My first vivid memory places me three feet next to that orange scooter. I look into your slightly confused eyes as I beg and plead for another ride. Those trusting mellow brown eyes that look hauntingly like mine. You brush my fluffy black hair and give me that reassuring smile, which in turn implies a stable promise. We walk up the flight of stairs that leads up to our small but comfortable apartment. One honest hand leading two hopeful ones. I have to skip every alternate stair in order to keep pace with your brisk ascent. However, no ounce of gravity defiance can keep me away from your scooter. Jump I shall. A single series of hops maintain a dubious rhythm. I am panting quite distinctly now as we finally reach our home in the clouds. Amma takes the groceries away from your tired hands. You affectionately brush her hair but she shies away after an emotional acceptance of your solitary, yet simple, physical gesture. You beam at me again, telling me how proud you are of me. I revel in that lather of love but immediately imagine myself on that scooter again. You sense my anxiousness and guide me downstairs. I start to break away but I am quickly stopped by your firm grasp. It was a hindrance then but fifteen years into the future, your son knows why you stopped him. Protectiveness. Love. Compassion. Knowledge. Fear.I would stand in the front while you piolted that fashionably ugly vehicle through the streets of Madras. The wind would try and tear my glasses away. The sun would cast its angry red shadow on my back. The smoke and dust from the fancy cars that screeched past us would hurt my eyes and have me sneeze uncontrollably. None of this mattered. It was a moment of freedom and I rightly felt on top of the world. It was a moment to be alone with you even though I would never admit it. It was a moment away from the chores Amma had me do. Moments not to be taken away.
I would accompany you everywhere on that scooter. We would ride to the temples with Amma sitting behind us like a ravishing princess. I would turn off the ignition secretly just as Amma stepped onto the rear pedestal, leaving both you and Amma confused beyond belief. Why was the motor shutting down just as she stepped onto the plate? Ten rupees given to the nearby mechanic did not solve the problem. It was only when I spilled the beans did everything make sense to you. You were more astonished than surprised. Your little ten year old son had just paid you back for those countless scooter trips. He had now taken you for a ride. In the literal sense of the word. This was not a ploy I created to irritate you. This was an attempt at bridging an alternate connection to your world. You had loved me enough. This was my way of thanking you for those wonderful moments. I knew I could show you gratitude by taking an interest in being more in tune with your world. You would now have a silly little story to tell your friends at work. I would now be a subject of many conversations.
