<p>A pall of gloom hung over the cyclist fraternity in South Bengaluru a few weeks ago as the news broke that one of their enduring icons had succumbed to a massive heart attack at a city hospital. Fitness trainer Anil Kadsur had only on the morning of the day that he had taken ill conveyed to his followers on Instagram that he had completed 1,250 centuries, one century denoting a 100-kilometre ride on a bicycle.</p>.<p>Anil was a kind of pocket Hercules, short in stature with a wiry physique and needless to add very strong legs. His flowing locks of hair were either braided, tied in a bun, or just let loose across his shoulders.</p>.<p><br>The first time that I bumped into Anil was at my neighbourhood park, which I frequented, and he was adjusting the yogic posture of his young student while his mother looked on happily. Yoga, however, was just one of his passions, as Anil’s forte was cycling, and most of his waking hours were spent crisscrossing the streets of South Bengaluru on one of his six custom-made cycles. It is hard to believe his day began at half past two in the morning, when he would noiselessly slip down the stairs of his apartment, walk up to the parking lot, and choose a bicycle. </p><p>The city would be wrapped in a blanket of darkness, with the shadows of the night holding the streets in their tight embrace. A few mentees would join in, and the journey would take them on a different route every single day. At the end of the day, Anil would have clocked a hundred kilometres, and his friends would say he had enough energy in the tank to do an encore.</p>.<p>But what endeared Anil to me and to hundreds like me was his cheerful disposition, his keenness to meet new people every day, and his willingness to strike up a conversation at times over a cup of steaming coffee at the nearby Brahmins Café. Almost every single day he would cross me on the street at different stretches, and he would inevitably wave out to me, and I could detect the contours of a smile taking shape behind that dense vegetation that qualified as a beard.</p>.<p>Incidentally, rock climbing was another of his abiding passions. Even now, when I walk towards the park daily, I visualise Anil waving out while breezing by on his bike, only to realise that my eyes were deceiving me. Anil might not have given up cycling and should have been waving out to the angels in heaven as he sped past them.<br></p><p>To me and his host of fans and students, he will remain a memory that will remain green for a long time to come, as he was one of a kind.</p>
<p>A pall of gloom hung over the cyclist fraternity in South Bengaluru a few weeks ago as the news broke that one of their enduring icons had succumbed to a massive heart attack at a city hospital. Fitness trainer Anil Kadsur had only on the morning of the day that he had taken ill conveyed to his followers on Instagram that he had completed 1,250 centuries, one century denoting a 100-kilometre ride on a bicycle.</p>.<p>Anil was a kind of pocket Hercules, short in stature with a wiry physique and needless to add very strong legs. His flowing locks of hair were either braided, tied in a bun, or just let loose across his shoulders.</p>.<p><br>The first time that I bumped into Anil was at my neighbourhood park, which I frequented, and he was adjusting the yogic posture of his young student while his mother looked on happily. Yoga, however, was just one of his passions, as Anil’s forte was cycling, and most of his waking hours were spent crisscrossing the streets of South Bengaluru on one of his six custom-made cycles. It is hard to believe his day began at half past two in the morning, when he would noiselessly slip down the stairs of his apartment, walk up to the parking lot, and choose a bicycle. </p><p>The city would be wrapped in a blanket of darkness, with the shadows of the night holding the streets in their tight embrace. A few mentees would join in, and the journey would take them on a different route every single day. At the end of the day, Anil would have clocked a hundred kilometres, and his friends would say he had enough energy in the tank to do an encore.</p>.<p>But what endeared Anil to me and to hundreds like me was his cheerful disposition, his keenness to meet new people every day, and his willingness to strike up a conversation at times over a cup of steaming coffee at the nearby Brahmins Café. Almost every single day he would cross me on the street at different stretches, and he would inevitably wave out to me, and I could detect the contours of a smile taking shape behind that dense vegetation that qualified as a beard.</p>.<p>Incidentally, rock climbing was another of his abiding passions. Even now, when I walk towards the park daily, I visualise Anil waving out while breezing by on his bike, only to realise that my eyes were deceiving me. Anil might not have given up cycling and should have been waving out to the angels in heaven as he sped past them.<br></p><p>To me and his host of fans and students, he will remain a memory that will remain green for a long time to come, as he was one of a kind.</p>
