I almost died on November 22nd this year.
My first bike
crash!
I was on the way back home, in a hurry only to get to the toaster and juicer. The traffic was as usual, bright loud and fascinating. I was fully concentrating on my driving. Only often was I distracted by simple thoughts, like "Oh imagine all the calculation the drivers put forth while driving, Oh the wiring of veins from the hands to brain, "the lanes, the infrastructure and poverty of the city", "the couple on that bike, the kid in that car". Full-on concentration, till I tried to over-take a rickshaw.
It was an easy bet. Or so I thought. I could swear there was plenty space to zoom forward and lane up before a car long away would come nearby.
Oh boy was I wrong! The car from the opposite lane, my bike and the rickshaw all sped at the same speed, simultaneously, like an impossible racing dream. My beautiful bad timing blanked me out when I was right on the divider line.
Joey, the bike, hit
both the car as well as the rick. No, I made Joey hit both the car and the rick. The car's mirror breaks away in slow motion and lands on the footpath - an onlooker says. I am thrown away from my seat, onto the 9 o clock road of ISRO Layout. I was spinning and rolling in glamorous rage on the cold, black tar while jaws dropped and silent frowns escaped faces.
I open my eyes, ignoring of the pain my elbow and knees are craving attention for. I stand up and see that Joey is still accelerating hard, vroom-vrooming in some sort of weird excitement. People swam around me like Jessica Alba was teleported from LA to where I stood. Brushing away like a macho, I replied to all the "Are you ok? Get her to a hospital" with an "I'm fine I'm fine".
I was so concerned and heartbroken for Joey. I felt like I betrayed his accelerator, ignored his instinct, two-timed with his brakes and cut open his wheels. I felt like a female canine.
My cloud of emotion was slapped away by the furious rickshaw driver who stormed at me for the damage. The car driver came over and demanded my number to settle the damage compensation later. He bends down to note down Joey's registration number and comes back up with a smile. "Oh you are a Keralite? Me too. You little girl, poor thing, are you hurt? Please ride careful now on" and his gorgeous wife comes out of the car and repeats after him. The man was around 50 and I thanked god I didn't run into my dad's car. I decided I won't even tell him about this right then! He'd be hurt, helpless and furious. All at once. Phew!
As soon as I was about to get back to my emotional cloud with Joey, the day's villain sprouts up again! The rickshaw driver hands over a piece of my bike that broke away and fell into his vehicle! I wanted to go die. I had hurt Joey so much? Oh god.
I turned away and looked at the crowd. Did I see concern? Hardly. Did I see curiosity? Yes. Did I see sympathy? A little. Did I see anger? A little. Did I see jealousy over the modified look of Joey? Yeahbsolutely!
The rickshaw man wanted me to take his vehicle to the garage and fix it. Come on, it had a scratch where the paint had chipped a little and there was a small dent on the body. Big deal.
I couldn't tag behind this, so I offered a 300 Indian rupee compensation to which he happily agreed.
I bid adieu the hefty man who helped me get up, a schoolgirl waiting to see me cry and the local men who translated my broken kannada to the rickshaw driver. I rode away, guilty.
As I crossed one street light after the other, the cold breeze rubbed the gashes the crash gave me. I hardly knew where all I was hurt, in all the mess. But now after the tenth street lamp I passed by, guilt was no longer guilt. It had blossomed into something I never thought I will walk away from this incident with. This accident with?
Yes and it was pride.
I had just had my first bike crash! - the turning point in every rider's life. The first kiss with the road. The first encounter with fear. The first courage evoking adventure.
And I was riding away from it with bleeding wounds, which were the signs of glory already.
There was a subconscious me whispering You are crazy paro, but I didn't have time for the regular world me. I was back home, parked the bike, kissed it an apology and walked to the doctor, beautifully bruised all over.
I got my wounds? No, gashes? Alright honestly they were just cuts - I got my cuts dressed. The sting urged me to scream my lungs out, but the sweet spoken doctor's smile didn't allow me the immaturity. I bought the prescribed medicines after much second thought. I mean, who has medicines after a crash? Such an awesome crash.
I got a smoked dark chocolate on the way back home.
