Always Carry A Helmet

You never know when you'll need it

"Tai!" I yelled, desperately. "Tai!"

'Tai' is the word for older-sister in some Indian languages. I called my nanny Tai to indicate that in spite of being employed by the family, she was as much part of the household as anyone else. She had been nanny to my mother and aunts and had been my granny's 'wedding gift' to my mother, moving in with my parents after they got married and had a place of their own. She had held me as a newborn and seen me through my pre-teen years.

Now a teenager, I turned to her more than to either of my parents when I was in a fix. Though illiterate (she had never been to school and refused to let anyone in the family teach her to read or write) she was adept at finding her way out of the scrapes I got myself into sometimes.

"What is it?" she asked, running into my bedroom, wiping her hands on her saree. "I was making the chappatis for dinner. What do you need?"

"Delna invited me to her birthday party," I wailed.

"Well, that's very nice, dear, Delna is such a good friend and so nice."

"That's the whole thing. I couldn't say NO to her."

"Well, what's the matter with saying yes to Delna's birthday party invite? You're being very incoherent."

"It's the same day and time as Parul's piano recital," I gulped.

Tai's eyes narrowed. My cousin Parul, age 7, had been talking of nothing else but her piano recital for weeks. She really was a good player, better than many people double her age, and had been working hard on the pieces she was going to perform.

Then, Tai's frown turned to a grin.

"Do you have a helmet?" she asked.

"HUH?"

"A helmet, girl, a helmet. You know, what you put on your head to protect it."

"But --"

"Yes, or no? A helmet?"

"I can borrow one from Shubhangi ..."

"Fantastic. Now here's the plan ..."

*********

Thursday, 12 October 2023 will be forever etched in my memory. I'll be telling my grandkids about it, I've no doubt.

I reached early for Delna's party, and gave her the gift. Then, as instructed by Tai, I suggested a game of hide-n-seek for old times' sake. When the other early comers agreed, I hid behind the curtain. Unseen by anyone, I opened the French Window and ran into the driveway.

Tai was waiting for me on Nikhil's motorbike. Shubhangi's helmet was dangling from the handlebars. I grabbed it and put it on. Five minutes later, we were in the parking lot of the concert hall, and I walked into the hall nonchalantly and greeted Parul's parents and other relatives. Politely, I allowed my elders to take the good seats, while I parked myself close to the middle exit.

I waited till the lights dimmed before creeping out. We zoomed back and I showed up in time to be announced the winner of the hide-n-seek game. "My goodness, we couldn't find you anywhere," Delna marvelled. "You might have become invisible."

I don't know how Tai choreographed my evening so perfectly, but I was always in the right place at the right time.

Well, 99% of the time.

On our fifth dash back to Delna's, for the birthday cake-cutting ceremony, Tai suddenly said "uh-oh" and I felt the bike wobble.

"Of all the dagnabit times to get a flat!"

But Tai was not to be daunted. "We can make it," she said. She wheeled the bike to the side of the road, grabbed my hand, and pulled. I made it through the French Window in time to hear "Where -- oh there you are! Come on, we're singing Happy Birthday!"

While we at the party were gulping cake, Tai was getting the flat mended. She got me back to the concert hall in time to join in the standing ovation for my little cousin.

In my heart, I was applauding Tai.