Life cycle

As I sit mulling many things happening in my life right now, my memory takes me back to days in my childhood.
I can see my father running behind me as I learnt to cycle on empty roads in bandh-stranded Kolkata some time in the Eighties. He never let me know when he let go of the cycle. I always thought he was right there to hold me if I fell. Well, I did fall a number of times. But I always got up and rode on. Or so I choose to believe now. My memory, as family and friends will tell you, is phenomenally weak. I should check with him I did actually ride on or mourned over my bruises weighting for some saviour to pick me up and take me home.
I am not sure anymore.
I always thought I was independent. Maybe it wasn't independence, but being carefree to the extent of being careless about everything, including people. Never realised just how careless.
I want to ride that bicycle again. I want to know what my instinct made me do when I fell — did I cry or did I pick my cycle and ride on.
I want to go back in time and see how far away from myself I have come.