I’ve always been a very careful person. I’m over-cautious and self-preserving, and this has been evident since I was a child. I never had to get stitches, barely ever got hurt, avoided confrontation of all kinds, and never got into fights. While I did play on the streets every evening, and cycle around the colony to get everywhere, I was always careful, non-aggressive and very peaceful.
However, this photo tells a different tale:
That’s me, barely 7 years old. Notice the karate uniform. The medal around my neck. And the gaping wound on my right cheek.
Did I get into a fight? Yes, I did. Did I win a medal? Yes, I did. Did I sustain a wound during this fight? Nope, that was a much too respectable way to sustain an injury.
Every time I look at this photo, the memory of how I ended up in such a state is so vivid that it’s like flipping over a Time-Turner. If I close my eyes and take a deep breath, I can almost feel myself whooshing back in time, and as the clock hands race backwards and the calendar pages flip back page over page: we travel back to a time almost exactly 21 years ago, and to a place halfway across the world back in India …
… And BAM. I am 7 years old. I am in the second grade, and loving it. I ride my bicycle to school every day. One fine afternoon I am invited over to my mom’s friend’s place for lunch. I love this woman to no end – she is my version of a fairy godmother. This fateful afternoon, she has invited us over for lunch. My mom is going to bring my baby brother (then just over a year old) to her place, and I am told to come to her house straight from school, instead of going home.
We have a lovely lunch, and at the end of it, mom and I head out to go home. Normally she takes both me and Kiddo on her scooter, but in this case, while she has her scooter, I still have to ride my bicycle home. It isn’t very far – all I have to do is ride straight down the main road (which has a bit of a slope I enjoy freewheeling down) and take a left at my row of houses. Mom says I should head out while she is saying her goodbyes, and this makes sense to me because her scooter is so fast that she will overtake me and my bike in no time.
And so I wave, settle down on my bike, and set off. I reach the main road pretty quickly, and happily start wheeling down the slope. The road is wide open, and completely empty – it is my road. The wind is whistling in my ears, my hair is flying like some sort of birds’ nest on top of my head, and my heart is pounding away in my chest with the sheer exhilaration of going downhill.
In the middle of this, I suddenly hear the distant but distinctive roar of my mom’s scooter starting up. She and Kiddo are on their way! They are still far behind, but will catch up in no time. It is a pity that scooters can go so much faster than bicycles. Or… wait! What if I pedal really, really hard? I already have a head start! Maybe if I go very very fast, I will reach home first and win! Alright then, the race is ON!
So I speed up even more. With sharp bursts of adrenaline pumping through my system, I start pedaling so rapidly that my feet are a blur, and the wind is hitting my face hard enough to force tears out of the corners of my eyes. But this still isn’t fast enough. I lean forward, lower, closer to the handlebar with laser-sharp focus. The road is clear and open in front of me, the scooter’s roar is still somewhere behind me. My breath is escaping in short gasps and pants, and I am now just two streets away from winning. I can almost taste the victory! But suddenly, the roar of the scooter sounds much louder, and I quickly glance over my shoulder to check how close it is. Big mistake. That split-second loss in concentration is enough for my bike to start wobbling. I am going fast, really really fast, and now the handlebar is suddenly vibrating. I squeeze the bars even tighter, trying to wrestle back control from the bike, but it is a losing battle, and a nanosecond before I crash, there is a moment where I register the tiny bits of gravel spilled over on that patch of road, the alarming weaving of my handlebar, and the wind, which is now whistling in my ear, ‘too fast, too fast’… and with a final shudder, the front wheel of my cycle draws a mighty arc, and the bike and I crash onto the gravel-encrusted road.
For a minute, everything goes silent. I lay there, stunned and stung. I have lost. Lost control of the bike, lost the race. My hands are still clutching the handlebar of my now horizontal cycle. I seem to be scratched in more places than I can mentally inventory. And then… the welcome roar of my mom’s scooter fills me with relief. Mommy is here! I am going to be just fine.
I am rushed to the dispensary, my cuts and scrapes are cleaned. Most of them are superficial, except for a giant gash on my cheek. It appears as if all the flesh has been scraped off my right cheek, and the nurses are alarmed to see white bone through all the bleeding. Yes, my cheekbone is now visible and exposed to the world. I am given a quick tetanus shot, and am rushed to the ambulance to be taken to the nearby hospital because this is serious, and I require an X-ray. A momentous event indeed – almost all regular ailments are handled at the dispensary, but if they are taking out the ambulance for me, my injuries must be quite significant indeed. I am bemused, yes, but also feeling a sense of importance because they let me ride the ambulance up front. My poor mother has to deal with this whole situation on her own, as this happens to be the very weekend my dad is out of town for work.
A few hours later, I have been diagnosed with no broken bones. I only have a surface injury on my cheek, and I am lucky my eyes weren’t hurt. A family friend picks us up from the hospital and takes us home – where I am generally made a fuss of. I am quite fascinated and take to eyeing my (still barely visible) cheekbone every time I pass a shiny surface. My recovery is fast, and my face is healing nicely.
Three days later, my karate instructor drops by to inform us of a karate competition starting just then. He wants all of his students to participate. My parents tell him that I am already injured, but he explains that it will be a very basic fight, I only have to fight another girl at my skill level, and even if I lose, I will still get a medal. Ten minutes later, I am all dressed up in my karate uniform. My instructor drives me to the competition. I fight another girl, not very well – I lose the fight, but win a silver medal.
There is an award ceremony later in the evening, and some official shakes my hand and puts a medal around my neck. I am quite proud of myself. Even if it is more of a participation award. I might have lost control of my bike. Lost the race with mom. Lost the karate fight. But I have won a medal, and today, I feel like a winner!
Sunlit Prism 