Saddled – Part I: The pros(e) of riding side-saddle

Traveling 30 kilometres to and from the workplace the last three years astride a large motorized scooter hasn’t done anything for my lower spine and hips. Things came to a head when I pulled an unnameable muscle which I aggravated by trying to sit cross legged (not on the scooter, silly, on the floor!) I’m not sure if I partially dislocated my right hip, but it certainly felt like it. The net result is that I’m now forced to sit side saddle when riding pillion.

The advantages? I get to see the world go by face on, not in the periphery of my vision. I get amazed, questioning looks and I can almost read the owners’ thoughts – “Is she for real?” “Why the heck is she wearing a helmet when she doesn’t have to?” You see, even though there are plenty of helmeted women driving two-wheelers, female pillion riders wearing armor are a rarity. I have seen exactly two so far – yes, two – besides myself – one works with me and the other was a passing stranger.

A light drizzle turns into a heavy shower and the rain drums on my helmet. I drift off into a daydream… I am rushing headlong into a hidey hole to take refuge from a marauding tribe. To my horror, I’m in a huge drum that they then use to broadcast my escape. Thump! Thump! Thump! I can’t bear it any longer and I stagger out, head reeling… Shades of Phantom and the Jungle Telegraph? I did warn you, Thurber and Walter Mitty are men after my heart and imagination… I’m brought back to reality by a hard pull on my arm. Hubby’s stopped the scooter and is trying to take shelter from the wet…

The rain’s let up now and we’re back on the road. At the next traffic signal. a local yokel on a flashy red mobike roars to a stop beside us. I try to suppress a smile – the posture he adopts reminds me of a circus chimp on a bicycle. I’ve neglected to wear “The Mummy” disguise for once and he catches the ghost of a grin and misunderstands, because… horrors! He throws me what I take to be an amorous look and proceeds to preen like he’s the cat’s whiskers!

He’d stop that in a hurry and vanish in a trail of burning rubber and exhaust if I just took off that helmet… to reveal a soft blue cotton cap that looks rather like underwear minus two holes. (A neighbor’s toddler actually pulled on a pair of his over his head in a parody of us. His mother yanked it off, throwing us a accusatory look.)

Next I could pull off the cap to reveal my grey locks and that would really shake Monkey Man/ Cat Boy off I’m sure! Meanwhile he could audition for a sequel to the “Fantastic Four”, called perhaps “The Furry Five”!

Another time someone blares his horn continuously behind us – most irritating because we are going at a fair clip – I turn my head slightly to the left and fix the car with what I hope is a baleful glare. It works. He stops honking. But now I’m assailed by doubt – has the driver behind the tinted windows given up on leaning on the horn because he’s too busy wiping tears of laughter from his eyes at the spectacle before him (me – this time in “The Mummy” wrappings)…

© Sosha Srinivasan

Mum’s the word

Prior to the helmet hoopla, I would wind a dupatta (a fine cotton shawl) around my head and face to ward off the dust and pollution. (If I didn’t my hair would end up smelling of vehicle exhaust and I’d probably be hurriedly directed to the nearest carwash.) This sartorial style would draw odd looks and the occasional comment – “Bin Laden’s wife” was one smart Aleck’s contribution.

There is talk that this shortlived law was implemented just so that helmet
dealers close to power could make huge short term profits through
increased sales in the run up to the deadline.  But shhhh! Don’t tell anyone!

I’ve got my hair cut real close, real short, this summer but the stylist, throwing me a pitying look, left a large redeeming tuft in front so that I now bear a distinct resemblance to Tintin.

Thus shorn, (lamb to the slaughter?) I go forth to do battle at the workplace – new-age coat of mail protecting my head, lest I lose it before I get there… Between us, we resemble a couple of screen characters – hubby, my very own knight in shining armour, in a gleaming silver version of Darth Vader’s mask, and me – with my nose and mouth covered with a pale scarf under the helmet – “The Mummy “. But what do you know? That’s what my son has been calling me all these years!

Whichever way you look at it, I am now a comic strip look-alike, but mum’s the word, okay?

© Sosha Srinivasan