takin' her for a ride

i don't have any memory space - i was born without a long term memory, and as for a short term one, ... yeah... umm... so what was i saying?

one of the few precious memories of my childhood that i possess in almost graphic clarity, is that of pillioning behind my mother on her bajaj scooter on a bright sunny morning. we were perhaps coming back from the kindergarten school where she used to teach. and where i was enrolled by default, since i didn't have an ayah to take care of me then, and the school didn't have a creche. (workplaces still don't have creches i think).

she was negotiating the first one of the two steep inclines on the way to our house. as if the almost 45degree slope wasn't bad enough, there was also a sharp curve in the bargain. maybe she was contemplating the complexities of my infant scatology. maybe she was wondering what to cook when we got home. her mind went off the road for a split second and the scooter veered towards the cliff. she braked hard. i crumpled into her and i screamed. and she screamed back at me. we sat there like two unhappy lumps for maybe thirty seconds - i don't know what she was thinking. i was boiling over with resentment for all my two years were worth. then she wheeled the scooter onto the road and we carried on.

cut to the present... i've been riding a bike for two years now. i believe i've become pretty good at it. last evening, my mother asked me to take her on a helmetless evening ride. her request took me by surprise and was very flattering because she's one of the best drivers i've ever ridden with... jhakaas extreme-sports class (actually, if you are driving on AP roads, you can't be any other class, boss).

we hit the road so to say. at a point, i had to cut rightwards into the highway groove from a side road that was at an uncomfortable slope (i told you, we have extreme terrain roads). i looked right and then, left. the coast looked clear. as i proceeded to move in, a biker apparated out of the darkness very close to me from the right and in a belated stab at conscientiousness, he switched on his headlight. my mother grabbed my shoulder in alarm and i braked. she didn't scream. neither did i.

i am twentyfive and my mother is fortythree. in a strange way beyond words, i could empathise with the twentyone year-old young woman who had almost driven off the road into the cliff with her precious cargo, and then screamed in guilt on the wayside.