Tamsui: A River Runs through Taipei

Among the many things that my student ID unlocks, topped up with a monthly MRT transit pass for which I pay NT$1280, are unlimited 30-minute rides on the ubiquitous yellow frame YouBikes available on so many stands littered all over Taipei city. All I need to do is press the green button on the bike's console. It prompts me to tap my card, and given I have enough balance or a pass, the bike unlocks.

All societies have a vision of a good life, and a host of ideologies that are teleological maps that are so many promises to deliver that good life. In places still unable to make ends meet and satisfy the cravings of an empty stomach, it is far-fetched to imagine that we may have needs beyond a mouth to feed and a body to cloth and shelter, but as soon as those primal needs are met, something in the spirit of man yearns for exploration, to go out and see the many hues of the skies, hike up the trails of mountains and hilltops, take a gander about the fields and swim in the sea as the many forms nature takes in our land of birth and pilgrimage.

But inhibitions of the mind, in confluence with poverty of social imagination, often bind our feet to some patch of incarcerated earth. Like elephants, chained in childhood, who, although they have grown stronger to break free, can no longer imagine a world without chains, people as individuals who make their social reality forget what David Graeber calls the Ultimate Hidden Truth of the World: that we make our worlds and we can make them differently.

Living in Delhi, which likes to boast a world-class metro system, one may be forgiven for the failure to imagine a place of rejuvenation on long walks by the banks of the Yamuna, wider sidewalks, functioning bike lanes, cleaner air, and a freedom to move about without fear at all hours. After all, cities are where people commiserate. And when that commiseration ceases, cities begin to die a slow death. Infrastructures may multiply, but the life of communion that unfolds in public places shrivels in the absence of footpaths to take a stroll through the city, and if uncared for long, such absences eventually turn the city into a wasteland.

I tap my EasyCard, pull out a bike, hop on, and start pedalling aimlessly. What usually passes by in a blur now lingers for a little longer. I feel the breeze against my face, roads are shining dark from the latest shower. Whither go the wheels? To the river!

Many great cities have emerged on the banks of a river, and neither Taipei nor Delhi are any different. Our Yamuna is so despoiled that we cover our noses and shield it from our gaze for most of the year until monsoon rains raise the water levels up to and above the dangerous threshold.

The banks of Tamsui in Taipei are a place of contemplation, where the body moves with elegance and the spirit soars in the flow of river currents. The river’s longing for the sea spreads like a contagion to the wanderers by its way side.

Holding your hand, sweet Tamsui,

I follow your waves on my YouBike wheels,

through the open-air basketball courts and skate rings,

and gather some breath in a moment's rest

on the steps of your curving banks,

witness to a day in your cool caress and caring embrace.

How have we learnt to measure time

to the vibrations of a Caesium atom

and forgotten the rivers' ceaseless flow?

Pedalling, breathing, feeling the air currents kiss Tamsui and evoke a wave, I ride through the dominion of day into the kingdom of night. So many passersby on bikes, young and old running bare-chested in the misty rain, I know a feeling of elation, a joy born from the joy of others. Even those who are sad, I am sure, the river will heal because it is alive and listens. It is we who are a little deader, a little sicklier, because we haven’t felt a river in a long time. It has become a blue curve on a map.

Switching between the three gears on my bike, I gently turn back from the mouth of the sea towards the city. Clouds have gathered in a council of gods, and a hard rain's gonna fall. Banks overflow, the bike lane disappears, submerged, I get off track and stumble into a fall. Squatting back up, I resign to the mercy of clouds. It is time to get drenched.

Walking the cycle back, I am soaked. Water courses through my hair, drips on my face, runs down my back and chest, down below my waist and into the loins and legs. So many rivers run through the geography of my body, itself a river of blood coursing through arteries, capillaries and back through veins to the heart. A Hindi song goes, ‘a stream flows into a river, the river flows into the sea; into what waters does the sea flow, no one knows.'

That day in Taipei, it rained more than the average annual rainfall in Europe. The roads emptied for a while; there were no takers for YouBikes, and no empty spot to return mine. I waited, seconds, minutes, I waited in the rain, and bubbles popped in shallow puddles. A van pulled over, and a guy emerged, tapping free some slots so I could park my bike. He explained to me where to ask for help on the YouBike app. I thanked him. He hauled away some bikes on the back of the van to redistribute them to empty stands elsewhere. I walk into the Sanchong station, dripping puddles with every footstep, returning caring glances with a kindred smile.