I remember Baba used to drop me to school every morning when I was in kindergarten or probably class 1. And one morning when we were on the way to my school, Baba was riding his bike, I guess it was some latest model of Suzuki, I was sitting in front of him, on the fuel tank.
There was a square road, a roundabout near my school, and we were at a slow pace, because Baba was superslow when we were with him on bikes. And right then, very suddenly, a woman came with her scooter out of nowhere and dashed in perpendicular to us. It came all undone ,as Baba was totally unaware of such speedy vehicle and also, it was so sudden. And we both fell to our right with a thud. For a moment, I was blank. Baba might have had idea of what happened, but I was still enjoying a toffee mum had given me, when I fell right on my temple ! And when I came back to reality, Baba was lifting me up in his arms, my temple was bleeding profusely....but the only thing I saw was the little finger of my Baba pierced with little pebbles. It was horrible. To see my Baba hurt and bleed. And then , I learnt what an accident is, and seeing my father bleed made me cry so loudly that all the neighbourhood where we had fallen woke up probably 😅 An elderly woman who must have lived nearby , and gladly she was a paramedic, dressed our wounds. Alhamdulillah
Today, I happened to pass by that same square, I have passed by it so many times after that accident. But while riding my bike everytime, I slow down drastically.,and keep giving the sound of horns until I pass that square. Everytime I pass by it, my temple itches without any injury, everytime ,quite habitually my little finger too, shrinks into my palms a little more.
And thinking about such reflexes, I think how the childhood traumas and events shape our memory. How the things that instill an unknown phobia, some kind of anxiety in us, from our childhood decide our actions today. The accidents, the injuries they may leave a scar or not, but they leave a path to fears and extreme awareness. My childhood, infact almost all of our childhoods have carved our personalities today. At the age of 11, On a family trip , I had once sneaked out with a friend to the lake ,and while playing in the water of lake, my foot slipped and I choked up badly. And from that day, I watch the lakes n seas from afar. I don't go in them, fearing my foot will slip again,and there won't be anyone to save me this time.
We don't fear the end. We fear pain of that process. We fear to go through that hissing and sobbing while some old lady is putting a cotton drained with betadine on your torn skin. We fear going through the uneven gaspings and churning of our lungs while the lakewater is making its way into our nose. We fear seeing the look of panic and beads of sweat on our Baba's face seeing us wounded. We fear feeling small, sharp pebbles pierced and stuck in our Baba's little finger. We fear the process not the end. And we fear, if that too doesn't bring the end....then the healing will be more painful. And then it will again shape our memory and cloud it with some more anxieties, some more traumas, some more fears and some more scars, that we cannot see,neither can make anyone to do so. But can very much feel everytime we pass by a lake or a square road.....
