As the infuriating smoky vehicles move with the invariable pace of a turtle, I sigh with relief as I sink into the cool comfort of my car seat. I absolutely adore Dehradun, my hometown known for its ever-changing climate that keeps one guessing every day. It's like a plate of golgappas - you never know whether it's going to be sweet, spicy, or sour.
The sight of stray animals not ready to give up their inalienable country right to stroll along roads makes bargaining seem impossible. Just like how retirees flock to this town, cows on the road must know a good thing when they see it. Who knows, maybe they're secretly planning their takeover too!
The scene contrasts the stagnancy of the objects on the road with the tumult that ensues. As I reach over to pull up the car window, a cool blast of air conditioning washes over me, instantly relieving me of the oppressive heat outside. The stark contrast between the filthy, sweltering air and the refreshing coolness inside the car is almost palpable. Ah, that feels much better.
The current song on the FM radio is a Punjabi hit from the 90s. As usual, my nauseous state sets in while riding in a four-wheeler due to the unventilated car and chaos around. To distract myself, I've been observing and contemplating the constant motion outside.
While glancing outside the window, I notice a young boy running alongside the car with his bare feet pounding against the hot asphalt. His tattered clothes flap in the wind, revealing his skinny frame. As he looks up at me, our eyes meet for a moment before he breaks into a wide smile and waves. I gulp down the acid reflux that threatens to make an unwelcome appearance every minute. But as challenging as that is, the real struggle is resisting the urge to reciprocate the sweet gesture of the little boy who just waved at me. It's like trying not to smile back at a puppy wagging its tail - nearly impossible. With humble pride, I smile back - I did it!
I gaze out the window, my mind desperately searching for something to distract me from the chaos inside my abdominal. And then, like a time-traveling magician, I catch a glimpse of myself from 15 years ago.
I see a younger version of me, standing by a vintage Vroom machine - a scooter that must be tilted to one side and then kick-start. And in the backseat, I see two siblings, bickering over who gets to sit in the middle for longer. The older one appears to be over ten years old, just a few years older than the little one in the middle.
The younger one wins - DUH!
I see my childhood self in the younger one: anxious and afraid of strangers, yet always eager for a scooter ride. I can't help but feel a twinge of envy for the little girl - after all, nothing beats the excitement of a scooter ride. The wind in your hair, the thrill of the unknown; the belief that you are in a race, competing with other vehicles on the road. A sense of freedom that can never be replicated by any other mode of transportation.
And if you were anything like me, a shy introverted kid, you can understand the delight in being such a tiny kid that no one seems to notice you.
As I watch the small girl hugging her father's waist; and adding "sugar" to a wound, I feel a twinge of FOMO. It has been a long time since I felt that sense of safety, that unbreakable bond with someone. Amid the blaring horns of pollution-pumping vehicles and the passing of animals, I feel disconnected from the world. But witnessing this family on a scooter reminds me that, no matter how chaotic the world may seem, family relationships can always lead us back to a sense of safety and comfort.
The little's girl's expressions betray her faith in the two strongest pillars of her life. Two pillars that are so solid that she can rely on them forever. She remains clinging to his father's waist to enhance security. She inadvertently mocks everyone who feels shielded enough by the impregnable four-wheelers.
I can almost hear the little girl crying out, "Sorry, SUVs and sedans, you may have four wheels, but my dad's scooter has two and a whole lot more coolness." As she looks around at the traffic jams, I bet she's thinking, "I am surrounded by bonds of protection much stronger than your pollution-spewing metal walls, zipping through the city streets, feeling like you're in a Bollywood movie."
Ha-ha, children are naïve. Who needs fresh air and sunshine when you have the cool breeze of air conditioning blowing in your face? I can always roll down the window and stick my head out like a happy dog, even if it means ruining my hair. I mean, sure, my lungs may be filled with recycled air and my skin may get stripped of its natural moisture, but at least I'm comfortable, right?
Okay, I admit. As I watch the little girl, I can't help but feel a twinge of jealousy. I mean, who wouldn't want to be chauffeured around on a scooter, feeling the wind in their hair and the sun on their face? It beats being stuck in this car, and listening to outdated Punjabi music, especially when your lunch is planning a jailbreak. Ughhhh
But then I remember something that makes me chuckle despite my stomach churning. The last time I rode a scooter with my dad, I was so eager to show off my riding skills that I forgot to switch the scooter on. We were stuck in the middle of the road, with cars honking at us from all sides. When you're anxious, time seems to slow down like a snail in a race. You are unable to pull off the easiest things, like getting your scooter engine running.
The universe played its same cruel joke on me that day. It wasn't as funny back then.
My attention is again drawn to the family. From behind, the elder sister kisses the younger one, as if to ensure that no one will or would be allowed to take her away from her. And my observation concludes with them taking their leave. I can't help but feel grateful to that small family that unintentionally helped me conquer my vomit comet.
Does all of this really happen, or am I just weaving past events together with objects associated with my childhood? Am I imagining scenario after scenario that I wish to witness through them?
On this thought, I change the tune and wonder whether I will down the run see another family in a car, facing heavy traffic, smoke-billowing cars, and cows speeding by. Will I witness a young girl just like me sitting in the back, with a nostalgic look on my face?
Where will I have switched my position then?