle again, and that too on the streets of Karachi, was quite unnerving and scary. The first time I tried, I wasn’t even sure that I remembered the principles of balancing that my father had once so patiently taught me many years ago. But I would never have even put foot to pedal if I hadn’t heard of Critical Mass, Karachi. I stumbled upon the Critical Mass Karachi Facebook page almost a year ago, while talking to a friend who’s an enthusiastic participant in the Critical Mass Lahore movement.

Ok, backtracking: it’s not quite a movement. Not in the political sense of the word anyway. It doesn’t even have a fixed agenda, other than to cycle, cycle, cycle. Routes change, people join in and fall out, but the movement continues. Critical Mass started off in San Francisco in 1992, with a simple idea – once “Critical Mass” is attained, any movement can take off. According to Wikipedia, in China, both motorists and bicyclists had an understood method of negotiating intersections without signals. Traffic would "bunch up" at these intersections until the backlog reached a "critical mass," at which point that mass would move through the intersection. Hence the name – Critical Mass!

A Karachiite, Kamyla Marvi, realised one day in 2009 – ‘hey wouldn’t it be great to go cycling in Karachi, say, on Sunday mornings, with a bunch of people who like cycling?’ She got in touch with the Lahore chapter of Critical Mass, which had actually got off to a cycling start a bit earlier in the year. They simply asked her to start her own chapter – and began the Karachi chapter of Critical Mass.

Word of mouth quickly spread through Facebook, friends and of course, strange Sunday sightings of dozens of cyclists of all shapes and sizes merrily cycling through Seaview, Defence, Clifton. Some joined in because they support the environment, some because they wanted to burn off excess calories in a fun way – most people though, just joined in because of their sheer love for cycling.

The first time I joined the Critical Mass gang was on a route starting from Carlton. I borrowed my building chowkidar’s trusty Sohrab and didn’t quite know if I would even be able to ride it. My dear and somewhat overprotective husband drove me to Carlton at 7:30 am on a Sunday. Our conversation was peppered with all kinds of unanswerable questions. “Who’re these guys again?”, “Is it safe to cycle? After all, we’re in Karachi man!” and, “Who’s ever heard of being up at this hour on a Sunday?!”

When we got closer to Carlton, I saw them. I’d never quite seen a motley crew like this bunch:  two or three college-going girls, a father and son in matching spandex cycling outfits, some men in their 30s, four or five teens, some children who couldn’t have been older than 10, with their small bikes, and one sporty gentleman who proudly proclaimed that he was nearing 70. It was here I met a beaming Kamyla, whose friendliness immediately put me at ease. With minor hesitation, and not really knowing if I’d come back with scraped knees or a scraped ego from the embarrassment of having “forgotten” how to ride a bike, I joined the gang. After a quick round of hellos, we were off. Down the road from Carlton towards Golf Club, down towards the new “hut” restaurants, and onwards to Sea View.

It was just me and the road. I was acutely aware that the only thing between me and the asphalt was just two thin wheels. The occasional cyclist whizzed by, making light pleasant conversation, talking about the previous routes and asking about me. It was just about an hour long, a short 12 km, but it felt like an incredible achievement to have finally cycled in Karachi!

I’ve since then been almost a regular on every alternate Sunday. I’ve cycled through most of Defence, Clifton, Sea View, MT Khan Road, Zainab Market, Bolton Market, I. I. Chundrigar Road, Boat Basin, and once a very challenging and hilly 22 km from Sandspit to Mubarak Village. I’ve seen Karachi’s Sunday early-rising crowd: from the large families stuffed in small cars making their way to a Sunday picnic, to motorcycle gangs who prowl Sunday streets.

Sleeping in on a Sunday just doesn’t compare to the sheer fun of riding a bike. Riding through a sleepy MT Khan Road, down Sea View road, and alongside early morning buses filled with dozens of men open-mouthed, hanging from windows.  It’s an amazing re-discovery of the city – and streets never quite look the same once you’ve cycled through them.

*Nausheen Ishtiaq Jivani contributed for Dawn.com

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